The Spanish tragedie

The Spanish Tragedie, Containing the lamentable end of Don Horatio and Bel Imperia: with the pittiful death of olde Hieronimo. — Newly corrected and amended of such grosse faults as passed in the first impression.
At London Printed by Edward Allde, for Edward White
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Enter the Ghoast of Andrea, and with him Revenge.
When this eternall substance of my soule,
Did live imprisond in my function serving others need,
Echin their function serving others need,
I was a Courtier in the Spanish Court.
My name was Don Andrea, my discent
Though not ignoble, yet inferiour far
To gratious fortunes of my tender youth;
For there in prime and pride of all my yeeres,
By duteous service and deserving love,
In secret I possest a worrhy dame,
Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.
But in the harvest of my sommer ioyes,
Deaths winter nipt the blossomes of my blisse,
Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me.
For in the late conflict with Portingale,
My valour drew me into dangers mouth,
Till life to death made passage through my wounds.
When I was slaine, my soule descended straight,
To passe the flowing streame of Acheron:
But churlish Charon only boatman there,
Said that my rites of buriall not performde,
I might not sit amongst his passengers.
Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis lap,
And slakte his smoaking Charriot in her floud:
By Don Horatio our knight Marshals sonne,
My funerals and obsequies were done.
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Then was the Feriman of hell content,
To passe me over to the slimie strond,
That leades to fell Auernus ougly waves:
There pleasing Cerberus with honied speech,
I past the perils of the sormost porch,
Not farre from hence amidst ten thousand soules,
Sate Minors, Eacus, and Rhadamant,
To whome no sooner gan I make approch.
To crave a pasport for my wandring Ghost:
But Minos in graven leaves of Lotterie,
Drew forth the manner of my life and death.
This knight (quoth he) both liv'd and died in love:
And for his love tried fortune of the warres,
And by warres fortune lost both love and life.
When then said Eacus, convay him hence,
To walke with lovers in our fields of love:
And spend the course of everlasting time,
Under greene mirtle trees and Cipresse shades.
No, no, said Rhadamant, it were not well,
With loving soules to place a Martialist,
He died in warre, and must to martiall fields:
Where wounded Hector lives in lasting paine,
And Achilles mermedons do scoure the plaine.
Then Minos mildest censor of the three,
Made this device to end the difference.
Send him (quoth he) to our infernall King.
To dome him as best seemes his Maiestie:
To this effect my pasport straight was drawne.
In keeping on my was to Plutos Court,
Through dreadfull shades of ever glooming night:
I saw more sights then thousand tongues can tell,
Or pennes write, or mortall harts can think.
Three waies there were, that on the right hand side,
Was ready way unto the foresaid fields,
Where lovers live, and bloudie Martialists,
But either sort containd within his bounds.
The left hand path declining fearfully,
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Was ready downfall to the deepest hell.
Where poore Ixion turnes an endles wheele.
Where Usurers are choakt with melting golde,
And wantons are imbraste with ougly snakes:
And murderers grone with never killing wounds,
And periurde wights scalded in boyling lead,
And all soule sinnes with torments overwhelmd,
Twixt these two waies, I trod the middle path,
Which brought me to the faire Elizian greene.
In midst whereof there standes a stately Towre,
The walles of brasse, the gates of Adamant.
Heere finding Pluto with his Proserpine,
I shewed my pasport humbled on my knee.
Whereat faire Proserpine began to smile,
And begd that onely she might give my doome.
Pluto was pleasd and sealde it with a kisse.
Forthwith (Revenge) she rounded thee in th'eare,
And bad thee lead me through the gates of Hor:
Where dreames have passage in the silent night.
No sooner had she spoke but we were heere,
I wot not how, in twinkling of an eye.
THen know Andrea that thou art ariv'd,
Where thou shalt see the author of thy death:
Don Balthazar the Prince of Portingale,
Depriv'd of life by Bel-imperia:
Heere sit we downe to see the misterie,
And serve for Chorus in this tragedie.
Enter Spanish King, Generall, Castile, Hieronime.
NOw say L. Generall, how fares our Campe?
All wel my soveraigne Liege, except some few,
That are deceast by fortune of the warre.
But what portends thy cheerefull countenance,
And posting to our presence thus in hast?
Speak man, hath fortune given us victorie?
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Victorie my Liege, and that with little losse.
Our Portingals will pay us tribute then.
Tribute and wonted homage there withall.
Then blest be heaven, and guider of the heavens,
From whose faire influence such justice flowes.
O multum dilecte Deo, tibis militat aether,
Et conuratae curitato poplito gentes
Succumbunt: rectifororest victoria iuris.
Thanks to my loving brother of Castile.
But Generall, unfolde in breefe discourse,
Your forme of battell and your warres successe.
That adding all the pleasure of thy newes,
Unto the height of former happines.
With deeper wage and greater dignitie,
We may reward thy blisfull chivalrie.
Where Spaine and Portingale do joyntly knit
Their frontiers, leaning on each others bound:
There met our armies in their proud aray,
Both furnisht well, both full of hope and feare:
Both menacing alike with daring showes,
Both vaunting sundry colours of device,
Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes.
Both raising dreadfull clamors to the skie,
That valleis, hils, and rivers made rebound,
And heaven it selfe was frighted with the sound.
Our battels both were pitcht in squadron forme,
Each borner strongly senst with wings of shot,
But ere we joynd and came to push of Pike,
I brought a squadron of our readiest shot,
From out our rearward to begin the fight,
They brought another wing to incounter us:
Meane while our ordinance plaid on either side,
And Captaines strove to have their valours tride.
Don Pedro their chiefe horsemens Colonell:
Did with his Cornet bravely make attempt,
To break the order of our batteli rankers.
But Don Rogero worthy man of warre,
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Marcht forth against him with our Musketiers,
And stopt the mallice of his fell approch.
While they maintaine hot skirmish too and fro,
Both battailes joyne and fall to handie blowes.
Their violent shot resembling th'oceans rage,
When roaring lowd and with a swelling tide,
It beats upon the rainpiers of huge rocks,
And gapes to swallow neighbour bounding lands.
Now while Bellona rageth heere and there,
Thick stormes of bullets ran like winters haile,
And shivered Launces darke the troubled aire.
Pede pes & citspide cuspis,
Anni sonant annis vir petiturque viro.
On every side drop Captaines to the ground,
And Souldiers some ill maimde, some slaine outright:
Heere falles a body scindred from his head,
There legs and daimes lye bleeding on the grasse,
Mingled with weapons and unboweld steeds:
That scattering over spread the purple plaine.
In all this turmoyle three long houres and more,
The victory to neither part inclinde,
Till Don Andrea with his brave Launciers,
In their maine battell made so great a breach,
That halfe dismaid, the multitude retirde:
But Balthazar the Portingales young Prince,
Brought rescue and encouragde them to stay:
Heere-hence the fight was eagerly renewd,
And in that conflict was Andrea slaine.
Brave man at armes, but weake to Balthazar.
Yet while the Prince insulting over him,
Breathd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproch,
Friendship and hardie valour joynd in one,
Prickt forth Horatio our Knight Marshals sonne,
To challenge forth that Prince in single fight:
Not long betweene these twaine the fight indurde,
But straight the Prince was beaten from his horse,
And forcst to yeeld him prisoner to his foe:
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When he was taken, all the rest they fled,
And our Carbines pursued them to the death,
Till Phoebus waving to the western deepe,
Our Trumpeters were chargde to found retreat.
Thanks good L. Generall for these good newes,
And for some argument of more to come,
Take this and weare it for thy soveraignes sake.
Give him his chaine,
But tell me now, hast thou confirmed a peace?
No peace my Liege, but peace conditionall,
That if with homage tribute be well paid,
The fury of your forces wilbe staide.
And to this peace their Viceroy hath subscirbde.
Give the K. a paper.
And made a solemne vow that during life,
His tribute shalbe truely paid to Spaine.
These words, these deeds, become thy person wel.
But now Knight Marshall frolike with thy King,
For tis thy Sonne that winnes this battels prize.
Long may he live to serve my soveraigne liege,
And soone decay unlesse he serve my liege.
A tucket a farre off.
Not thou nor he shall dye without reward,
What meanes this warning of this trumpets found?
This tels me that your graces men of warre,
Such as warres fortune hath referv'd from death,
Come marching on towards your royall feate,
To show them selves before your Maiestie,
For so I gave in charge at my depart.
Whereby by demonstration shall appeare.
That all (except three hundred or few more)
Are safe returnd and by their foes inricht.
The Armie enters, Balthazar betweene Lorenzo
and Horatio captive.
A gladsome sight, I long to see them heere.
They enter and passe by.
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Was that the warlike Prince of Portingale,
That by our Nephew was in triumph led?
It was my Liege, the Prince of Portingale.
But what was he that on the other side,
Held him by th'arme as partner of the prize?
That was my sonne my gratious soveraigne,
Of whome, though from his tender infancie,
My loving thoughts did never hope but well:
He never pleasd his fathers eyes till now,
Nor fild my hart with overcloying joyes.
Goe let them march once more about these walles,
That staying them we may conferre and talke,
With our brave prisoner and his double guard.
Hieronimo, it greatly pleasethus,
That in our victorie thou have a share,
By vertue of thy worthy sonnes exploit.
Enter againe.
Bring hether the young Prince of Portingale,
The rest march on, but ere they be dismist,
We will bestow on every souldier two duckets,
And on every leader ten, that they may know
Our largesse welcomes them.
Exeunt all but Bal. Lor. Flor.
Welcome Don Balthazar, welcome Nephew,
And thou Horatio thou art welcome too:
Young Prince, although thy fathers hard misdeedes,
In keeping backe the tribute that he owes,
Deserve but evill measure at our hands:
Yet shalt thou know that Spaine is honorable.
The trespasse that my Father made in peace,
Is now controlde by fortune of the warres:
And cards once dealt, it bootes not aske why so,
His men are slaine, a weakening to his Realme,
His colour ceaz'd, a blot unto his name,
His Sonne distrest, a corsive to his hart,
These punishments may cleare his late offence.
I Balthazar, if he observe this truce,
Our peace will grow the stronger for these warres;
Meane while live thou though not in libertie,
Yet free from bearing any servile yoake.
For in our hearing thy deserts were great,
And in our sight thy selfe art gratious.
And I shall studie to deserve this grace.
But tell me, for their holding makes me doubt,
To which of these twaine art thou prisoner.
To me my Liege.
To me my Soveraigne.
This hand first tooke his courser by the raines.
But first my launce did put him from his horse.
I ceaz'd his weapon and enjoyde it first.
But first I forc'd him lay his weapons downe,
Let goe his arme upon our priviledge.
Let him goe.
Say worthy Prince, to whether didst thou yeeld?
To him in curtesie, to this perforce:
He spake me faire, this other gave me strokes:
He promisde life, this other threatned death:
He wan my love, this other conquerd me:
And truth to say I yeeld my selfe to both.
But that I know your grace for just and wise,
And might seeme partiall in this difference,
Inforct by nature and by law of armes,
My tongue should plead for young Horatios right.
He hunted well that was a Lyons death,
Not he that in a garment wore his skin:
So Hares may pull dead Lyons by the beard.
Content thee Marshall thou shalt have no wrong,
And for thy sake thy Sonne shall want no right.
Will both abide the censure of my doome?
I crave no better then your grace awards.
Nor I, although I sit beside my right.
Then by my judgement thus your strife shall end,
You both deserve and both shall have reward.
Nephew, thou tookst his weapon and his horse,
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His weapons and his horse are thy reward.
Horatio thou didst force him first to yeeld,
His ransome therefore is thy valours fee:
Appoint the sum as you shall both agree.
But Nephew thou shalt have the Prince in guard,
For thine estate best fitteth such a guest.
Horatios house were small for all his traine,
Yet in regarde thy substance passeth his,
And that just guerdon may befall desert,
To him we yeeld the armour of the Prince.
How likes Don Balthazar of this device?
Right well my Liege, if this provizo were,
That Don Horatio beare us company,
Whome I admire and love for chivalrie.
Horatio leave him not that loves thee so,
Now let us hence to see our souldiers paide,
And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest.
Enter Viceroy, Alexandro, Villuppo.
Is our embassadour dispatcht for Spaine?
Two daies (my Liege) are past since his depart.
And tribute paiment gone along with him?
I my good Lord.
Then rest we heere a while in our unrest.
And feed our sorrowes with some inward sighes,
For deepest cares break never into teares.
But wherefore sit I in a Regall throne,
This better fits a wretches endles moane.
Yet this is higher then my fortuues reach,
And therefore better then my state deserves.
Falles to the ground.
I, I, this earth, Image of mellancholly,
Seeks him whome fates adjudge to miserie:
Heere let me lye, now am I at the lowest.
Qui iacet in terranon baket unde cadat,
In me consumpsit vir es fortuna nocendo,
Nil superest vt iam pofsit obesse magis.
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Yes, Fortune may bereave me of my Crowne:
Heere take it now, let Fortune doe her worst,
She will not rob me of this sable weed,
O no, she envies none but pleasant things,
Such is the folly of dispightfull chance:
Fortune is blinde and sees not my deserts,
So is she deafe and heares not my laments:
And could she heare, yet is she wilfull mad,
And therefore will not pittie my distresse.
Suppose that she could pittie me, what then?
What helpe can be expected at her hands?
Whose foot standing on a rowling stone,
And minde more mutable then tickle windes.
Why waile I then wheres hope of no redresse?
O yes, complaining makes my greefe seeme lesse.
My late ambition hath distaind my faith,
My breach of faith occasioned bloudie warres,
Those bloudie warres have spent my treasure,
And with my treasure my peoples blood,
And with their blood, my joy and best beloved,
My best beloved, my sweet and onely Sonne.
O wherefore went I not to warre my selfe?
The cause was mine I might have died for both:
My yeeres were mellow, his but young and greene,
My death were naturall, but his was forced.
No doubt my Liege but still the Prince survives.
Survives, I where?
In Spaine, a prisoner by mischance of warre.
Then they have slaine him for his fathers fault.
That were a breach to common law of armes.
They recke no lawes that meditate revenge.
His ransomes worth will stay from soule revenge.
No, if he lived newes would soone be heere.
Nay evill newes flie fasher full than good.
Tell me no more of newes, for he is dead.
My soveraign pardon the Author of iil newes,
And Ile bewray the fortune of thy Sonne.
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Speake on, Ile guerdon thee what ere it be,
Mine eare is ready to receive ill newes,
My hart growne hard gainst mischiefes battery,
Stand up I say and tell thy tale at large.
Then heare that truth which these mine eies have seene.
When both the armies were in battell joynd,
Don Balthazar amidst the thickest troupes,
To winne renowne, did wondrous feats of armes:
Amongst the rest I saw him hand to hand
In single sight with their Lord Generall.
Till Alexandro that heere counterfeits,
Under the colour of a duteous freend,
Discharged his Pistoll at the Princes back,
As though he would have slaine their Generall.
But therwithall Don Balthazar fell downe:
And when he fell then we began to flie,
But had he lived the day had sure bene ours.
O wicked forgerie: O traiterous miscreant.
Holde thou thy peace, but now Villuppo say,
Where then became the carkasse of my Sonne?
I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.
I, I, my nightly dreames have tolde me this:
Thou false, unkinde, unthankfull traiterous beast,
Wherein had Balthazar offended thee,
That thou shouldst thus betray him to our foes?
Wast Spanish golde that bleared so thine eyes,
That thou couldst see no part of our deserts?
Perchance because thou art Terseraes Lord,
Thou hadst some hope to weare this Diadome,
If first my Sonne and then my selfe were slaine:
But thy ambitious thought shall breake thy neck.
I, this was it that made thee spill his bloud,
Take the crowne and put it on againe.
But Ile now weare it till thy bloud be split.
Vouchsafe (dread Soveraigne to heare me speak.
Away with him, his sight is second hell,
Keepe him till we determine of his death.
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If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live.
Villupo follow us for thy reward.
Exit Vice.
Thus have I with an envious forged tale,
Deceived the King, betraid mine enemy,
And hope for guerdon of my villany.
Enter Horatio and Bel-imperia.
Signior Horatio, this is the place and houre,
Wherein I must intreat thee to relate,
The circumstance of Don Andreas death:
Who living was my garlands sweetest flower,
And in his death hath buried my delights.
For love of him and service to your selfe,
I nill refuse this heavy dolefull charge.
Yet teares and sighes, I feare will hinder me.
When both our Armies were enjoynd in fight.
Your worthie chivalier amidst the thikst,
For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest,
Was at the last by yong Don Balthazar,
Encountred hand to hand: their fight was long,
Their harts were great, their clamours menacing.
Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous.
But wrathfull Nemesis that wicked power,
Enuying at Andreas praise and worth,
Cut short his life to end his praise and woorth.
She, she her selfe disguisde in armours maske.
(As Pallas was before proud Pergamus:)
Brought in a fresh supply of Halberdiers,
Which pauncht his horse and dingd him to the ground,
Then yong Don Balthazar with ruthles rage,
Taking advantage of his foes distresse,
Did finish what his Halberdiers begun,
And left not till Andreas life was done.
Then though too late incenst with just remorce,
I with my band set foorth against the Prince,
And brought him prisoner from his Halberdiers.
Would thou hadst slaine him that so flew my love.
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But then was Don Andreas carkasse lost?
No, that was it for which I cheefely strove,
Nor slept I back till I recouerd him.
I tooke him up and wound him in mine armes.
And welding him unto my private tent,
There laid him downe and dewd him with my teares,
And sighed and sorrowed as became a freend.
But neither freendly sorrow, sighes nor teares,
Could win pale death from his usurped right.
Yet this I did and lesse I could not doe:
I saw him honoured with due funerall,
This scarse I pluckt from off his liveles arme,
And weare it in remembrance of my freend.
I know the scarfe, would he had kept it still,
For had he lived he would have kept it still,
And worne it for his Bel-imperias fake:
For twas my favour at his last depart.
But now weare thou it both for him and me,
For after him thou hast deserve it best,
But for thy kindnes in his life and death,
Be sure while Bel-imperias life endures,
She will be Don Horatios thankfull freend.
And (Madame) Don Horatio will not slacke,
Humbly to serve faire Bel-imperia.
But now if your good liking stand thereto,
Ile crave your pardon to goe seeke the Prince,
For so the Duke your father gave me charge.
I, goe Horatio, leave me heere alone,
For sollitude best sits my cheereles mood:
Yet what availes to waile Andreas death,
From whence Horatio proves my second love?
Had he not loved Andrea as he did,
He could not sit in Bel-imperias thoughts.
But how can love finde harbour in my brest,
Till I revenge the death of my beloved.
Yes, second love shall further my revenge.
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Ile love Horatio Andreas freend,
The more to spight the Prince that wrought his end:
And where Don Balthazar that flew my love,
Himselfe now pleades for favour at my hands,
He shall in rigour of my just disdaine,
Reape long repentance for his murderous deed:
For what wast els but murderous cowardise,
So many to oppresse one valiant knight,
Without respect of honour in the sight?
And heere he comes that murdred my delight.
Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.
Sister, what meanes this melancholie walke?
That for a while I wish no company.
But heere the Prince is come to visite you,
That argues that he lives in libertie.
No Madame, but in pleasing servitude.
Your prison then belike is your conceit.
I by conceit my freedome is enthralde,
Then with conceite enlarge your selfe againe,
What if conceite have laid my hart to gage?
Pay that you borrowed and recoverit.
I die if it returne from whence it lyes.
A hartles man and live? A miracle.
I Lady, love can worke such miracles.
Tush, tush my Lord, let goe these ambages,
And in plaine tearmes acquaint her with your love.
What bootes complaint, when thers no remedy?
Yes, to your gratious selfe must I complaine,
In whose faire answere lyes my remedy,
On whose perfection all my thoughts attend,
On whose aspect mine eyes finde beauties bowre,
In whose translucent brest my hart is lodgde.
Alas my Lord these are hut words of course,
And but devise to drive me from this place.
She in going in, lets fall her Glove, which Horatio coming out takes up.
Madame, your Glove.
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Thanks good Horatio, take it for thy paines.
Signior Horatio stoopt in happie time.
I reapt more grace then I deserv'd or hop'd.
My Lord, be not dismaid for what is past,
You know that women oft are humerous:
These clouds will overblow with little winde.
Let me alone, Ile scatter them my selfe:
Meane while let us devise to spend the time,
In some delightfull sports and revelling.
The King my Lords is comming hither straight,
To feast the Portingall Embassadour,
Things were in readines before I came.
Then heere it fits us to attend the King,
To welcome hither our Embassadour,
And learne my Father and my Countries health.
Enter the banquet, Trumpets, the King and Embassadour.
See Lord Embassador, how Spaine intreats
Their prisoner Balthazar, thy Viceroyes Sonne:
We pleasure more in kindenes then in warres.
Sad is our King, and Portingale laments,
Supposing that Don Balthazar is slaine.
So am I slaine by beauties tirannie,
You see my Lord how Balthazar is slaine.
I frolike with the Duke of Castiles Sonne,
Wrapt every houre in pleasures of the Court,
And graste with favours of his Majestie.
Put off your greetings till our feast be done,
Now come and sit with us and taste our cheere.
Sit to the banquet.
Sit downe young Prince, you are our second guest:
Brother sit downe, and Nephew take your place,
Signior Horatio waite thou upon our cup,
For well thou hast deserved to be honored.
Now Lordings fall too, Spaine is Portugall,
And Portugall is Spaine, we both are freends,
Tribute is paid, and we enjoy our right.
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But where is olde Hieronimo our Marshall,
He promised us in honor of our guest,
To grace our banquet with some pompous jest.
Enter Hieronimo with a Drum, three Knights, each his Scut-
chin, then he fetches three Kings, they take their Crownes and them captive.
Hieronimo, this maske contents mine eie,
Although I found not well the misterie,
The first arm'd Knight that hung his Scutchin up,
He takes the Scuthin and gives it to the King.
Was English Robert Earle of Glocester,
Who when king Stephen bore sway in Albion,
Arrived with five and twenty thousand men,
In Portingale, and by successe of warre,
Enforced the King then but a Sarasin,
To beare the yoake of the English Monarchie.
My Lord of Portingale, by this you see,
That which may comfort both your King and you,
And make your late discomfort seeme the lesse.
But say Hieronimo, what was the next?
The second Knight that hung his Scutchin up,
He doth as he did before.
Was Edmond Earle of Kent in Albion,
When English Richard wore the Diadem.
He came likewise and razed Lisbon walles,
And tooke the King of Portingale in sight:
For which, and other such like service done,
He after was created Duke of Yorke.
This is another speciall argument,
That Portingale may daine to beare our yoake,
When it by little England hath beene yoakt:
But now Hieronimo what were the last?
The third and last not least in our account,
Dooing as before.
Was as the rest a valiant Englishman,
Brave John of Gaunt the Duke of Lancaster.
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As by his Scutchin plainely may appeare.
He with a puissant armie came to Spaine,
And tooke our King of Castile prisoner.
This is an argument for our Viceroy,
That Spaine may not insult for her successe,
Since English warriours likewise conquered Spaine,
And made them bow their knees to Albion.
Hieronimo, I drinke to thee for this devise.
Which hath pleasde both the Embassador and me:
Pledge me Hieronomo, if thou love the King.
Takes the Cup of Horatio.
My Lord, I feare we sit but over-long.
Unlesse our dainties were more delicate.
But welcome are you to the best we have.
Now let us in that you may be dispatcht,
I think our councell is already set.
Exeunt omnes.
Come we for this from depth of under ground,
To see him feast that gave me my deaths wound?
These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soule,
Nothing but league, and love and banqueting?
Be still Andrea ere we goe from hence,
Ile turne their freendship into fell despight,
Their love to mortall hate, their day to night,
Their hope into dispaire, their peace to warre,
Their joyes to paine, their blisse to miserie.

2. Actus Secundus.

Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.
MY Lord, though Bel-imperia seeme thus coy,
Let reason holde you in your wonted joy:
[Page C2r]
In time the savage Bull sustaines the yoake,
In time all haggard Hawkes will stoope to lure,
In time small wedges cleave the hardest Oake,
In time the flint is pearst with foftest shower,
And she in time will fall from her disdaine,
And rue the sufferance of your freendly paine.
No, she is wilder and more hard withall,
Then beast, or bird, or tree, or stony wall.
But wherefore blot I Bel-imperias name?
It is my fault, not she that merites blame.
My feature is not to content her sight,
My wodres are rude and worke her no delight.
The lines I send her are but harsh and ill,
Such as doe drop from Pan and Marsias quill.
My presents are not of sufficient cost,
And being worthles all my labours loft.
Yet might she love me for my valiancie,
I but thats slaundred by captivitie.
Yet might she love me to content her fire:
I but her reason masters his desire.
Yet might she love me as her brothers freend,
I, but her hopes aime at some other end.
Yet might she love me to upreare her state,
I, but perhaps she hopes some nobler mate.
Yet might she love me as her beauteous thrall,
I, but I feare she cannot love at all.
My Lord, for my sake leave these extasies,
And doubt not but weele finde some remedie,
Some cause there is that lets you not be loved:
First that must needs be knowne and then removed.
What if my Sister love some other Knight?
My sommers day will turne to winters night,
I have already found a stratageme,
To found the bottome of this doubtfull theame,
My Lord, for once you shall be rulde by me,
Hinder me not what ere you heare or see.
By force or fure meanes will I cast about,
[Page C3]
To finde the truth of all this question out.
Ho Pedringano.
Vien que presto.
Enter Pedringano.
Hath your Lordship any service to command me?
I Pedringano service of import:
And not to spend the time in trifling words,
Thus stands the case; it is not long thou knowst,
Since I did shield thee from my fathers wrath,
For thy conveiance in Andreas love:
For which thou wert adiudg'd to punishment.
I stood betwixt thee and thy punishment:
And since, thou knowest how I have favoured thee.
Now to these favours will I adde reward,
Not with faire woords, but store of golden coyne,
And lands and living joynd with dignities,
If thou but satisfie my just demaund.
Tell truth and have me for thy lasting freend.
What ere it be your Lordship shall demaund,
My bounden duety bids me tell the truth.
If case it lye in me to tell the truth.
Then Pedringano this is my demaund,
Whome loves my sister Bel-imperia?
For the reposeth all her trust in thee:
Speak man and gaine both freendship and reward,
I meane, whome loves she in Andreas place?
Alas my Lord, since Don Andreas death,
I have no credit with her as before,
And therefore know not if she love or no.
Nay if thou dally then I am thy foe,
And feare shall force what frendship cannot winne.
Thy death shall bury what thy life conceales.
Thou dyest for more esteeming her then me.
Oh stay my Lord.
Yet speak the truth and I will guerdon thee,
And shield thee from what ever can ensue.
[Page C3v]
And will conceale what ere proceeds from thee,
But if thou dally once againe, thou diest.
If Madame Bel-imperia be in love.
What villaine ifs and ands?
O stay my Lord, she loves Horatio.
Balthazar starts back.
What Don Horatio our Knight Marshals sonne?
Even him my Lord.
Now say, but how knowest thou he is her love?
And thou shalt finde me kinde and liberall:
Stand up I say, and feareles tell the truth.
She sent him letters which my selfe perusde,
Full fraught with lines and arguments of love,
Preferring him before Prince Balthazar.
Sweare on this crosse, that what thou saiest is true,
And that thou wilt conseale what thou hast tolde.
I sweare to both by him that made us all.
In hope thine oath is true, heeres thy reward,
But if I prove thee periurde and unjust,
This very sword whereon thou tookst thine oath,
Shall be the worker of thy tragedie.
What I have saide is true, and shall for me,
Be still conceald from Bel-imperia.
Besides your Honors liberalitie,
Deserves my duteous service, even till death.
Let this be all that thou shalt doe for me,
Be watchfull when, and where these lovers meete,
And give me notice in some secret sort.
I will my Lord.
Then shalt thou finde that I am liberall,
Thou knowst that I can more advaunce thy state
Then she, be therefore wise and faile me not.
Goe and attend her as thy custome is,
Least absence make her think thou doost amisse.
Exit Pedringano.
Why so: Tam armis quam ingenio:
Where words prevaile not, violence prevailes.
[Page C4]
But golde doth more then either of them both.
How likes Prince Balthazar this stratageme?
Both well, and ill: it makes me glad and sad:
Glad, that I know the hinderer of my love,
Sad, that I feare she hates me whome I love.
Glad, that I know on whom to be reveng'd,
Sad, that sheele flie me if I take revenge.
Yet must I take revenge or dye my selfe,
For love resisted growes impatient.
I think Horatio be my destinde plague,
First in his hand he brandished a sword,
And with that sword he fiercely waged warre,
And in that warre he gave me dangerous wounds,
And by those wounds he forced me to yeeld,
And by my yeelding I became his slave.
Now in his mouth he carries pleasing words,
Which pleasing wordes doe harbour sweet conceits,
Which sweet conceits are lim'd with flie deceits,
Which flie deceits smooth Bel-imperias eares,
And through her eares dive downe into her hart,
And in her hart set him where I should stand.
Thus hath he tane my body by his force,
And now by sleight would captivate my soule:
But in his fall ile tempt the destinies,
And either loose my life, or winne my love.
Lets goe my Lord, your staying staies revenge,
Doe you but follow me and gaine your love,
Her favour must be wonne by his remoove.
Enter Horatio and Bel-imperia.
Now Madame, since by favour of your love,
Our hidden smoke is turnd to open flame:
And that with lookes and words we feed our though.
Two chiefe contents, where more cannot be had.
Thus in the midst of loves faire blandishments,
Why shew you signe of inward languishments.
[Page C4v]
Pedringano sheweth all to the Prince and Lorenzo, placing them in secret.
My hart (sweet freend) is like a ship at sea,
She wisheth port, where riding all at ease,
She mad repaire what stormie times have worne:
And leaning on the shore may sing with joy,
That pleasure followes paine, and blisse annoy.
Possession of thy love is th'onely port,
Wherein my hart with feares and hopes long tost,
Each howre doth wish and long to make resort,
There to repaire the joyes that it hath lost:
And sitting safe to sing in Cupids quire,
That sweetest blisse is crowne of loves desire.
Balthazar above.
O sleepe mine eyes, see not my love prophande,
Be deafe my eares, heare not my discontent,
Dye hart, another joyes what thou deservest.
Watch still mine eyes, to see this love disioynd,
Heare still mine eares, to heare them both lament,
Live hart to joy at fond Horatio fall.
Why stands Horatio speecheles all this while?
The lesse I speak, the more I meditate.
But whereon doost thou chiefely meditate?
On dangers past, and pleasures to ensue.
On pleasure past, and dangers to ensue.
What dangers, and what pleasures doost thou mean?
Dangers of warre, and pleasures of our love.
Dangers of death, but pleasures none at all.
Let dangers goe, thy warre shall be with me,
But such a warring as breakes no bond of peace.
Speak thou faire words, ile crosse them with faire words,
Send thou sweet looks, ile meet them with sweet looks,
Write loving lines, ile answere loving lines,
Give me a kisse, ile counterchecke thy kisse,
Be this our warring peace, or peacefull warre.
But gratious Madame, then appoint the field,
Where traill of this warre shall first be made.
[Page D1]
Ambitious villaine, how his boldenes growes?
Then be thy fathers pleasant bower the field,
Where first we vowd a mutuall amitie:
The Court were dangerous, that place is safe:
Our howre shalbe when Vesper ginnes to rise,
That summons home distresfull travellers.
There none shall heare us but the harmeles birds,
Happelie the gentle Nightingale,
Shall carroll us a sleepe ere we be ware.
And singing with the prickle at her breast,
Tell our delight and mirthfull dalliance.
Till then each houre will seeme a yeere and more.
But honie sweet, and honorable love.
Returne we now into your fathers sight,
Dangerous suspition waits on our delight.
I, danger mixt with iealous despite,
Shall send thy soule into eternall night. Exeunt.
Enter King of Spaine, Portingale Embassadour. Dou Ciprian, Etc.
Brother of Castile, to the Princes loue:
What saies your daughter Bel-imperia?
Although she coy it as becomes her kinde,
And yet dissemble that she loues the Prince:
I doubt not I, but she will stoope in time.
And were she froward, which she will not be,
Yet herein shall she follow my aduice,
Which is to loue him or forgoe my loue.
Then Lord Embassadour of Portingale,
Aduise thy King to make this marriage up,
For strengthening of out late confirmed league,
I know no better meanes to make us freends.
Her dowry shall be large and liberall,
Besides that, she is daughter and halfe heire,
Unto Our brother heere Don Cipim,
And shall enioy the moitie of his land.
Ile grace her marriage with an unckles gift.
[Page D1r]
And this it is, in case the match goe forward,
The tribute which you pay shal be releast,
And if by Balthazar she have a Sonne,
He shall enjoy the kingdome after us.
Ile make the motion to my soveraigne Liege,
And worke it if my counsaile may prevaile.
Doe so my Lord, and if he give consent,
I hope his presence heere will honour us.
In celebration of the nuptiall day,
And let himselfe determine of the time.
Wilt please your grace command me ought besid?
Commend me to the King, and so farewell.
But wheres Prince Balthazar To take his leave?
That is perfourmd alreadie my good Lord.
Amongst the rest of what you have in charge,
The Princes raunsome must not be forgot:
Thats none of mine, but his that tooke him prisoner,
And well for his forwardnes deserues reward.
In was Horatio our Knight Marshals sonne.
Betweene us theres a price already pitcht.
And shall be sent with all conuenient speed.
Then once againe farewell my Lord.
Farwell my Lord of Castile and the rest.
Now brother, you must take some little paines,
To winne faire Bel-imperia from her will:
Young Virgins must be ruled by their freends,
The Prince is amiable and loves her well,
If she neglect him and forgoe his love,
She both will wrong her owne estate and ours:
Therefore whiles I doe entertaines the Prince,
With greatest pleasure that our Court affoords,
Endevour you to winne your daughters thoughts,
Is she give back, all this will come to naught. Exeunt.
Enter Horatio, Bel-imperia, and Pedringano.
Now that the night begins with sable wings,
To over-cloud the brightnes of the Sunne,
[Page D2]
And that in darknes pleasures may be done:
Come Bel-imperia let us to the bower,
And there is safetie passe a pleasant hower.
I follow thee my love, and will not backe,
Although my fainting hart controles my soule.
Why, make you doubt of Pedringanos faith?
No he is as trustie as my second selfe.
Goe Pedringano watch without the gate,
And let us know if any make approch.
In steed of watching ile deserve more golde,
By fetching Don Lorenzo to this match.
Exit Ped.
What meanes my love?
I know not what my selfe:
And yet my hart foretels mesome mischaunce.
Sweet say not so, faire fortune is our freend,
And hevens haue shut up day to pleasure us.
The starre thou seest holde back their twinckling shine,
And Luna hides her slefe to pleasure us.
Thou hast prevailde, ile conquer my misdoubt,
And in thy love and councell drowne my feare:
I feare no more, love now is all my thoughts,
Why sit we nat, for pleasure asketh case?
The more thou fitst within these leauy boweers,
The more will Flora decke it with her flowers.
I but if Flora spye Horatio heere,
Her jealous eye will think I fit too neere.
Harke Madame how the birds record by night,
For joy that Bel-imperia sits in sight.
No Cupid counterfeits the Nightingale,
To frame sweet musick to Horatios tale.
If Cupid sing, then Venus is not farre,
I thou art Venus or some fairer starre.
If I be Venus thou must needs be warre.
Then thus begin our wars put forth thy hand,
That it may combat with my ruder hand.
Set forth thy foot to try the push of mine.
[Page D2v]
But first my lookes shall combat against thine.
Then ward thy selfe, I dart this kisse at thee.
Thus I retort the dart thou threwst at me.
Nay then to gaine the glory of the field,
My twining armes shall yoake and make thee yeeld.
Nay then my armes are large and strong with
Thus Elmes by vines are compast till they fall.
O let me goe, for in my troubled eyes,
Now maist thou read that life in passion dies.
O stay a while and I will dye with thee,
So shalt thou yeeld, and yet haue conquered me.
Whose there Pedringano? we are betraide.
Enter Lorenzo, Balthazar, Cerberin, Pedringano, disguised.
My Lord away with her, take her aside,
O sir forbeare, your valour is already tride.
Quickly dispatch my maisters.
Thy hang him in the Arbor.
What will you murder me?
I thus, and thus, these are the fruits of love.
They stab him.
O save his life and let me dye for him,
O save him brother, save him Balthazar:
I loved Horatio but he loved not me.
But Balthazur loves Bel-imperia.
Although his life were still ambituous proud,
Yet is heat the highest now he is dead.
Murder, murder, helpe Hieronimo helpe.
Come stop her mouth away with her. Exeunt.
Enter Hierenimo in his shirt &c.
What outcries pluck me from my naked bed,
And chill my throbbing hart with trembling feare,
Which never danger yet could daunt before.
Who cals Hieronimo? speak, heere I am:
I did not slumber, therefore twas no dreame,
[Page D3]
No, no, it was some woman cride for helpe,
And heere within this garden did she crie.
And in this garden must I rescue her:
But stay, what murdrous spectacle is this?
A man hangd up and all the murderers gone
And in my bower to lay the guilt on me:
This place was made for pleasure not for death.
He cuts him downe.
Those garments that he weares I oft have seene,
Alas it is Horatio my sweet sonne.
O no, but he that whilome was my sonne,
O was it thou that call'dst me from my bed,
O speak if any sparke of life remaine.
I am thy Father, who hath slaine my sonne?
What savadge monster. not of humane kinde,
Hath heere beene glutted with thy harmeles blood?
And left thy bloudie coupes dishonoured heere,
For me amidst this darke and deathfull shades,
To drowne thee with an ocean of my teares.
O heavens, why made you night to cover sinne?
By day this deed of darkenes had not beene.
O earth why didst thou not in time devoure,
The vilde prophaner of this sacred bower.
O poore Horatio, what hadst thou misdoone?
To leese thy life ere life was new begun.
O wicked butcher what so ere thou wert,
How could thou strangle vertue and desert?
Ay me most wretched that have lost my joy,
In leesing my Horatio my sweet boy.
Enter Isabell.
My husbands absence makes my hart to throb,
Heere Isabella, helpe me to lament,
For sighes are stopt, and all my teares are spent.
What world of griefe, my sonne Horatio?
O wheres the author of this endles woe.
[Page D3v]
To know the author were some ease of greefe,
For in revenge my hart would finde releese.
Then is he gone? and is my sonne gone too?
O gush out teares, fountains and Houds of teares,
Blow sighes and raise an everlasting storme.
For outrage sits our cursed wretchednes.
Sweet lovely Rose, ill pluckt before thy time,
Faire worthy sonne, not conquerd but betraid:
Ile kisse thee now, for words with teares are stainde.
And ile close up the glasses of his sight,
For once these eyes were onely my delight,
Seest thou this handkercher besinerd with blood,
It shall not from me till I take revenge:
Seest thou thoss wounds that yet are bleeding fresh,
Ile not intombe them till I have reveng'd:
Then will I joy amidst my discontent,
Till then my sorrow never shalbe spent.
The heavens are just, murder cannot be hid,
Time is the author both of truth and right.
And time will bring this trehcerie to light.
Meane while good Isabella cease thy plaints,
Or at the least dissemble them a while,
So shall we sooner finde the practice out,
And learne by whom all this was brought about.
Come Isabell now let us take him up,
They take him up.
And beare him in from out this cursed place,
Ile say his dirge, singing fits not this case.
O alquis mihi quas plucbrum var educot herbas.
Hiero sets his brest unto his sword.
Misceat & nostro detur, medicina dolori:
Aut siquisaciunt annum oblimia succos,
Prebeat, ipse metum magnam quicunque per orbem,
Gramina Sol pulchras as effecit in luminis oras.
Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneri,
Quicquid & irranieuecaca menia nectit.
Omnis perpetiar, letbum quoque dum semelomnis,
[Page D4]
Noster in extincto moriatur pectora sensu:
Ergo tuos occulos nunquam (mea vita) vi debo.
Et tua perpetuus sepeliuit lumina somnus:
Emoriar tecum Sic, sic iuuat ire sub umbras,
Attamen absitam properato cedere letbo,
Ne mortem vindictatuam tam nulla sequatur.
Heere he throwes it from him and beares the body away.
Broughtst thou me hether to increase my paine?
I lookt that Balthazar should have been slaine:
But tis my freend Horatio that is slaine,
And they abuse faire Bel-imperia.
Or whom I doted more then all the world,
Because she lov'd me more then all the world.
Thou talkest of harvest when the corne is greene,
The end is crowne of every worke well done:
The Sickle comes not till the corne be ripe.
Be still, and ere I lead thee from this place,
Ile shew thee Balthazar in heavy case.

3. Actus Tertius.

Enter Vicery of Portingale, Nobles, Alexan-
dro, Villisppo.
Infortunate condition of Kings,
Seated amidst so many helpeles doubts:
First we are plast upon extreamest height,
And oft supplanted with exceeding heat,
But ever subject to the wheele of chance?
And at our highest never joy we so,
As we both doubt and dread our overthrow.
So strivet not the waves with sundry winds,
As fortune toyleth in the affaires of kings,
[Page D4r]
That would be feard, yet feare to be beloved,
Sith feare or love to Kings is flatterie:
For instance Lordings, look upon your King,
By hate deprived of his dearest sonne,
The onely hope of our successive line.
I had not thought that Alexandros hart,
Had beene envenomde with such extreame hate:
But now I see that words have severall workes,
And theres no credit in the countenance.
No, for my Lord, had you behelde the traine,
That sained love had coloured in his lookes,
When he in campe consorted Balthazar:
Farre more inconstant had you thought the Sunne,
That howerly coasts the center of the earth,
Then Alexandros purpose to the Prince.
No more Villuppo, thou hast said enough,
And with thy words thou slaiest our wounded thoughts.
Nor shall I longer dally with the world:
Procrastinating Alexandros death:
Goe some of you and fetch the traitor forth,
That as he is condemned he may dye.
Enter Alexandro with a Noble man
and Halberts.
In such extreames, will nought but patience serve.
But in extreames, what patience shall I use?
Nor discontents it me to leave the world,
With whome there nothing can prevaile but wrong.
Yet hope the best.
Tis Heaven is my hope.
As for the earth it is too much infect,
To yeeld me hope of any of her mould.
Why linger ye? bring forth that daring seend,
And let him die for his accursed deed
Not that I feare the extreamtie of death,
For Nobles cannot stoop to servile feare.
Doo I (O King) thus discontented live.
[Page E1]
But this, O this torments my labouring soule,
That thus I die suspected of a sinne,
Whereof, as heavens have knowne my secret thoughts,
So am I free from this suggestion.
No more I say, to the tortures, when?
Binde him, and burne his body in those flames,
They binde him to the stake.
That shall prefigure those unquenched fiers,
Of Phlegiton prepared for his soule.
My guiltles death will be aveng'd on thee,
On thee Villuppo that hath malisde thus,
Or for thy meed, hast falsely me accnsde.
Ile lend a hand to send thee to the lake,
Where those thy words shall perish with thy workes,
Injurious traitour, monstrous homicide.
Enter Embassadour.
Stay hold a while, and heer with pardon of his Maiestie,
Lay hands upon Villuppo.
Embassadour, what news hath urg'd this sodain entrance?
Know soveraigne L. that Balthazar doth live.
What saiest thou? liveth Balthazar our sonne?
Your highnes sonne, L. Balthazar doth live.
And well intreated in the Court of Spaine:
Humbly commends him to your Majestie.
These eies beheld, and these my followers,
With these the letters of the Kings commends.
Gives him Letters.
Are happie witnesses of his highnes health.
The King lookes on the letters, and proceeds.
Thy sonne doth live, your tribute is receiv'd,
Thy peace is made, and we are satisfied:
The rest resolve upon as things proposde,
For both our honors and thy benefite.
These are his highnes farther articles
He gives him more Letters,
Accursed wretch to intimate these ills,
[Page E1v]
Against the life and reputation
Of noble Alexandro come my Lord unbinde him.
Let him unbinde thee that is bound to death,
To make a quitall for thy discontent.
They unbinde him.
Dread Lord, in kindenes you could do no lesse,
Upon report of such a damned fact:
But thus we see our innocence hath sav'd,
The hopeles life which thou Villuppo fought,
By thy suggestions to have massacred.
Say false Villuppo? wherefore didst thou thus
Faisly betray Lord Alexandros life?
Him whom thou knowest, that no unkindenes els,
But even the slaughter of our deerest sonne,
Could once have moved us to have misconceaved.
Say trecherous Villuppo, tell the King,
Or wherein hath Alexandro used thee ill?
Rent with remembrance of so soule a deed,
My guiltie soule submits me to thy doome:
For not for Alexandros injuries,
But, for reward, and hope to be preferd:
Thus have I shamelesly hazarded his life,
Which villaine shalbe ransomed with thy deeth,
And not so meane a torment as we heere
Devisde for him, who thou saidst flew our sonne:
But with the bitterest torments and extreames,
That may be yet invented for thine end:
Alex. seemes to intreat.
Intreat me not, goe take the traitor hence.
Exit Vil
And Alexandro let us honor thee,
With publique notice of thy loyaltie,
To end those things articulated heere,
By our great our councell will delibrate,
Come Alexandro keepe us company.
Enter Hieronimo.
Oh eies, no eies but fountains fraught with teares,
[Page E2]
Oh life, no life, but lively fourme of death:
Oh world, no world but masse of publique wrongs.
Confusde heavens, if this unhallowed deed,
If this inhumane and barberous attempt,
If this incompaeble murder thus,
Of mine, but now no more my sonne,
Shall unreveald and unrevenged passe,
How should we tearme your dealings to be just,
If you uniustly deale with those, that in your justice trust.
The night sad secretary to my mones,
With direfull visions wake my vexed soule,
And with the wounds of my distresfull sonne,
Solicite me for notice of his death.
The ougly feends do sally forth of hell,
And frame my steps to unfrequented paths,
And feare my hart with fierce inflamed thoughts.
The cloudie day my discontents records,
Early begins to regester my dreames,
And drive me forth to seeke the murtherer,
Eies, life, world, heavens, hel, night and day,
See, search, shew, send, some man,
Some meane, that may:
A Letter falleth.
Whats heere? a letter, tush, it is not so,
A Letter written to Hieronimo. Red incke.
For want of incke receive this bloudie writ,
Me hath my haples brother hid from thee,
Revenge thy selfe on Balthazar and him,
For these were they that murdred thy Sonne.
Hieronimo, revenge Horatio death,
And better fare then Bel-imperia doth.
What meanes this unexpected miracle?
My Sonne slaine by Lorenzo and the Prince.
What cause had they Horatio to maligne?
Or what might moove thee Bel-imperia,
To accuse thy brother, had he beene the meane?
[Page E2v]
Hieronimo beware, thou art betraide,
And to intrap thy life this traine is laide.
Advise thee therefore, be not credulous:
This is devised to endanger thee,
That thou by this Lorenzo shouldst accuse,
And he for thy dishonour done, should draw
Thy life in question; and thy name in hate.
Deare was the life of my beloved Sonne,
And of his death behoves me be reveng'd:
Then hazard not thine owne Hieronimo,
But live t'effect thy resolution.
I therefore will by circumstances trie,
What I can gather to confirme this writ,
And barkning neere the Duke of Castiles house,
Close if I can with Belimperia,
To listen more, but nothing to bewray.
Enter Pedringano.
Now Pedringano.
Now Hieronimo.
Wheres thy Lady?
I know not, heers my Lord.
Enter Lorenzo.
How now, whose this, Hieronimo?
My Lord.
He asketh for my Lady Bel-imperia.
What to doo Hieronimo? The Duke my father hath
Upon some disgrace a while remoov'd her hence,
But if it be ought I may enforme her of,
Tell me Hieronimo, and ile let her know it.
Nay, nay my Lord, I thank you, it shall not need,
I had a sute unto her, but too late,
And her disgrace makes me unfortunate.
Why so Hieronimo? use me.
Oh no my Lord, I dare not, it must not be.
I humbly thank your Lordship.
Why then farewell.
[Page E3]
My griefe no hart, my thoughts no tung can tell.
Come hither Pedringano, seest thou this?
My Lord, I see it, and suspect it too.
This is that damned villain Serberint,
That hath I feare revealde Horatios death.
My Lord, he could not, twas so lately done,
And since he hath not left my company.
Admit he have not, his conditions such,
As feare or flattering words may make him salfe.
I know his humour, and there with repent,
That ere I usde him in this enterprise.
But Pedringano, to prevent the worth,
And cause I know thee secret as my soule,
Heere for thy further satisfaction take thou this.
Gives him more golde.
And harken to me, thus it is devisde:
This night thou must, and prethee so resolve,
Meet Serberine at S. Liugis Parke,
Thou knowest tis heere hard by behinde the house,
There take thy stand, and see thou strike him sure,
For dye he must, if we do meane to live.
But how shall Serbine be there my Lord?
Let me alone, ile send to him to meet
The Prince and me, where thou must doe this deed.
It shalbe done my L. it shall be done,
And ile goe arme my selfe to meet him there.
When things shall alter, as I hope they wil,
Then shalt thou mount for this, thou knowest my minde.
Exit Ped.
Che le Ieron.
Enter Page.
My Lord.
Goe sirra to Serberine, and bid him forthwith,
Meet the Prince and me at S. Liugis Parke,
Behinde the house, this evening boy.
I goe my Lord.
[Page E3v]
But sirra, let the houre be eight a clocke.
Bid him not faile.
I flye my Lord.
Now to confirme the complot thou hast cast,
Of all these practises, Ile spread the watch,
Upon precise commandement from the king,
Strongly to guard the place where Pedringano
This night shall murder haples Serbine.
Thus must we worke that will avoide distrust,
Thus must we practise to prevent mishap,
And thus one ill, another must expulse.
This slie enquiry of Hieronimo
for Bel-imperia, breeds suspition,
And this suspition boads a further ill.
As for my selfe, I know my secret fault,
And so doe they, but I have dealt for them.
They that for coine their soules endangered
To save my life, for coyne shall venture theirs:
And better its that base companions dye,
Then by their life to hazard our good haps.
Nor shall they live for me, to feare their faith:
Ile trust my selfe, my selfe shalbe my freend,
For dye they shall, slaves are ordeind to no other end.
Enter Pedringano with a Pistoll.
Now Pedringano bid thy pistoll holde,
And holde on Fortune, once more favour me,
Give but successe to mine attempting spirit,
And let me shift for taking of mine aime:
Heere is the golde, this is the golde proposde,
It is no dreame that I adventure for,
But Pedrigano is possest thereof.
And he that would not straine his conscience,
For him that thus his liberall purse hath stretcht,
Unworthy such a favour may he faile,
And withing, want when such as I prevaile.
As for the feare of apprehension,
I know, if need should be, my noble Lord
[Page E4]
Will stand betweene me and ensuing harmes.
Besides, this place is free from all suspect:
Heere therefore will I stay and take my stand.
Enter the watch.
I wonder much to what intent it is,
That we are thus expresly chargde to watch?
Tis by commandement in the Kings own name.
But we were never wont to watch and ward,
So neere the Duke his brothers house before.
Content your selfe, stand close, theres somewhat int.
Enter Serberine.
Heere Serberine attend and stay thy pace,
For heere did Don Lorenzos Page appoint,
That thou by his command shouldst meet with him.
How fit a place if one were so disposde,
Me thinks this corner is to close with one.
Heere comes the bird that I must ceaze upon,
Now Pedringano or never play the man.
I wonder that his Lordship staies so long,
Or wherefore should he send for me so late?
For this Serberine, and thou shalt ha'te.
Shootes the Dagge.
So, there he lyes, my promise is performde.
The Watch.
1 Harke Gentlemen, this is a Pistol shot.
2 And heeres one slaine, stay the murderer.
Now by the sorrowes of the soules in hell,
He strives with the watch.
Who first laies hand on me, ile be his Priest,
Sirra, confesse, and therein play the Priest,
Why hast thou thus unkindely kild the man?
Why, because he walkt abroad so late.
Come sir, you had bene better kept your bed,
Then have committed this misdeed so late.
Come to the Mashals with the murderer.
[Page E4v]
On to Hieronimos, helpe me heere,
To bring the murdred body with us too.
Hieronimo, carry me before whom you will,
What ere he be ile answere him and you,
And doe your worst, for I defie you all.
Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.
How now my Lord, what makes you rise so soone?
Feare of preventing our mishaps too late.
What mischiefe is it that we not mistrust?
Our greatest ils, we least mistrust my Lord,
And in expected harmes do hurt us most.
Why tell me Don Lorenzo, tell me man,
If ought concernes our honour and your owne?
Nor you nor me my Lord, but both in one.
For I suspect, and the presumptions great,
That by those base confederates in our fault,
Touching the death of Don Horatio:
We are betraide to olde Hieronimo.
Betraide Lorenzo, tush it cannot be.
A guiltie conscience urged with the thought,
Offormer evils, easily cannot erre:
I am perswaded, and diswade me not,
That als revealed to Hieronimo.
And therefore know that I have cast it thus:
But heeres the Page, how now, what newes with thee?
My Lord, Serberine is slaine.
Who? Serberine my man.
Your Highnes man my Lord.
Speak Page, who murdered him?
He that is apprehended for the fact.
Is Serberine slaine that lov'd his Lord so well?
Iniurious villaine, murderer or his freend.
Hath Pedringano murdered Serberine?
My Lord, let me entreat you to take the paines,
[Page F1]
To exasperate and hasten his revenge.
With your complaints unto my L. the King.
This their dissention breeds a greater doubt.
Assure thee Don Lorenzo he shall dye,
Or els his Highnes hardly shall deny.
Meane while, ile haste the Marshall Sessions,
For die he shall for this his damned deed.
Exit Balt.
Why so, this fits our former pollicie,
And thus experience bids the wise to deale.
I lay the plot, he prosecutes the point,
I set the trap, he breakes the worthles twigs,
And sees not that wherewith the bird was limde.
Thus hopefull men that meane to holde their owne,
Must look like sowlers to their dearest freends.
He runnes to kill whome I have holpe to catch,
And no man knowes it was my reaching fatch.
Tis hard to trust unto a multitude,
Or any one in mine opinion,
When men themselves their secrets will reveale.
Enter a messenger with a letter.
My Lord.
Whats he?
I have a letter to your Lordship.
From whence?
From Pedringano that's imprisoned.
So, he is in prison then?
I my good Lord.
What would he with us?
He writes us heere to stand good L. and help him in distres.
Tell him I have his letters, know his minde,
And what we may let him assure him of.
Fellow, be gone: my boy shall follow thee.
Exit Mes.
This works like waxe, yet once more try thy wits,
[Page F1v]
Boy, goe convay this purse to Pedringano,
Thou knowest the prison, closely give it him:
And be advisede that none be there about.
Bid him be merry still, but secret:
And though the Marshall sessions be to day,
Bid him not doubt of his deliverie.
Tell him his pardon is already signde,
And thereon bid him boldely be resolved:
For were he ready to be turned off,
As tis my will the uttermost be tride:
Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still,
Shew him this boxe, tell him his pardons int,
But opent not, and if thou lovest thy life:
But let him wisely keepe his hopes unknowne,
He shall not want while Don Lorenzo lives: away.
I goe my Lord, I runne.
But sirra, see that this be cleanely done.
Exit Page.
Now stands our fortune on a tickle point,
And now or never ends Lorenzo doubts.
One onely thing is uneffected yet,
And thats to see the Executioner,
But to what end? I list not trust the Aire
With utterance of our pretence therein.
For feare the privie whispring of the winde,
Convay our words amongst unfreendly eares,
That lye too open to advantages.
Et quel que boglio Ii nessun lt sa,
Intendo io quel mi bassara. Exit.
Enter Boy with the Boxe.
My Maister hath forbidden me to looke in this box, and by my troth tis likely, if he had not warned me, I should not have had so much idle time: for wee mens-kinde in our minoritie, are like women in their uncertaintie, that they are most forbidden, they wil soonest attempt: so I now. By my bare honesty heeres nothing but the bare emptie box: were [Page F1v] it not sin against secrecie, I would say it were a peece of gentlemanlike knavery. I must goe to Pedringano, and tell him his pardon is in this boxe, nay, I would have sworne it, had I not seene the contrary. I cannot choose but smile to thinke, how the villain wil stout the gallowes, scorne the audience, and descant on the hangman, and al presuming of his pardon from hence. Wilt not be an odde jest, for me stand and grace every jest he makes, pointing my finger at this boxe: as who would say, mock on, heers thy warrant. Ist not a scuruie jest, that a man should jest himselfe to death. Alas poore Pedringano, I am in a forte forie for thee, but if I should be hanged with thee, I cannot weep.
Enter Hieronimo and the Deputie.
Thus must we toyle in other mens extreames,
That know not how to remedie our owne,
And doe them justice, when unjustly we:
For all our wrongs can compasse no redresse.
But shall I never live to see the day,
That I may come (by justice of the heavens)
To know the cause that may my cares allay?
This toyles my body, this consumethage,
That onely I to all men just must be,
And neither Gods nor men be just to me.
Worthy Hieronimo, your office askes,
A care to punish such as doe transgresse.
So ist my duety to regarde his death,
Who when he lived deserved my dearest blood:
But come, for that we came for lets begin,
For heere lyes that which bids me to be gone.
Enter Officers, Boy, and Pedringano, with a letter in his hand, bound.
Bring forth the Prisoner for the Court is set.
Gramercy boy, but it was time to come,
For I had written to my Lord anew.
A neerer matter that concerneth him,
For feare his Lordship had forgotten me:
[Page F2v]
But sith he hath remembred me so well,
Come, come, come on, when shall we to this geere.
Standforth thoumonster, murderer of me,
And heere for satisfaction of the world,
Confesse thy folly and repent thy fault,
For ther's thy place of execution.
This is short worke, well, to your Marshallship
First I confesse, nor feare I death therfore,
I am the man, twas I slew Serberine.
But sir, then you think this shalbe the place,
Where we shall satisfie you for this geare?
I Pedringano.
Now I think not so.
Peace impudent, for thou shalt finde it so.
For blood with blood, shall while I sit as judge,
Be satisfied, and the law dischargde.
And though my selfe cannot receive the like,
Yet will I see that others have their right.
Dispatch, the faults approved and confest,
Hnd by our law he is condemnd to die.
Come on sit, are you ready?
To doo what, my fine officious knave?
To goe to this geere.
Ped. O sir, you are to forward, thou wouldst faine furnish me with a halter, to disfurnish me of my habit. So I should goe out of this geere my raiment, into that geere to rope. But Hangman, now I spy your knavery, ile not change without boot, thats flat.
Come Sir.
So then I must up,
No remedie.
Yes, but there shalbe for my comming downe.
Indeed heers a remedie for that.
How? be turnd off.
I truely, come are you ready.
I pray sir dispatch, the day goes away.
[Page F3]
Ped. What doe you hang by the howre, if you doo, I may chance to break your olde custome.
Hang. Faith you have reason, for I am like to break your yong neck.
Ped. Dost thou mock me hangman, pray God I be not preserved to break your knaves pate for this.
Hang. Alas sir, you are a foot too low to reach it, and I hope you will never grow so high while I am in the office.
Sirra, dost see yonder boy with the box in his hand?
What, he that points to it with his finger.
I that companion.
I know him not, but what of him?
Doost thou think to live till his olde doublet will
make thee a new truffle?
I, and many a faire yeere after, to truffle up many
an honester man then either thou or he.
What hath he in his boxe as thou thinkst?
Faith I cannot tell, nor I care not greatl;y.
Me thinks you should rather hearken to your soules health.
Why sirra Hangman? I take it, that that is good for
the body, is likewise good for the soule : and it may
be, in that box is balme for both.
Wel, thou art even the meriest peece of mans flesh
that ere gronde at my office doore.
Is your roaguery become an office with a knaves
I, and that shall all they witnes that see you seale it
with a theeves name.
I prethee request this good company to pray with
I mary sir, this is a good motion : my maisters, you
see heers a good fellow.
Nay, nay, now I remember me, let them alone till
some other time, for now I have no great need.
I have not seen a wretch so impudent,
O monstrous times where murders set so light,
[Page F3v]
And where the soule that should be shrinde in heaven,
Solelie delights in interdicted things,
Still wandring in the thronie passages,
That intercepts it selfe of hapines.
Murder, O bloudy monster, God forbid,
A fault so foule should scape unpunished.
Dispatch and see this execution done,
This makes me to remember thee my sonne,
Exit Hiero.
Ped. Nay soft, no hast.
Depu. Why, wherefore stay you, have you of life?
Ped. Why I.
Hang. As how?
Ped. Why Rascall by my pardon from the King.
Hang. stand you on that, then you shall off with this.
He turnes him off.
So Executioner, convay him hence,
But let his body be unburied.
Let not the earth be choked or infect.
With that which heavens contemnes and men neglect.
Enter Hieronimo.
Where shall I run to breath abroad my woes,
My woes whose weight hath wearied the earth?
Or mine exclaimes that have surcharged the aire,
With ceastes plaints, for my deceased sonne?
The blustring winds conspiring with my words,
At my lament have moved the leaveles trees,
Disroabde the medowes of their flowrd greene,
Made mountains marsh with spring tides of my teares,
And broken through the brazen gates of hell,
Yet still tormented is my tortured soule,
With broken sighes and restles passions,
That winged mount, and hovering in the aire,
Beat the windowes of the brightest heavens,
Solliciting for justice and revenge:
But they are plac't in those imperiall heights,
[Page F4]
Where countermurde with walles of diamond,
I finde the place impregnable, and they
Resist my woes, and give my words no way.
Enter Hangman with a Letter.
Hang. O Lord sir, God blesse you sir, the man sir Petergade, Sir, he that was so full of merrie conceits.
Hiero. Wel, what of him?
Hang. O Lord sir, he went the wrong way, the fellow had a faire commission to the contrary. Sir, heere is his pasport, I pray you sir, we have done him wrong.
Hiero. I warrant thee, give it me.
Hang. you will stand between the gallowes and me.
Hiero. I, I.
Hang. I thank your L. worship.
Exit Hangmon.
And yet through somewhat neerer me concernes,
I will to ease the greefe that I sustaine,
Take truce with sorrow while I read on this.
My Lord, I write as mine extreames requirde,
That you would labour my deliverie:
If you neglect, my life is desperate,
And in my death I shall reveale the troth.
You know my Lord, I flew him for your sake,
And was consederate with the Prince and you,
Wonne by rewards and hopefull promises,
I holpe to murder Don Horatio too.
Holpe he to murder mine Horatio,
And actors in th'accursed Tragedie.
Wast thou Lorenzo, Balthazar and thou,
Of whom my Sonne, my Sonne deserv'd so well,
What have I heard, what have mine eies behelde?
O sacred heavens, may it come to passe,
That such a monstrous and detested deed,
So closely smootherd, and so long conceald,
Shall thus by this be venged or reveald.
Now see I what I durst not then suspect,
[Page F4v]
That Bel-imperias Letter was not fainde,
Nor fained she though falsly they have wrongd,
Both her, my selfe, Horatio, and themselves.
Now may I make compare twixt hers and this,
Of everie accident, I neere could finde
Till now, and now I feelingly perceive,
They did what heaven unpunisht would not leave.
O false Lorenzo, are these thy flattering lookes?
Is this the honour that thou didst my Sonne?
And Balthazar bane to thy soule and me,
Was this the ransome he reserv'd thee for?
Woe to the cause of these constrained warres,
Woe to thy basenes and captivitie,
Woe to thy birth, thy body and thy soule,
Thy cursed father, and thy conquerd selfe:
And band with bitter execrations be
The day and place where he did pittie thee.
But wherefore waste I mine unfruitfull words?
When naught but blood will satisfie my woes:
I will goe plaine me to my Lord the King,
And cry aloud for justice through the Court.
Wearing the flints with these my wither feet,
And either purchase justice by intreats,
Or tire them all with my revenging threats. Exit.
Enter Isabell and her Maid.
So that you say this hearb will purge the eye
And this the head, ah but none of them wil purge the hart:
No, thers no medicine left for my disease,
Nor any phisick to recure the dead:
She runnes lunatick.
Horatio, O wheres Horatio.
Good Madam, affright not thus your selfe,
With outrage for your sonne Horatio.
He sleepes in quiet in the Elizian fields.
Why did I not give you gownes and goodly things,
Bought you a whistle and a whipstalke too:
[Page G1]
To be revenged on their villanies.
Madame these humors doe torment my soule.
My soule, poore soule thou talkes of things
Thou knowst not wha, my soule hath silver wings,
That mounts me up unto the highest heavens,
To heaven, I there sits my Horatio,
Backt with a troup of fiery Cherubins.
Dauncing about his newly healed wounds
Singing sweet hymnes and chaunting heavenly notes,
Rare hermony to greet his innocence,
That dyde, I dyde a mirrour in our daies.
But say, where shall I finde, the men, the murderers,
That flew Horatio, whether shall I runne,
To finde them out, that murdered my Sonne. Exeunt.
Bel-imperia at a window.
What meanes this outrage that is offred me?
Why am I thus sequestred from the Court?
No notice, shall I not know the cause,
Of this my secret and suspitious ils?
Accursed brother, unkinde murderer.
Why bends thou thus thy minde to martir me?
Hieronimo. why writ I of thy wrongs?
Or why art thou so slacke in thy revenge?
Andrea, O Andrea that thou sawest,
Me for thy freend Horatio handled thus.
And him for me thus causeles murdered.
Wel, force perforce, I must constraine my selfe,
To patience, and apply me to the time,
Till heaven as I have hoped shall set me free.
Enter Christophill.
Come Madame Bel-imperia, this may not be,
Enter Lorenzo, Balthazar, and the Page.
Boy, talke no further, thus farre things goe well,
Thou art assurde that thou sawest him dead?
Or els my Lord I live not.
[Page G1v]
Thats enough.
As for his resolution in his end,
Leave that to him with whom he soiourns now.
Heere, take my ring, and give it Christophill,
And bid him let my Sister be enlarg'd,
And bring her hither straight.
Exit Page.
This that I did was for a policie,
To smooth and keepe the murder secret,
Which as a nine daies wonder being ore-blowne,
My gentle Sister will I now enlarge.
And time Lorenzo, for my Lord the Duke,
You heard enquired for her yester-night.
Why? and my Lord, I hope you heard me say,
Sufficient reason, why she kept away.
But thats all one, my Lord, you love her?
Then in your love beware, deale cunningly,
Salve all suspitions, onely footh me up.
And if she hap to stand on tearmes with us.
As for her sweet hart, and concealement so,
Jest with her gently, underfained jest
Are things concealde, that els would breed unrest.
But heere she comes.
Enter Bel-imperia.
Now Sister.
Sister, no thou art no brother, but an enemy.
Els wouldst thou not have usde thy Sister so,
First, to affright me with thy weapons drawne,
And with extreames abuse my company:
And then to hurry me like whirelwinds rage,
A midst a crew of thy confederates:
And clap me up where none might come at em,
Nor I at any to reveale my wrongs.
What madding fury did possesse thy wits?
Or wherein ist that I offended thee?
Aduise you better Bel-imperia,
[Page G2]
For I have done you no disparagement:
Unlesse by more discretion then deserv'd,
I sought to save your honour and mine owne.
Mine honour, why Lorenzo, wherein ist,
That I neglect my reputation so,
As you, or any need to rescue it.
His highnes and my Father were resolv'd,
To come conferre with olde Hieronimo,
Concerning certaine matters of estate,
That by the Viceroy was determined.
And wherein was mine honour toucht in that?
Have patience Bel-imperia, heare the rest.
Me next in sight as messenger they sent,
To give him notice that they were so nigh:
Now when I came consorted with the Prince,
And unexpected in an Arbour there,
Found Bel-imperia with Horatio.
How than?
Why then remembring that olde disgrace,
Which you for Don Andrea had indurde,
And now were likely longer to sustaine.
By being found so meanely accompanied:
Thought rather, for I knew no readier meane,
To thrust Horatio forth my fathers way.
And carry you obscurely some where els,
Least that his highnes should have found you there.
Even so my Lord, and you are witnesse,
That this is true which he entreateth of.
You (gentle brother) forged this for my sake,
And you my Lord, were made his instruement:
A worke of worth, worthy the noting too.
But whats the cause that you concealde me since?
Your melancholly Sister since the newes,
Of your first favourite Don Andreas death,
My Fathers olde wrath hath exasperate.
And better wast for you being in disgrace,
To absent your selfe and give his fury place.
[Page G2v]
But why had I no notice of his ire?
That were to adde more sewell to your fire.
Who burnt like Actne for Andreas losse.
Hath not my Father then enquirde for me?
Sister he hath, and thus excusde I thee.
He whispereth in her eare.
But Bel-imperia, see the gentle prince,
Looke on thy ove, beholde yong Balthazar.
Whose passions by thy presence are increast,
And in whose melanchollie thou maiest see,
Thy hate, his love: thy flight, his following thee.
Brother you are become an Oratour,
I know not I, by what experience,
Too pollitick for me, past all compare,
Since last I saw you, but content your selfe,
The Prince is meditating higher things,
Tis of thy beauty then that conquers Kings.
Of those thy tresses Ariadnes twines,
Where with my libertie thou hast surprisde.
Of that thine ivorie front my sorrowes map,
Wherein I see no haven to rest my hope.
To love, and feare, and both at once my Lord,
In my conceipt, are things of more import,
Then womens wits are to be busied with.
Tis I that love.
But I that feare.
Feare your selfe?
I brother.
How? (loose.
As those, that what they love, are loath, and feare to
Then faire, let Balthazar your keeper be,
No, Balthazar doth feare as well as we.
Est tremulo metui pauidum iunxei e tim orem,
[Page G3]
Et vanum stolide proditionis opus.
Nay, and you argue things so cunningly,
Weele goe continue this discourse at Court,
Led by the loadstar of her heavenly lookes,
Wends poore oppressed Balthazar,
As ore the mountains walkes the wanderer,
Incertain to effect his Pilgrimage.
Enter two Portingales, and Hieronimo meets them.
By your leave Sir.
Good leave have you, nay, I pray youy goe,
For ile leave you, if you can leave me so.
Pray you which is the next way to my L. the Dukes.
The next way from me.
To his house we meane.
O hard by, tis you house that you see.
You could not tell us, if his Sonne were there.
Who, my Lord Lorenzo?
I Sir.
He goeth in at one doore and comes out at another.
Oh forbeare, for other talke for us far fitter were.
But if you be importunate to know,
The way to him, and where to finde him out,
Then lift to me, and Il ere solve your doubt,
There is a path upon your left hand side,
That leadeth from a guiltie conscience,
Unto a forrest of distrust and feare.
A darkesome place and dangerous to passe,
There shall you meet with melancholly thougths,
Whose balefull humours if you but upholde,
It will conduct you to dispaire and death:
Whose rockie cliffes, when you have once behelde,
Within a hugie dale of lasting night,
That kind'ed with the worlds iniquities,
Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes.
Not far from thence where murderers have built,
[Page G3v]
A habitation for their cursed soules:
There in a brazen Caldron fixt by Jove,
In his fell wrath upon a sulpher flame:
Your selves shall finde Lorenzo bathing him,
In boyling lead and blood of innocents.
Ha, ha, ha.
Ha, ha, ha: why ha, ha, ha. Farewell good ha, ha, ha.
Doubtles this man is passing lunaticke.
Or imperfection of his age doth make him dote.
Come, lets away to seck my Lord the Duke.
Enter Hieronimo with a Ponyard in one hand,
and a Rope in the other.
Now Sir, perhaps I come and see the King.
The King sees me, and faine would heare my sute.
Why is not this a strange and feld seene thing.
That standers by with toyes should strike me mute.
Go too, I see their shifts, and say no more,
Hieronimo, tis time for thee to trudge.
Downe by the dale that flowes with purple gore,
Standeth a firie Tower, there sits a judge,
Upon a seat of steele and molten brasse:
And twixt his teeth he holdes a fire-brand,
That leades unto the lake where hell doth stand.
Away Hieronimo to him be gone:
Heele doe thee justice for Horatio death.
Turne down this path thou shalt be with him straite,
Or this, and then thou needst not take thy breth.
This way, or that way: soft and faire, not so:
For if I hang or kill my selfe, lets know
Who will revenge Horatio murther then?
No, no, fie no: pardon me, ile none of that:
He flings away the dagger & halter.
This way ile take, and this way comes the King,
He takes them up againe.
[Page G4]
And heere Ile have a fling at him thats flat.
And Balthazar ile be with thee to bring,
And thee Lorenzo, heeres the King, nay, stay,
And heere, I heere, there goes the hare away.
Enter King, Embassador, Castile, and Lorenzo.
Now shew Embassadour what our Viceroy faith,
Hath hee receiv'd the articles we sent?
Justice, O justice to Hieronimo.
Back, seest thou not the King is busie?
O, is he so.
Who is he that interrupts our busines?
Not I, Hieronimo beware, goe by, goe by.
Renowned King he hath received and read,
Thy kingly proffers, and thy promist league,
And as a man extreamely over-joyd,
To heare his Sonne so Princely entertainde,
Whose death he had so solemnely bewailde.
This for thy further satisfaction,
And kingly love, he kindely let thee know:
First, for the marriage of his Princely Sonne,
With Bel-imperia thy beloved Neece,
The newes are more delightfull to his soule,
Then myrrh or incense to the offended heavens.
In person therefore will he come himselfe,
To see the marriage rites solemnized,
And in the presence of the Court of Spaine,
To knita sure inexecrabel band,
Of Kingly love, and everlasting league,
Betwixt the Crownes of Spaine and Portingale.
There will he give his Crowne to Balthazar,
And make a Queene of Bel-imperia.
Brother, how like you this our Vice-roies love?
No doubt my Lord, it is an argument
Of honorable care to keepe hsi freend,
And wondrous zeale to Balthazar his sonne?
Nor am I least indebted to his grace,
[Page G4v]
That bends his liking to my daughter thus.
Now last (dread Lord) heere hath his highnes sent,
Although he send not that his Sonne returne,
His ransome due to Don Horatio.
Horatio, who cals Horatio?
And well remembred, thank his Maiestie,
Heere, see it given to Horatio.
Justice, O justice, justice, gentle King.
Who is that? Hieronimo?
Justice, O justice, O my sonne, my sonne,
My Sonne whom naught can ransome or redeeme.
Hieronimo, you are not well advisde.
Away Lorenzo hinder me no more,
For thou hast made me bankrupt of my blisse:
Give me my sonne, you shall not ransome him.
Away, ile rip the bowels of the earth,
He diggeth with his dagger.
And Ferrie over to th'Elizian plaines,
And bring my Sonne to shew his deadly wounds.
Stand from about me, ile make a pickaxe of my poniard,
And heere surrender up my Marshalship:
For Ile goe marshall up the feends in hell,
To be avenged on you all for this.
What meanes this outrage? will none of you re-
straine his fury?
Nay soft and faire, you shall not need to strive,
Needs must he goe that the divels drive.
What accident hath hapt Hieronimo?
I have not seene him to demeane him so.
My gratious Lord, he is with extreame pride,
Conceived of yong Horatio his Sonne,
And covetous of having to himselfe,
The ransome of the yong Prince Balthazar.
Distract and in a manner lunatick.
Beleeve me Nephew we are sorie sort,
This is the love that Fathers beare their sonnes:
[Page H1]
But gentle brother, goe give to him this golde,
The Prince raunsome, let him have his due,
For what he hath Horatio shall not want,
Happily Hieronimo hath need thereof.
But if he be thus helplesly distract,
Tis requisite his office be resignde,
And given to one of more discretion.
We shall encrease his melanchollie so,
Tis best that we see further in it first:
Till when, our selfe will exempt the place.
And Brother, now bring in the Embassador,
That he may be a witnes of the match,
Twixt Balthazar and Bel-imperia.
And that we may prefixe a certaine time,
Wherein the marriage shalbe solemnized,
That we may have thy Lord the Vice-roy heere.
Therein your highnes highly shall content,
His Majestie, that longs to heare from hence.
On then, and heare you Lord Embassadour.
Enter Hieronimo with a book in his hand.
Vindict a mihi.
I, heaven will be revenged of every ill,
Nor will they suffer murder unrepaide:
Then stay Hieronimo, attend their will,
For mortall men may not appoint their time.
Per scelus semper tutum est sceleribus ster.
Strike, and strike home, where wrong is offred thee,
For evils unto ils conductors be.
And death's the worst of resolution.
For he that thinks with patience to contend,
To quiet life, his life shall easily end.
Fata si miseros iuuant habes salutem:
Fata si vitam negant, habes sepulchrum.
If destinie thy miseries doe ease,
Then hast thou health, and happie shalt thou be:
[Page H1v]
If destinie denie thee life Hieronimo.
Yet shalt thou be assured of a tombe:
If neither, yet let this thy comfort be,
Heaven covereth him that hath no buriall,
And to conclude, I will revenge his death,
But how? not as the vulgare wits of men,
With open, but inevitable ils:
As by a secret, yet a certain meane,
Which under kindeship wilbe cloked best.
Wife men will take their oportunitie,
Closely and safely sitting things to time:
But in extreame advantage hath no time.
And therefore all times sit not for revenge:
Thus therefore will I rest me in unrest,
Dissembling quiet in unquietnes,
Not seeming that I know thier villanies:
That my simplicitie may make them think,
That ignorantly I will let all slip:
For ignorance I wot, and well they know,
Remedium malorum iners est.
Nor ought availes it me to menace them,
Who as a wintrie storme upon a plaine,
Will beare me downe with their nobilitie.
No, no, Hieronimo, thou must enjoyne
Thine eies to observation, and thy rung
To milder speeches, then thy spirit affoords,
Thy hart to patience, and thy hands to rest,
Thy Cappe to cuttesie, and thy knee to bow,
Till to revenge thou know, when, where, and how.
How now, what noise, what coile is that you keepe?
A noise within.
Enter a Servant.
Heere are a sort of poore Petitioners,
That are importunate and it shall please you sir,
That you should plead their cases to the King.
That I should plead their severall actions,
Why let them enter, and let me see them.
[Page H2]
Enter three Cittizens and an olde Man.
So I tell you this for learning and for law,
Theres not any advocate in Spaine,
That can prevaile, or will take halfe the paine,
That he will in pursuite of equitie.
Come neere you men that thus importune me,
Now must I beare a face of gravitie,
For thus I usde before my Marshalship,
To pleade in causes as Corrigedor.
Come on sirs, whats the matter?
Sir an Action.
Of Batterie?
Mine of debt,
Give place.
No sir, mine is an action of the case.
Mine an Erectione firma by a Lease.
Content you sirs, are you determined,
That I should plead your severall actions?
I sir, and heeres my declaration,
And heere is my band.
And heere is my lease.
They give him paper:
But wherefore stands y'on silly man so mute,
With mournfull eyes and hands to heaven uprearde?
Come hether father, let me know thy cause.
O worthy sir, my cause but slightly knowne,
May moove the harts of warlike Myrmydons,
And melt the Corsicke rockes with ruthfull teares.
Say Father, tell me whats thy sute?
No sir, could my woes
Give way unto my most distresfull words,
Then should I not in paper as you see,
With incke bewray, what blood began in me.
Whats heere? the humble supplication
Of Don Bazulto for his murdred sonne.
I Sir.
No sir, it was my murdred sonne, oh my sonne.
[Page H2v]
My sonne, oh my sonne Horatio.
But mine, or thine, Bazulto be content.
Heere, take my hand-kercher and wipe thine eies,
Whiles wretched I, in thy mishaps may see,
The lively portraict of my dying selfe,
He draweth out a bloudie Napkin.
O no, not this, Horatio this was thine,
And when I dyde it in thy deerest blood,
This was a token twixt thy soule and me,
That of thy death revenged I should be.
But heere, take this, and this, what my purse?
I this and that, and all of them are thine,
For all as one are our extremeties.
Oh, see the kindenes of Hieronimo.
This gentlenes shewes him a Gentleman.
See, see, oh see thy shame Hieronimo,
See heere a loving Father to his sonne:
Beholde the sorrowes and the sad laments,
That he delivereht for his sonnes dicease.
If loves effects so strives in lesser things,
If love enforce such moodes in meaner wits,
If love expresse such power in poore estates:
Hieronimo, When as a raging Sea,
Tost with the winde and tide ore turnest then
The upper billowes course of waves to keep,
Whilest lesser waters labour in the deepe.
Then shamest thou not Hieronimo to neglect,
The sweet revenge of thy Horatio.
Though on this earth justice will not be found:
Ile downeto hell and in this passion,
Knock at the dismall gates of Pluto Court,
Getting by force as once Alcides did,
A troupe of furies and tormenting hagges,
To torture Don Lorenzo and the rest.
Yet least the triple headed porter should,
Denye my passage to the slimy strond:
The Thracian Poet thou shalt counterfeite:
[Page H3]
Come on olde Father by my Orpheus,
And if thou canst no notes upon the Harpe,
Then found the burden of thy fore harts greefe,
Till we do gaine that Proserpine may graunt,
Revenge on them that murdred my Sonne,
Then will I rent and teare them thus and thus,
Shivering their limmes in peeces with my teeth.
Teare the Papers.
Oh sir my Declaration.
Exit Hieronimo and they after.
Save my bond.
Enter Hieronimo.
Save my bond.
Alas my lease, it cost me ten pound,
And you my Lord have torne the same.
That can not be, I gave it never a wound,
Shew me one drop of bloud fall from the same:
How is it possible I should slay it then,
Tush no, run after, catch me if you can.
Exeunt all but the olde man.
Bazulto remaines till Hieronimo enters againe, who
staring him in the face speakes.
And art thou come Horatio from the depth,
To aske for justice in this upper earth?
To tell thy Father thou art unreveng'd,
To wring more teares from Isabellas eies?
Whose lights are dimd with over-long laments.
Goe back my sonne, complaine to Eacus,
For heeres no justice, gentle boy be gone.
For justice is exiled from the earth:
Heronimo will beare thee company:
Thy mother cries on righteous Radamant,
For just revenge against the murderers.
Alas my L. whence springs this troubled speech?
But let me looke on my Horatio:
Sweet boy how art thou chang'd in deaths black shade?
[Page H3v]
Had Proserpine no pittie on thy youth?
But suffered thy fair crimson colourd spring.
With withered winter to be blasted thus?
Horatio, thou art older then thy Father:
Ah ruthlesse Father, that favour thus transformess
Ah my good Lord, I am not your yong Sonne.
What, not my Sonne, thou then, a furie art,
Sent from the emptie Kingdome of blacke night,
To summon me to make appearance:
Before grim Mynos and just Radamant.
To plague Hieronimo that is remisse,
And seekes not vengeance for Horatios death.
I am a greeved man and not a Ghost,
That came for justice for my murdered Sonne.
I, now I know thee, now thou namest my Sonne,
Thou art the lively image of my griefe,
Within thy face, my sorrowes I may see.
Thy eyes are gum'd with teares, thy cheekes are wan,
Thy forehead troubled, and thy muttring lips
Murmure sad words abruptly broken off,
By force of windie sighes thy spirit breathes,
And all this sorrow riseth for thy Soone:
And selfe same sorrow feele I for my Sonne.
Come in old man, thou shalt to Izabell,
Leane on my arme, I thee, thou me shalt stay,
And thou, and I, and she will sing a song:
Threeparts in one, but all of discords fram'd,
Talke not of cords, but let us now be gone,
For with a cord Horatio was slaine. Exeunt.
Enter King of Spaine, the Duke, Vice-roy, and Lorenzo,
Balthazar, Don Pedro, and Belimperia.
King. Go Brother it is the Duke of Castiles cause, salute the Vice-roy in our name.
I go.
Go forth Don Pedro for thy Nephews sake,
And greet the Duke of Castile.
It shall be so.
[Page H4]
And now to meet these Portaguise,
For as we now are, so sometimes were these,
Kings and commanders of the westerne Indies.
Welcome brave Vice-roy to the Court of Spaine,
And welcome all his honorable traine:
Tis not unknowne to us, for why you come,
Or have so kingly crost the Seas:
Suffiseth it in this we note the troth,
And more then common love you lend to us.
So is it that mine honorable Necce,
For it beseemes us now that it be knowne,
Already is betroth'd to Balthazar:
And by appointment and our condiscent,
To morrow are they to be married.
To this intent we entertaine thy selfe,
Thy followers, their pleasure, and our peace:
Speak men of Portingale, shall it be so?
If I, say so: if not, say statly no.
Renowned King, I come not as thou thinkst,
With doubtfull followers, unresolved men,
But such as have upon thine articles,
Confirmed thy motion and contented me.
Know soveraigne, I come to solemnize
The marriage of thy beloved Neece,
Faire Bel-imperia with my Balthazar.
With thee my Sonne, whom fith I live to see;
Heere take my Crowne, I give it her and thee,
And let me live a solitarie life,
In ceaselesse praiers,
To think how strangely heaven hath thee preserved.
See brother, see, how nature strives in him,
Come worthy Vice-roy and accompany
Thy freend, with thine extremities:
A place more private sits this princely mood.
Or heere or where you highnes thinks it good.
Exeunt all but Casi and Lor.
Nay stay Lorenzo, let me talke with you,
[Page H4v]
Seest thou this entertainement of these Kings?
I doe my Lord, and joy to see the same.
And knowest thou why this meeting is?
For her my Lord, whom Balthazar doth love,
And to confirme their promised marriage.
She is thy Sister?
Who Bel-imperia, I my gratious Lord,
And this is the day, that I have longd so happily to see.
Thou wouldst be loath that any fault of thine,
Should intercept her in her happines.
Heavens will not let Lorenzo erre so much,
Why then Lorenzo listen to my words:
It is suspected and reported too,
That thou Lorenzo wrongst Hieronimo,
And in his sutes towards his Maiestie,
Still keepst him back, and seeks to crosse his sute,
That I my Lord?
I tell thee Sonne my selfe have heard it said,
When to my sorrow I have beene ashamed
To answere for thee, though thou art my sonne,
Lorenzo, knowest thou not the common love,
And kindenes that Hieronimo hath wone,
By his deserts within the Court of Spaine?
Or seest thou not the K. my brothers care,
In his behalfe, and to procure his health?
Lorenzo, shouldst thou thwart his passions,
And hee exclaime against thee to the King,
What honour wert in this assembly,
Or what a scandale wert among the Kings,
To heare Hieronimo exclaime on thee.
Tell me, and looke thou tell me truely too,
Whence growes the ground of this report in Court.
My L. it lyes not in Lorenzos power,
To stop the vulgar liberall of their tongues:
A small advantage makes a water breach,
And no man lives that long contentethall.
My selfe have seene thee busie to keep back,
[Page I1]
Him and his supplications from the King.
Your selfe my L. hath seene his passions,
That ill beseemde the presence of a King,
And for I pittied him in his distresse,
I helde him thence with kinde and curteous words,
As free from malice to Hieronimo,
As to my soule my Lord.
Hieronimo my sonne, mistakes thee then,
My gratious Father, beleeve me so he doth,
But whats a silly man distract in minde.
To think upon the murder of his sonne:
Alas, how easie is it for him to erre?
But for his satisfaction and the worlds,
Twere good my L. that Hieronimo and I,
Were reconcilde, if he misconster me.
Lorenzo thou hast said, it shalbe so,
Goe one of you and call Hieronimo.
Enter Balthazar and Bel-imperia.
Come Bel-imperie, Balthazars content,
My sorrowes ease and soveraigne of my blisse,
Sith heaven hath ordainde thee to be mine:
Disperce those cloudes and melanchollie lookes,
And cleere them up with those thy Sunne bright eies,
Wherein my hope and heavens faire beautie lies.
My lookes my Lord, are fitting for my love,
Which new begun, can shew brighter yet.
New kindled flames should burne as morining Sun.
But not too fast, least heate and all be done.
I see my Lord my Father.
Truce my love, I will goe salute him.
Welcome Balthazar, welcome brave Prince.
The pledge of Castiles peace:
And welcome Bel-imperia, how now girle?
Why commest thou sadly to salute us thus?
Content thy selfe for I am satisfied,
It is not now as when Andrea liv'd,
[Page I1v]
We have forgotten and forgiven that,
And thou art graced with a happier love,
But Balthazar heere comes Hieronimo.
Ile have a word with him.
Enter Hieronimo and a Servant.
And wheres the Duke?
Even so: what new device have they devised tro?
Pocas Palabras, milde as the Lambe,
Ist I will be reveng'd? no, I am not the man.
Welcome Hieronimo.
Welcome Hieronimo.
Welcome Hieronimo.
My Lords I thank you for Horatio.
Hieronimo, the reason that I sent
To speak with you, is this.
What, so short?
Then ile be gone, I thank you sort:
Nay, stay Hieronimo, goe call him sonne.
Hieronimo, my father cravces a word with you.
With me sir? why my L. I thought you had done.
No, would he had.
Hieronimo, I hear you finde your selfe agreeved at my Sonne,
Because you have not accesse unto the Kiing,
And say tis he that intercepts your sutes.
Why, is not this a miserable thing my Lord?
Hieronimo, I hope you have no caule,
And would be loth that one of your deserts,
Should once have reason on suspect my Sonne,
Considering how I think of you my selfe.
Your sonne Lorenzo, whome, my noble Lord?
The hope of Spaine, mine honourable freend?
Graunt me the combat of them, if they dare.
Drawes out his sword.
Ile meet him face to face to tell me so.
These be the sandalous reports of such,
[Page I2]
As loves not me, and hate my Lord too much.
Should I suspect Lorenzo would prevent,
Or crosse my sute, that loved my Sonne so well.
My Lord, I am ashamed it should be said.
Hieronimo, I never gave you cause.
My good Lord, I know you did not
There then pause, and for the satisfaction of the world,
Hieronimo frequent my homely house,
The Duke of Castile Ciprians ancient seat,
And when thou wilt, use me, my sonne, and it:
But heere before Prince Balthazar and me,
Embrace each other, and be perfect freends.
I marry my Lord, and shall:
Freends (quoth he) see, Ile be freends with you all.
Specially with you my lovely Lord,
For divers causes it is sit for us,
That we be freends, the world is suspitious,
And men may think what we imagine not.
Why this is freendly doone Hieronimo.
And that I hope olde grudges are forgot.
What els, it were a shame it should not be so.
Come on Hieronimo at my request,
Let us entreat your company to day.
Yor Lordships to commaund,
keep your way.
Mi. Chi mi fa? Pui Correzza Che non sule
Tradito viba otrade vule. Exit.
Enter Ghoast and Revenge.
Awake Eritha, Cerberus awake,
Sollicite Pluto gentle Proserpine,
To combat Achinon and Ericus in hell.
For neere by Stix and Phlegeton:
Nor ferried Caron to the fierie lakes,
Such fearfull sights, as poore Andrea see?
[Page I2v]
Revenge awake.
Awake, for why?
Awake Revenge, for thou art ill advisde,
Th sleepe, away, what, thou art warnd to watch.
Content thy selfe, and doe not trouble me.
Awake Revenge, if love as love hath had,
Have yet the power or prevailance in hell,
Hieronimo with Lorenzo is joynde in league,
And intercepts our passage to revenge:
Awake Revenge, or we are woe degone.
Thus wordlings ground what they have dreamd upon,
Content thy selfe Andrea, though I sleepe,
Yet is my mood soliciting their soules,
Sufficeth thee that poore Hieronimo,
Cannot forget his sonne Horatio.
Nor dies Revenge although he sleepe a while,
For in unquiet, quietnes is faind:
And slumbring is a common wordly wile,
Beholde Andrea for an instance how,
Revenge hath slept, and then imagine thou,
What tis to be subject to destinie.
Enter a dumme shew.
Awake Revenge, reveale this misterie.
The two first the nuptiall Torches boare,
As brightly burning as the mid daies sunne:
But after them doth Himen hie as fast,
Clothed in sable, and a Saffron robe,
And blowes them out, and quencheth them with blood,
[Page I3]
As discontent that things continue so.
Sufficeth me thy meanings understood,
And thanks to thee and those infernall powers,
That will not tollerate a Loves woe,
Rest thee for I will sit to see the rest.
Then argue not for thou hast thy request.

4. Actus Quartus.

Enter Bel-imperia and Hieronimo
Is this the love thou bearst Horatio?
Is this the kindnes that thou counterfeits,
Are these the fruits of thine incessant teares?
Hieronimo, are these thy passions?
Thy protestations, and thy deepe laments.
That thou wert wont to wearie men withall.
O unkind Father, O deceitfull world,
With what excuses canst thou shew thy selfe?
With what dishonour, and the hate of men
From this dishonour and the hate of men:
Thus to neglect the losse and life of him,
Whom both my letters, and thine owne beliefe,
Assures thee to be causles slaughtered.
Hieronimo, for shame Hieronimo:
Be not a History to after times,
Of such in gratitude unto thy Sonne.
Unhappy Mothers of such children then,
But monstrous Fathers, to forget so soone
The death of those, whom they with care and cost
Have tendred so, thus careles should be lost.
My selfe a stranger in respect of thee,
So loved his life, as still I wish their deathes,
[Page I3v]
Nor shall his death be unrevenged by me.
Although I beare it out for fashions sake:
For Leere I sweare in sight of heaven and earth,
Shouldst thou nelgect the love thou shouldst retaine,
And give it over and devise no more,
My selfe should send their hatefull soules to hel,
That wrought his downfall with extreamest death.
But may it be that Bel-imperia
Vowes such revenge as she hath daind to say:
Why then I see that heaven applies our drift,
And all the Saints doe fit soliciting
For vengeance on those cursed murtherers
Madame tis true, and now I find it so,
I found a letter, written in your name,
And in that letter, how Horatio died.
Pardon, O pardon Bel-imperia,
My feare and care in not beleeving it,
Nor thinke, I thoughtles thinke upon a meane,
To let his death be unreveng'd at full,
And heere I vow, so you but give consent,
And will conceale my resolution,
I will ere long determine of their deathes,
That causles thus have murderd my Sonne.
Hieronimo, I will consent, conceale,
And ought that may effect for thine availe,
Joyne with thee to revenge Horatioes death.
On then, whatsover I devise,
Let them entreat you grave my practises.
For why, the plots already in mine head,
Heere they are.
Enter Balthazar and Lorenzo.
How now Hieronimo, what, courting Bel-imperia.
I my Lord, such courting as I promise you
She hath my hart, but you my Lord have hers.
But now Hieronimo or never we are to intreate your helpe.
My help, why my good Lords assure your selves of me
[Page I4]
For you have given me cause, I by my faith have you.
It pleasde you at the entertainment of the Embassadour,
To grace the King so much as with a shew,
Now were your studie so well furnished,
As for the passing to the first nights sport,
To entertaine my Father with the like:
Or any such like pleasing motion,
Assure your selfe it would content them well.
Is this all?
I, this is all.
Why then ile fit you, say no more.
When I was yong I gave my minde,
And plide my selfe to fruitles poetrie:
Which though it profite the professor naught,
Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.
And how for that?
Marrie my good Lord thus.
And yet me thinks you are too quick with us.
When in Tolledo there I studied,
It was my chaunce to write a tragedie,
See heere my Lords. He shewes them a book.
Which long forgot, I found this other day,
Now would your Lordships favour me so much,
As but to grace me with your acting it,
I meane each one of you to play a part,
Assure you it will prove most passing strange,
And wondrous plausible to that assembly.
What would you have us play a Tragedie?
Why Nero thought it no disparagement,
And Kings and Emperours have tane delight,
To make experience of their wits in plaies?
Nay be not angry good Hieronimo,
The Prince but asked a question.
In faith Hieronimo and you be in earnest,
Ile make one.
And I another.
Now my good Lord, could you intreat,
[Page I4v]
Your Sister Bel-imperia to make one,
For whats a play without a woman init?
Little intreaty shall serve me Hieronimo,
For I must needs be imployed in your play.
Why this is well, I tell you Lordings,
It was determined to have beene acted,
By Gentlemen and schollers too,
Such as could tell what to speak.
And now it shall be plaide by Princes and Courtiers
Such as can tell how to speak:
If as it is our Country manner,
You will but let us know the argument.
That shall I roundly : the Cronicles of Spaine
Recorde this written of a Knight of Rodes,
He was betrothed and wedded at the lengtn,
Toone Perseda an Italian dame.
Whose beauty ravished all that her behelde,
Especially the soule of Soliman,
Who at the marriage way the cheefest guest.
By sundry meanes sought Soliman to winne,
Persedas love, and could not gaine the same.
Then gan he break his passions to a freend,
One of his Bathawes whom he held full deere,
Her had this Bashaw long solicited,
And saw she was not otherwise to be wonne,
But by her husbands death this Knight of Rodes.
Whome presently by trecherie he flew,
She stirde with an exceeding hate therefore,
As cause of this slew Soliman.
And to escape the Bashawes tirannie,
Did stab her selfe, and this the Tragedie.
O excellent.
But say Hieronimo what then became of him
That was the Bashaw?
Marrie thus, moved with remorse of his misdeeds
Ran to a mountain top and hung himselfe.
But which of us is to performe that parte,
[Page K1]
O, that will I my Lords, make no doubt of it.
Ile play the murderer I warrant you,
For I already have conceited that.
And what shall I.
Great Soliman the Turkish Emperour.
And I.
Erastus the Knight of Rhodes.
And I.
Persada, chaste and resolute.
And heere my Lords are severall abstracts drawne,
For eache of you to note your partes,
And act it as occasion's offred you.
You must provide a turkish cappe,
A black mustacio and a sauchion.
Gives a paper to Bal.
You with a crosse like to a Knight of Rhodes.
Gives another to Lor.
And Madame, you must attire your selfe,
He giveth Bel. another.
Like Phoebe, Flora, or the huntresse,
Which to your discretion shall seeme best.
And as for me my Lords Ile looke to one,
And with the raunsome that the Vice-roy sent,
So furnish and performe this tragedie,
As all the world shall say Hieronimo,
Was liberall in gracing of it so.
Hieronimo, me thinks a Comedie were better.
A Comedie, fie, comedies are fit for common wits
But to present a Kingly troupe withall,
Give me a stately written Tragedie.
Tragedia cother nato, sitting Kings,
Containing matter, and not common things.
My Lords, all this must be perfourmed,
As sitting for the first nights revelling.
The Italian Tragedians were so sharpe of wit,
That in one houres meditation,
They would performe any thing in action.
[Page K1v]
And well it may, for I have seene the like
In Paris, mongst the French Tragedians.
In Paris, mas and well remembred,
Theres one thing more that rests for us to doo.
Whats that Hieronimo forget not any thing.
Each one of us must act his parte,
In unknowne languages,
That it may breede the more varietie.
As you my Lord in Latin, I in Greeke,
You in Italian, and for because I know,
That Bel-imperia hath practised the French,
In country French shall all her phraises be.
You meane to trye my cunning then Hieronimo.
But this will be a meere confusion,
And hardly shall we all be understoode.
It must be so, for the conclusion
Shall prove the invention, and all was good:
And I my selfe in an Oration,
That I will have there behinde a curtaine,
And with a strange and wondrous shew besides:
Assure your selfe shall make the matter knowne.
And all shalbe concluded in one Scene,
For theres no pleasure tane in tediousnes.
How like you this?
Why thus my Lord we must resolve,
To soothe his humors up.
On then Hieronimo, farewell till soone.
Youle plie this geere.
I warrant you.
Exeunt all but Hiero.
Why so, now shall I see the fall of Babilon,
Wrought by the heavens in this confusion.
And if the world like not this tragedie,
Hard is the hap of olde Hieronimo. Exit.
Enter Isabella with a weapon.
Tell me no more, O monstrous homicides,
Since neither pietie nor pittie moves
[Page K2]
The King to justice or compassion:
I will revenge my selfe upon this place,
Where thus they murdered my beloved Sonne.
She cuts downe the Arbour.
Downe with these branches and these loathsome bowes,
Of this unfortunate and fatall pine.
Downe with them Isabella, rent them up,
And burne the roots from whence the rest is sprung:
I will not leave a root, a stalke, a tree,
A bowe, a branch, a blossome, nor a leafe,
No, not an hearb within this garden Plot.
Accursed complot of my miserie,
Fruitlesse for ever may this garden be.
Barren the earth, and blissesse whosoever,
Immagines not to keep it unmanurde:
An Easterne winde comixt with noisome aires,
Shall blast the plants and the yong saplings,
The earth with Serpents shalbe pestered,
And passengers for feare to be infect,
Shall stand aloofe, and looking at it, tell
There murdred dide the sonne of Isabell.
I heere he dide, and heere I him imbrace,
See where his Ghoast solicites with his wounds,
Revenge on her that should revenge his death,
Hieronimo make haste to see thy sonne,
For sorrow and dispaire hath scited me,
To heare Horatio plead with Radamant,
Make haste, Hieronimo to holde excusde,
Thy negligence in pursute of their deaths,
Whose hatefull wrath berev'd him of his breath.
Ah nay, thou dost delay their deaths,
Forgives the murderers of thy noble sonne,
And none but I bestirre me to no end,
And as I cursse this tree from further fruit,
So shall my wombe be cursed for his sake,
And with this weapon will I wound the brest.
The haples brest that gave Horatio suck.
She stabs
her selfe.
[Page K2v]
Enter Hieronimo, he knocks up the curtaine.
Enter the Duke of Castile.
How now Hieronimo wheres your fellows,
That you take all this paine?
O sir, it is for the Authors credit,
To look that all things may goe well:
But good my Lord let me intreat your grace,
To give the King the coppie of the plaie:
This is the argument of what we shew.
I will Hieronimo.
One thing more my good Lord.
Whats that?
Let me intreat your grace,
That when the traine are past into the gallerie,
You would vouchsafe to throwe me downe the key.
I will Hieronimo.
Exit Cas.
What are you ready Balthazar?
Bring a chaire and a cushion for the King.
Enter Balthazar with a Chaire.
Well doon Balthazar, hang up the title.
Our scene is Rhodes, what is your beard on?
Halfe on, the other is in my hand.
Dispatch for shame, are you so long?
Exit Balthazar.
Bethink thy selfe Hieronimo,
Recall thy wits, recompt thy former wrongs,
Thou hast received by murder of thy sonne.
And lastly, not least, how Isabell,
Once his mother and thy decrest wise:
All woe begone for him hath slaine her selfe.
Behoves thee then Hieronimo to be reveng'd.
The plot is laide of dire revenge,
On then Hieronimo pursue revenge,
For nothing wants but acting of revenge.Exit Hieronimo.
[Page K3]
Enter Spanish King, Vice-roy, the Duke of Castile,
and their traine.
Now Viceroy, shall we see the Tragedie,
Of Soliman the Turkish Emperour:
Performde of pleasure by your Sonne the Prince,
My Nephew Don Lorenzo, and my Neece.
Who, Bel-imperia?
I, and Hieronimo our Marshall.
At whose request they deine to doo't themselves.
These be our pastimes in the Court of Spaine.
Heere brother, you shall be the booke-keeper.
This is the argument of that they shew.
He giveth him a booke.
Gentlemen, this play of Hieronimo in sundrie Languages, was
thought good to be set downe in English more largely,
for the easier understanding to every
publique Reader.]
Enter Balthazar, Bel-imperia, and Hieronimo.
Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours, yeeld heavens the honor,
And holy Mahomet our sacred Prophet:
And be thou grac't with every excelence,
That Soliman can give, or thou desire.
But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is lesse,
Then in reserving this faire Christian Nimph
Perseda, blisfull lamp of Excellence:
Whose eies compell like powerfull Adamant,
The warlike heart of Soliman to wait.
See Vice-roy, that is Balthazar your Sonne,
That represents the Emperour Solymani
How well he acts his amorous passion.
I Bel-imperia hath taught him that.
That's because his mind runnes all on Bel-imperia
[Page K3v]
What ever joy earth yeelds betide your Meiestie.
Earth yeelds no joy without Persedaes love.
Let then Perseda on your grace attend.
She shall not wait on me, but I on her,
Drawne by the influence of her lights, I yeeld.
But let my friend the Rhodian knight come foorth,
Erasto, dearer then my life to me,
That he may see Perseda my beloved.
Enter Erasto.
Heere comes Lorenzo, looke upon the plot,
And tel me brother what part plaies he?
Ah my Erasto, welcome to Perseda.
Thrice happie is Erasto, that thou livest,
Rhodes losse is nothing to Erastoes joy:
Sith his Perseda lives, his life survives.
Ah Bashaw, heere is love betweene Erasto
And faire Perseda soveraigne of my soule.
Remoove Erasto mighty Solyman,
And then Perseda will be quickly wonne.
Erasto is my friend, and while he lives,
Perseda never will remoove her love.
Let not Erasto live, to greeve great Soliman.
Deare is Erasto in our Princly eye.
But if he be your rivall, let him die.
Why let him die, so love commaundeth me.
Yet greeve I that Erasto should so die.
Erasto, Solyman saluteth thee,
And lets thee wit by me his highnes will:
Which is, thou shouldst be thus imploid.
Stab him.
Ay me Erasto, see Solyman Erastoes slaine.
Yet liveth Solyman to comfort thee.
Faire Queene of beautie, let not favour die,
But with a gratious eye beholde his griefe,
That with Persedaes beautie is encreast.
If by Persedaes griefe be not releast.
Tyrant, desist soliciting vaine sutes,
[Page K4]
Relentles are mine eares to thy laments,
As thy butcher is pittilesse and base,
Which seazd on my Erasto, harmelesse knight.
Yet by thy power thou thinkest to commaund,
And to thy power Perseda doth obey:
But were she able, thus she would revenge
Thy treacheries on thee ignoble Prince:
Stab him.
And on herselfe she would be thus revengd
Stab herselfe.
Well said olde Marshal, this was bravely done.
But Bel-imperia plaies Perseda well.
were this in earnest Bel-imperia,
You would be better to my Sonne then so.
But now what followes for Hieronimo?
Marrie this followes for Hieronomo.
Heere breake we off our sundrie languages,
And thus conclude I in our vulgare tung.
Happely you think, but bootles are your thoughts,
That this is fabulously counterfeit,
And that we doo as all Tragedians doo.
To die to day, for (fashioning our scene)
The death of Aiax, or some Romaine peere,
And in a minute starting up againe,
Revive to please to morrowes audience.
No Princes, know I am Hieronimo,
The hopeles Father of a haples Sonne,
Whose tung is tun'd to tell his latest tale,
Not to excuse grosse errors in the play,
I see your lookes urge instance of these words,
Beholde the reason urging me to this,
Shewes his dead sonne.
See heere my shew, look on this spectacle:
Heere lay my hope, and heere my hope hath end:
Heere lay my hart, and heere my hart was slaine:
Heere lay my treasure, heere my treasure lost:
Heere lay my blisse, and heere my blisse berest.
But hope, hart, treasure, joy, and blisse:
All fled, saild, died, yea all decaide with this.
[Page K4v]
From forth these wounds came breath that gave me life,
They murdred me that made these fatall markes:
The cause was love, whence grew this mortall hate
The hate, Lorenzo and yong Balthazar:
The love, my sonne to Bel-imperia.
But night the coverer of accursed crimes,
With pitchie silence husht these traitors harmes,
And lent them leave, for they had sorted leasure,
To take advantage in my Garden plot,
Upon my Sonne, my deere Horatio:
There mercilesse they butcherd up my boy,
In black darke night, to pale dim cruell death.
He strikes, I heard, and yet me thinks I heare,
His dismall out-cry eccho in the aire:
With soonest speed I hasted to the noise,
Where hanging on a tree, I found my sonne.
Through girt with wounds, and slaughtred as you see,
And greeved I (think you) at this spectables?
Speak Portaguise, whose losse resembles mine,
If thou canst weep upon thy Balthazar,
Tis like I wailde for my Horatio.
And you my L. whose reconciled sonne,
Marcht in a net, and thought him selfe unseene,
And rated me for brainsicke lunacie,
With God amend that mad Hieronimo,
How can you brook our plaies catastrophe?
And heere beholde this bloudie hand-kercher,
Which at Horatio death I weeping dipt,
Within the river of his bleeding wounds.
It as propitious, see I have reserved,
And never hath it left my bloody hart,
Soliciting remembrance of my vow.
With these, O these accursed murderers,
Which now perform'd, my hart is satisfied.
And to this end the Bashaw I became,
That might revenge me on Lorenzo life,
Who therefore was appointed to the part,
[Page L1]
And was to represent the Knight of Rhodes,
That I might kill him more conveniently.
So Vice-roy was this Balthazar thy Sonne,
That Soliman, which Bel-imperia,
In person of Perseda murdered:
Solie appointed to that tragicke part,
That she might slay him that offended her.
Poore Bel-imperia mist her part in this,
For though the story faith the should have died,
Yet I of kindenes, and of care to her,
Did otherwise determine of her end.
But love of him whom they did hate too much,
Did urge her resolution to be such.
And Princes now beholde Hieronimo,
Author and actor in this Tragedie:
Bearing his latest fortune in his fist:
And will as resolute conclude his parte,
As any of the Actors gone before.
And Gentles, thus I end my play,
Urge no more words, I have no more to say.
He runs to hang himselfe.
O hearken Vice-roy, holde Hieronimo,
Brother, my Nephew, and thy Sonne are slaine.
We are betraide, my Balthazar is slaine,
Breake ope the doores, runne save Hieronimo.
Hieronimo, doe but enforme the King of these events,
Upon mine honour thou shalt have no harme.
Vice-roy, I will not trust thee with my life,
Which I this day have offered to my Sonne:
Accursed wretch, why staiest thou him that was resolved (to die?
Speak traitor, damned, bloudy murderer speak,
For now I have thee I will make thee speak:
Why hast thou done this undeserving deed?
Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?
Why hast thou butchered both my children thus
O good words, as deare to me was my Horatio,
As yours, or yours, or yours my L. to you.
[Page L1v]
My guiltles Sonne was by Lorenzo slaine,
And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar,
Am I at last revenged thorowly.
Upon whose soules may heavens be yet avenged,
With greater far then these afflictious.
But who were thy confederates in this?
That was thy daughter Bel-imperia.
For by her hand my Balthazar was slaine
I saw her stab him.
Why speakest thou not?
What lesser libertie can Kings affoord
Then harmeles silence? then affoord it me:
Sufficeth I may not, nor I will not tell thee.
Fetch forth the tortures.
Traitor as thou art, ile make thee tell.
Indeed thou maiest torment me as his wretched (Sonne,
Hath done in murdring my Horatio.
But never shalt thou force me to reveale,
The thing which I have vowd inviolate.
And therefore in despight of all thy threats,
Pleasde with their deaths, and easde with their revenge:
First take my tung, and afterwards my hart.
O monstrous resolution of a wretch,
See Vice-roy, hee hath bitten foorth his tung,
Rather then to reveale what we requirde.
Yet can he write.
And if in this he satisfie us not,
We will devise the xtreamest kinde of death,
That ever was invented for a wretch.
Then he makes signes for a knife to mend his pen.
O he would have a knife to mend his Pen.
Heere, and aduise thee that thou write the troth,
Looke to my brother, save Hieronimo.
He with a knife stabs the Duke and himselfe.
What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds?
[Page L2]
My brother and the whole succeeding hope,
That Spaine expected after my discease,
Go beare his body hence that we may mourne,
The losse of our beloved brothers death.
That he may be entom'd what ere befall,
I am the next, the neerest, last of all.
And thou Don Pedro do the like for us,
Take up our haples sonne untimely slaine:
Set me with him, and he with wofull me,
Upon the maine mast of a ship unmand,
And let me winde and tide hall me along,
To Sillas barking and untamed greefe:
Or to the lothsome poole of Acheron,
To weepe my want for my sweet Balthazar,
Spaine hath no refuge for a Portingale.
The Trumpets sound a dead march, the King of Spaine mour -
ning after his brothers body, and the King of Portingale ale bea -
ring the body of his Sonne.
Enter Ghoast and Revenge.
I, now my hopes have end in their effects,
When blood and sorrow finnish my desires:
Horatio murdered in his Fathers bower,
Vilde Serberine by Pedringano slaine,
False Pedringano hangd by quaint device,
Faire Isabella by her selfe midone,
Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabd,
The Duke of Castile and his wicked Sonne,
Both done to death by olde Hieronimo.
My Bel-imperia salne as Dido fell,
And good Hieronimo slaine by himselfe:
I these were spectacles to please my soule.
Now will I beg at lovely Prosperine,
That by the vertue of her Princely doome,
I may consort my freends in pleasing fort,
[Page L2v]
And on my foes worke just and sharpe revenge.
Ile lead my freend Horatio through those seeldes,
Where never dying wrres are still inurde.
Ile lead faire Isabella to tht traine,
Where pittie weepes but never feeleth paine.
Ile lead my Bel-imperia to those joyes,
That vestal Virgins, and faire Queenes possesse,
Ile lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plaies,
Adding sweet pleasure to eternall daies.
But say Revenge, for thou must helpe or none,
Against therest how shall my hate be showne?
This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,
Where none but furies, bugs and tortures dwell.
Then sweet Revenge doo this at my request,
Let me be judge and doome them to unrest,
Let loose power Titus from the vultures gripe,
And let Don Ciprian supply his roome,
Place Don Lorenzo on Ixions wheele,
And let the lovers endles paines surcease:
Iuno forgets olde wrath and graunts him ease.
Hang Balthazar about Chineras neck,
And let him there bewaile his bloudy love,
Repining at our joyes that are above.
Let Serberine goe roule the fatall stone,
And take from Siciphus his endles mone.
False Pedringaco for his trecherie,
Let him be dragde through boyling Acheron,
And there live dying still in endles flames,
Blaspheming Gods and all their holy names.
Then haste we downe to meet thy freends and foes,
To place thy freends in ease, therest in woes.
For heere, though death hath end their miserie,
Ile there begin their endles Tragedie.