Death hath his conquest, hell hath had his wish,Gorlois his vow, Alecto her desire;Sin hath his pay, and blood is quit with blood:Revenge in triumph bears the struggling hearts!Now, Gorlois, pierce the craggy rocks of hell,Through chinks whereof infernal sprites do glance,Return this answer to the furies’ court:That Cornwall trembles with the thought of war,And Tamar’s flood with drooping pace doth flow,For fear of touching Camel’s bloody stream.Britain, remember; write it on thy walls,Which neither time nor tyranny may raze,That rebels, traitors, and conspirators,The seminary of lewd Catiline,The bastard covey of Italian birds,Shall feel the flames of ever-flaming fire,Which are not quenched with a sea of tears.And since in thee some glorious star must shine,When many years and ages are expir’d,Whose beams shall clear the mist of miscontent,And make the damp of Pluto’s pit retire,Gorlois will never fray the Britons more:For Britain then becomes an angel’s land.Both devils and sprites must yield to angels’ power,Unto the goddess of the angels’ land.Vaunt, Britain, vaunt of her renowmed reign,Whose face deters the hags of hell from thee,Whose virtues hold the plagues of heaven from thee;Whose presence makes the earth fruitful to thee;And with foresight of her thrice-happy days,Britain, I leave thee to an endless praise.Besides these speeches there was also penned a Chorus for the first act, and another for the second act, by Master Francis Flower, which were pronounced accordingly. The dumb shows were partly devised by Master Christopher Yelverton, Master Francis Bacon, Master John Lancaster and others, partly by the said Master Flower, who with Master Penruddock and the said Master Lancaster, directed these proceedings at Court.[250][A copy is in the library of the Duke of Devonshire; it was formerly Kemble’s.][251]Shown to betrue: the author has converted the substantivesoothinto a verb.[252]Ben Jonson opens his “Catiline” with the ghost of Sylla “ranging for revenge,” and he was only thirteen years old, when “The Misfortunes of Arthur” was performed at Greenwich before the Queen. Hughes, doubtless, had the commencement of Seneca’s “Thyestes” in his mind, and throughout he has been indebted more or less to that and other classical authorities. The ghost of Polydorus opens the “Hecuba” of Euripides. The ghost of Gorlois in this instance speaks the prologue to the tragedy.[253]Pheeris companion, and is most ordinarily applied to the male sex: Gorlois, however, refers to the infidelity of his wife.[254]Unwieldy orunmanageableof herself—not having any control over her actions. The sense is a little constrained.[255]These lines as they stand in the original are nonsense—“Whether to dround or stifll uphisbreath,On sorcingblood to dye with dint of knife.”[256]Milton has this thought, almost in the same words, allowing for the difference of an interrogation.“For where no hope is left, is left no fear.”—Par. Reg. III.206.[257]The wordshouldis accidentally repeated in this line in the old copy.[258]“But yet I’ll hope the best” is by mistake given to Conan in the old copy.[259]In the old copy Mordred’s reply is made a part of Conan’s observation.[260]By an apparent error in the original the five preceding lines are given to Mordred.[261]Arthur’s name is misprinted for that of Mordred in this place in the original.[262]It standsroomsin the old copy, but to make sense of the line we must readgrooms. [Grooms is here and afterwards used in the sense ofman.][263]This reply, which belongs to Mordred, is given to Conan in the old copy.[264]Instead of the words “commons grudge,” “realm envies” has been substituted and wafered over the text. The alteration, like some others, seems to have been originally pasted upon the objectionable passage.[265]The following were substituted for the four preceding lines.“The first art in a kingdom is to scornThe envy of the realm. He cannot ruleThat fears to be envi’d. What can divorceEnvy from sovereignty? Must my deserts!”[266]It does not appear whether Conan goes out, or stands by, listening to the dialogue between Mordred and Gawin in the following scene.[267]Pejor est bello timor ipse belli—Seneca, Thyestes, A. III. Chor.Jasper Heywood (“Thyestes Faithfully Englished.” 1560) thus translates this passage—“Worse is then warre it selfe the feare of fyght.”[268][Dulce bellum inexpertis.][269]i.e., Gawin: the Herald went out before.[270]It had been originally printedSecond, but corrected by pastingFirstover it.[271]Old copy,presence.[272]i.e.,Reach’dorgavethe reins to will.[273]The wordsubjectionin this place has been pasted over “allegiance.”[274][Old copy,promise.][275]“Illi mors gravis incubat,Qui notus nimis omnibus,Ignotus moritur sibi.”—Sen. Thyestes, actii.Chor.[276]In the original misprintedceeepe.[277]Overhippesin the original.[278][In the Chorus to the third scene, the wordfoulteris used in the undoubted sense of falter—“They fall and foulter like the mellow fruit.”But see Nares,edit.1859,v. fouldring.][279][Old copy,mischiefes.][280]Curæ leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent.“The grief that does not speak,Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.”—Macbeth, activ., sc.3.[281][Old copy,pagions.][282]“In omni adversitate fortunæ infelicissimum genus infortunii est fuisse felicem.”—Boet:De Consol Philos.L. II.Dante translates the passage thus—“Nessun maggior dolore,Che ricordarsi del tempo feliceNella miseria.”—Inferno, c. v.Fortiguerri follows him in these lines—“E perchè rimembrare il ben perdutoFa piu meschino lo stato presente.”—Ricciardetto, c. xi., st. 81.[283][The writer seems to have had in his memory the fourth eclogue of Virgil.][284]Printedbenthe.THE FIRST PARTOFJERONIMO.EDITION.The First Part of Ieronimo. With the Warres of Portugall, and the Life and Death of Don Andræa. Printed at London, for Thomas Pauyer, and are to be solde at his shop, at the entrance into the Exchange. 1605.4to. Black letter.[PREFACE TO THE FORMER EDITION.][285]From Heywood’s[286]“Apology for Actors,” it appears that Thomas Kyd was the author of the “Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again.” But whether he likewise wrote this “First Part of Jeronimo” does not appear.This “First Part of Jeronimo” is so scarce that many have doubted whether it ever existed; and Mr Coxeter and the author of the “Playhouse Dictionary” were of opinion, that what is called the “Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again,” was only the old play altered and new-named. Ben Jonson has a passage in the induction to “Cynthia’s Revels,” 1600, that seems tofavour that opinion: “Another swears down all that sit about him, that the old Hieronimo, as it was first acted, was the only best and judiciously pen’d play of Europe.”They were, however, two distinct plays, as appears from this copy of the first part, which is printed from one in the valuable collection of David Garrick, Esq.From another passage in the induction to “Cynthia’s Revels,” acted in 1600, it may be conjectured, that “Jeronimo” first appeared on the stage about the year 1588.[287]“They say (says one of the children of the Queen’s Chapel) the ghosts of some three or four plays,departed a dozen years since, have been seen walking on your stage here.”THE FIRST PART OF JERONIMO.[Sound a Signet,[288]and pass over the Stage. Enter at one door the King of Spain, Duke of Castile, Duke Medina,Lorenzo,andRogero;at another door,Andrea,Horatio,andJeronimo.Jeronimokneels down, and the King creates him Marshal of Spain;Lorenzoputs on his Spurs,[289]andAndreahis sword. The King goes along withJeronimoto his House; after a long Signet is sounded, enter all the Nobles, with covered dishes, to the Banquet. Exeunt omnes. That done, enter all again as before.]Spain.Frolic, Jeronimo! thou art now confirmedMarshal of Spain by all the duesAnd customary rights unto thy office.Jer.My knee sings thanks unto your highness’ bounty.—Come hither, boy Horatio; fold thy joints;Kneel by thy father’s loins, and thank my liege,By honouring me, thy mother, and thyself,With this high staff of office.Hor.O my liege,I have a heart thrice stronger than my years,And that shall answer gratefully for me.Let not my youthful blush impair my valour:If ever you have foes, or red field-scars,I’ll empty all my veins to serve your wars;I’ll bleed for you; and more, what speech affords,I’ll speak in drops, when I do fail in words.Jer.Well spoke, my boy; and on thy father’s side.—My liege, how like you Don Horatio’s spirit?What! doth it promise fair?Spain.Ay,And no doubt his merit will purchase more.Knight Marshal, rise, and still riseHigher and greater in thy sovereign’s eyes.Jer.O fortunate hour! bless’d minute! happy day!Able to ravish even my sense away!Now I remember too—O sweet remembrance!—This day my years strike fifty, and in RomeThey call the fifty year the year of jubilee,The merry year, the peaceful year, [the] jocund year,A year of joy, of pleasure and delight;This shall be my year of jubilee, for ’tis my fifty.Age ushers honour; ’tis no shame; confess:Beard, thou art fifty full, not a hair less.Enter anEmbassador.Spain.How now? what news for[290]Spain? tribute returned?Emb.Tribute in words, my liege, but not in coin.Spain.Ha! dare he still procrastinate with Spain?Not tribute paid! not three years paid!’Tis not at his coin,But his slack homage, that we most repine.Jer.My liege, if my opinion might stand firmWithin your highness’ thoughts——Spain.Marshal,Our kingdom calls thee father; therefore speak free.Thy counsel I’ll embrace, as I do thee.Jer.I thank your highness. Then, my gracious liege,I hold it meet, by way of embassage,To demand his mind, and the neglect of tribute.But, my liege,Here must be kind words, which doth oft besiegeThe ears of rough-hewn tyrants more than blows;O, a politic speech beguiles the ears of foes.Marry, my liege, mistake me not, I pray;If friendly phrases, honey’d speech, bewitching accent,Well-tuned melody, and all sweet giftsOf nature, cannot avail or win him to it,Then let him raise his gall up to his tongue,And be as bitter as physicians’ drugs,Stretch his mouth wider with big swoll’n phrases.O, here’s a lad of mettle, stout Don Andrea,Mettle to the crown,Would shake the king’s high court three handfuls down.Spain.And well picked out, Knight Marshal; speech well-strung;I’d rather choose Horatio, were he not so young.Hor.I humbly thank your highness,In placing me next unto his royal bosom.Spain.How stand ye, lords, to this election?Omnes.Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.Med.Only, with pardon, mighty sovereign——Cast.I should have chosen Don Lorenzo.Med.I, Don Rogero.Rog.O no; not me, my lords,I am war’s champion, and my fees are swords.Pray, king, pray, peers, let it be Don Andrea;He is a worthy limb,Loves wars and soldiers; therefore I love him.Jer.And I love him and thee, valiant Rogero.Noble spirits, gallant bloods;You are no wise, insinuating lords,You ha’ no tricks, you ha’ none of all their sleights.Lor.So, so, Andrea must be sent embassador;Lorenzo is not thought upon: good!I’ll wake the court, or startle out some blood.Spain.How stand you, lords, to this election?Omnes.Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.Spain.Then, Don Andrea——And.My approved liege.Spain.We make thee our lord high embassador.And.Your highness circles me with honour’s bounds;I shall discharge the weight of your commandWith best respect: if friendly-tempered phraseCannot affect the virtue of your charge,I will be hard like thunder, and as roughAs northern tempests, or the vexed bowelsOf too insulting waves, who at one blowFive merchants’ wealths into the deep doth throw.I’ll threaten crimson wars——Rog.Aye, aye, that’s good;Let them keep coin, pay tribute with their blood.Spain.Farewell, then, Don Andrea; to thy charge.Lords, let us in; joy shall be now our guest:Let’s in to celebrate our second feast.[Exeunt omnes, manetLorenzosolus.Lor.Andrea’s gone embassador;Lorenzo is not dreamt on in this age.Hard fate,When villains sit not in the highest state!Ambition’s plumes, that flourished in our court,Severe authority has dashed with justice;And policy and pride walk like two exiles,Giving attendance, that were once attended;And we rejected, that were once high-honoured.I hate Andrea; ’cause he aims at honour,When my purest thoughts work in a pitchy vale,Which are as different as heaven and hell.One peers for day, the other gapes for night.That yawning beldam, with her jetty skin—’Tis she I hug as mine effeminate bride,For such complexions best appease my pride.I have a lad in pickle of this stamp,A melancholy, discontented courtier,Whose famished jaws look like the chap of death;Upon whose eyebrows hangs damnation;Whose hands are washed in rape and murders bold:Him with a golden bait will I allure(For courtiers will do anything for gold),To be Andrea’s death at his return.He loves my sister, that shall cost his life;So she a husband, he shall lose a wife.O sweet, sweet policy, I hug thee! good;Andrea’s Hymen’s-draught shall be in blood.[Exit.EnterHoratioat one door,Andreaat another.Hor.Whither in such haste, my second self?And.I’faith, my dear bosom, to take solemn leaveOf a most weeping creature.Hor.That’s a woman.EnterBell’-Imperia.And.That’s Bell’-Imperia.Hor.See, see, she meets you here:And what is it to love, and be lov’d dear!Bel.I have heard of your honour, gentle breast,I do not like it now so well, methinks.And.What! not to have honour bestowed on me?Bel.O, yes; but not a wandering honour, dear;I could afford well, diddest thou stay here.Could honour melt itself into thy veins,And thou the fountain, I could wish it so,If thou wouldst remain here with me, and not go.And.’Tis but to Portugal.Hor.But to demand the tribute, lady.Bel.Tribute! alas, that Spain cannot of peaceForbear a little coin, the Indies being so near.And yet this is not all: I know you are too hot,Too full of spleen for an embassador,And will lean much to honour.And.Pish![291]Bel.Nay, hear me, dear! I know you will be roughAnd violent; and Portugal hath a tempestuous son,Stamp’d with the mark of fury, and you too.And.Sweet Bell’-Imperia!Bel.You’ll[292]meet like thunder, each imperiousOver other’s spleen; you have both proud spirits,And both will strive to aspire. WhenTwo vexed clouds justle, they strike out fire:And you, I fear me, war, which peace forefend.O dear Andrea, pray, let’s have no wars!First let them pay the soldiers that were maimedIn the last battle, ere more wretches fall,Or walk on stilts to timeless funeral.And.Respective dear! O my life’s happiness!The joy of all my being! do not shapeFrightful conceit beyond the intent of act!I know thy love is vigilant o’er my blood,And fears ill-fate which heaven hath yet withstood.But be of comfort; sweet Horatio knowsI go to knit friends, not to kindle foes.Hor.True, madam Bell’-Imperia, that’s his task:The phrase he useth must be gently styled,The king hath warned him to be smooth and mild.Bel.But will you, indeed, Andrea?And.By this.Bel.By this lip-blushing kiss.Hor.O, you swear sweetly.Bel.I’ll keep your oath for you, till you return,Then I’ll be sure you shall not be forsworn.EnterPedringano.And.Ho, Pedringano!Ped.Signior?And.Are all things aboard?Ped.They are, my good lord.And.Then. Bell’-Imperia, I take leave; HoratioBe, in my absence, my dear self, chaste self.—What! playing the woman, Bell’-Imperia?Nay, then you love me not; or, at the least,You drown my honours in those flowing waters.Believe it, Bell’-Imperia, ’tis as commonTo weep at parting, as to be a woman.Love me more valiant; play not this moist prize;Be woman in all parts save in thy eyes.And so I leave thee.Bel.Farewell, my lord:Be mindful of my love and of your word.And.’Tis fixed upon my heart; adieu, soul’s friend!Hor.All honour on Andrea’s steps attend.Bel.Yet he is in sight, and yet but now he’s vanished.[ExitAndrea.Hor.Nay, lady, if you stoop so much to passion,I’ll call him back again.Bel.O good Horatio, no; it is for honour.Pr’y-thee, let him go.Hor.Then, madam, be composed, as you were wont,To music and delight; the time being comic, willSeem short and pleasant, till his returnFrom Portugal. And, madam, in this circleLet your heart move;Honoured promotion is the sap of love.[Exeunt.EnterLorenzoandLazarotto,a discontented Courtier.Lor.Come, my soul’s spaniel, my life’s jetty substance,What’s thy name?Laz.My name ’s an honest name, a courtier’s name:’Tis Lazarotto.Lor.What, Lazarotto!Laz.Or rather rotting in this lazy ageThat yields me no employments: I have mischiefWithin my breast, more than my bulk[293]can hold:I want a midwife to deliver it.Lor.I’ll be the he-one then, and rid thee soonOf this dull, leaden, and tormenting elf.Thou know’st the love betwixtBell’-Imperia and Andrea’s bosom?Laz.Aye, I do.Lor.How might I cross it, my sweet mischief?Honey-damnation, how?Laz.Well:As many ways as there are paths to hell,And that’s enou’, i’ faith. From usurer’s door—There goes one path: from friars that nurse whores—There goes another path: from brokers’ stalls,From rich that die and build no hospitals—Two other paths: from farmers that crack barnsWith stuffing corn, yet starve the needy swarms—Another path: from drinking-schools one—From dicing-houses—but from the court, none, none.Lor.Here is a slave just of the stamp I wish;Whose ink-soul’s blacker than his name,Though it stand printed with a raven’s quill.[Aside.But, Lazarotto, cross my sister’s love,And I’ll rain showers of ducats in thy palm.Laz.O duckets, dainty ducks; forgive me, duckets,I’ll fetch you duck enough for gold; and chinkMakes the punk wanton and the bawd to wink.Lor.Discharge, discharge, good Lazarotto,How we may cross my sister’s loving hopes.Laz.Nay, now I’ll tell you.Lor.Thou knowest Andrea’s gone embassador.Laz.The better; there is opportunity:Now list to me.EnterJeronimoandHoratio,and overhear their talk.Alcario, the Duke Medina’s son,Doats on your sister Bell’-Imperia:Him in her private gallery you shall placeTo court her; let his protestations beFashioned with rich jewels,[294]for in loveGreat gifts and gold have the best tongue to move.Let him not spare an oath without a jewelTo bind it fast: O, I know women’s hearts,What stuff they are made of, my lord: gifts and givingWill melt the chastest-seeming female living.Lor.Indeed Andrea is but poor, though honourable;His bounty among soldiers soaks him dry,And their o’er-great gifts may bewitch her eye.Jer.Here’s no fine villainy, no damned brother![Aside.Lor.But say she should deny his gifts, be allComposed of hate, as my mind gives me thatShe will: what then?Laz.Then thus: at his returnTo Spain, I’ll murder Don Andrea.Lor.Dar’st thou, spirit?Laz.What dares not he do, that ne’er hopes t’inherit?Hor.He dares be damn’d like thee.[Aside.Laz.Dare I? Ha, ha!I have no hope of everlasting height,My soul’s a Moor, you know, salvation’s white.What dare I not enact then? Tush, he dies;I will make way to Bell’-Imperia’s eyes.Lor.To weep, I fear, but not to tender love.Laz.Why, is she not a woman? she must weepAwhile, as widows use, till their first sleep;Who in the morrow following will be soldTo new, before the first are throughly cold.So Bell’-Imperia; for this is common;The more she weeps, the more she plays the woman.Lor.Come then, howe’er it hap, Andrea shall be cross’d.Laz.Let me alone, I’ll turn him to a ghost.[ExeuntLorenzoandLazarotto.ManentJeronimoandHoratio.[295]Jer.Farewell, true brace of villains;Come hither, boy Horatio, didst thou hear them?Hor.O my true-breasted father, my earsHave suck’d in poison, deadly poison:Murder Andrea! O inhuman practice!Had not your reverend years been present here,I should have poniarded the villain’s bowels,And shoved his soul out to damnation.Murder Andrea! honest lord! impious villains!Jer.I like thy true heart, boy; thou lov’st thy friend:It is the greatest argument and sign,That I begot thee, for it shows thou ’rt mine.Hor.O father, ’tis a charitable deedTo prevent those that would make virtue bleed!I’ll despatch letters to Don Andrea;Unfold their hellish practice, damn’d intent,Against the virtuous rivers of his life.Murder Andrea!EnterIsabella.
Death hath his conquest, hell hath had his wish,Gorlois his vow, Alecto her desire;Sin hath his pay, and blood is quit with blood:Revenge in triumph bears the struggling hearts!Now, Gorlois, pierce the craggy rocks of hell,Through chinks whereof infernal sprites do glance,Return this answer to the furies’ court:That Cornwall trembles with the thought of war,And Tamar’s flood with drooping pace doth flow,For fear of touching Camel’s bloody stream.Britain, remember; write it on thy walls,Which neither time nor tyranny may raze,That rebels, traitors, and conspirators,The seminary of lewd Catiline,The bastard covey of Italian birds,Shall feel the flames of ever-flaming fire,Which are not quenched with a sea of tears.And since in thee some glorious star must shine,When many years and ages are expir’d,Whose beams shall clear the mist of miscontent,And make the damp of Pluto’s pit retire,Gorlois will never fray the Britons more:For Britain then becomes an angel’s land.Both devils and sprites must yield to angels’ power,Unto the goddess of the angels’ land.Vaunt, Britain, vaunt of her renowmed reign,Whose face deters the hags of hell from thee,Whose virtues hold the plagues of heaven from thee;Whose presence makes the earth fruitful to thee;And with foresight of her thrice-happy days,Britain, I leave thee to an endless praise.
Death hath his conquest, hell hath had his wish,
Gorlois his vow, Alecto her desire;
Sin hath his pay, and blood is quit with blood:
Revenge in triumph bears the struggling hearts!
Now, Gorlois, pierce the craggy rocks of hell,
Through chinks whereof infernal sprites do glance,
Return this answer to the furies’ court:
That Cornwall trembles with the thought of war,
And Tamar’s flood with drooping pace doth flow,
For fear of touching Camel’s bloody stream.
Britain, remember; write it on thy walls,
Which neither time nor tyranny may raze,
That rebels, traitors, and conspirators,
The seminary of lewd Catiline,
The bastard covey of Italian birds,
Shall feel the flames of ever-flaming fire,
Which are not quenched with a sea of tears.
And since in thee some glorious star must shine,
When many years and ages are expir’d,
Whose beams shall clear the mist of miscontent,
And make the damp of Pluto’s pit retire,
Gorlois will never fray the Britons more:
For Britain then becomes an angel’s land.
Both devils and sprites must yield to angels’ power,
Unto the goddess of the angels’ land.
Vaunt, Britain, vaunt of her renowmed reign,
Whose face deters the hags of hell from thee,
Whose virtues hold the plagues of heaven from thee;
Whose presence makes the earth fruitful to thee;
And with foresight of her thrice-happy days,
Britain, I leave thee to an endless praise.
Besides these speeches there was also penned a Chorus for the first act, and another for the second act, by Master Francis Flower, which were pronounced accordingly. The dumb shows were partly devised by Master Christopher Yelverton, Master Francis Bacon, Master John Lancaster and others, partly by the said Master Flower, who with Master Penruddock and the said Master Lancaster, directed these proceedings at Court.
[250][A copy is in the library of the Duke of Devonshire; it was formerly Kemble’s.][251]Shown to betrue: the author has converted the substantivesoothinto a verb.[252]Ben Jonson opens his “Catiline” with the ghost of Sylla “ranging for revenge,” and he was only thirteen years old, when “The Misfortunes of Arthur” was performed at Greenwich before the Queen. Hughes, doubtless, had the commencement of Seneca’s “Thyestes” in his mind, and throughout he has been indebted more or less to that and other classical authorities. The ghost of Polydorus opens the “Hecuba” of Euripides. The ghost of Gorlois in this instance speaks the prologue to the tragedy.[253]Pheeris companion, and is most ordinarily applied to the male sex: Gorlois, however, refers to the infidelity of his wife.[254]Unwieldy orunmanageableof herself—not having any control over her actions. The sense is a little constrained.[255]These lines as they stand in the original are nonsense—“Whether to dround or stifll uphisbreath,On sorcingblood to dye with dint of knife.”[256]Milton has this thought, almost in the same words, allowing for the difference of an interrogation.“For where no hope is left, is left no fear.”—Par. Reg. III.206.[257]The wordshouldis accidentally repeated in this line in the old copy.[258]“But yet I’ll hope the best” is by mistake given to Conan in the old copy.[259]In the old copy Mordred’s reply is made a part of Conan’s observation.[260]By an apparent error in the original the five preceding lines are given to Mordred.[261]Arthur’s name is misprinted for that of Mordred in this place in the original.[262]It standsroomsin the old copy, but to make sense of the line we must readgrooms. [Grooms is here and afterwards used in the sense ofman.][263]This reply, which belongs to Mordred, is given to Conan in the old copy.[264]Instead of the words “commons grudge,” “realm envies” has been substituted and wafered over the text. The alteration, like some others, seems to have been originally pasted upon the objectionable passage.[265]The following were substituted for the four preceding lines.“The first art in a kingdom is to scornThe envy of the realm. He cannot ruleThat fears to be envi’d. What can divorceEnvy from sovereignty? Must my deserts!”[266]It does not appear whether Conan goes out, or stands by, listening to the dialogue between Mordred and Gawin in the following scene.[267]Pejor est bello timor ipse belli—Seneca, Thyestes, A. III. Chor.Jasper Heywood (“Thyestes Faithfully Englished.” 1560) thus translates this passage—“Worse is then warre it selfe the feare of fyght.”[268][Dulce bellum inexpertis.][269]i.e., Gawin: the Herald went out before.[270]It had been originally printedSecond, but corrected by pastingFirstover it.[271]Old copy,presence.[272]i.e.,Reach’dorgavethe reins to will.[273]The wordsubjectionin this place has been pasted over “allegiance.”[274][Old copy,promise.][275]“Illi mors gravis incubat,Qui notus nimis omnibus,Ignotus moritur sibi.”—Sen. Thyestes, actii.Chor.[276]In the original misprintedceeepe.[277]Overhippesin the original.[278][In the Chorus to the third scene, the wordfoulteris used in the undoubted sense of falter—“They fall and foulter like the mellow fruit.”But see Nares,edit.1859,v. fouldring.][279][Old copy,mischiefes.][280]Curæ leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent.“The grief that does not speak,Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.”—Macbeth, activ., sc.3.[281][Old copy,pagions.][282]“In omni adversitate fortunæ infelicissimum genus infortunii est fuisse felicem.”—Boet:De Consol Philos.L. II.Dante translates the passage thus—“Nessun maggior dolore,Che ricordarsi del tempo feliceNella miseria.”—Inferno, c. v.Fortiguerri follows him in these lines—“E perchè rimembrare il ben perdutoFa piu meschino lo stato presente.”—Ricciardetto, c. xi., st. 81.[283][The writer seems to have had in his memory the fourth eclogue of Virgil.][284]Printedbenthe.
[250][A copy is in the library of the Duke of Devonshire; it was formerly Kemble’s.]
[251]Shown to betrue: the author has converted the substantivesoothinto a verb.
[252]Ben Jonson opens his “Catiline” with the ghost of Sylla “ranging for revenge,” and he was only thirteen years old, when “The Misfortunes of Arthur” was performed at Greenwich before the Queen. Hughes, doubtless, had the commencement of Seneca’s “Thyestes” in his mind, and throughout he has been indebted more or less to that and other classical authorities. The ghost of Polydorus opens the “Hecuba” of Euripides. The ghost of Gorlois in this instance speaks the prologue to the tragedy.
[253]Pheeris companion, and is most ordinarily applied to the male sex: Gorlois, however, refers to the infidelity of his wife.
[254]Unwieldy orunmanageableof herself—not having any control over her actions. The sense is a little constrained.
[255]These lines as they stand in the original are nonsense—
“Whether to dround or stifll uphisbreath,On sorcingblood to dye with dint of knife.”
“Whether to dround or stifll uphisbreath,
On sorcingblood to dye with dint of knife.”
[256]Milton has this thought, almost in the same words, allowing for the difference of an interrogation.
“For where no hope is left, is left no fear.”—Par. Reg. III.206.
“For where no hope is left, is left no fear.”
—Par. Reg. III.206.
[257]The wordshouldis accidentally repeated in this line in the old copy.
[258]“But yet I’ll hope the best” is by mistake given to Conan in the old copy.
[259]In the old copy Mordred’s reply is made a part of Conan’s observation.
[260]By an apparent error in the original the five preceding lines are given to Mordred.
[261]Arthur’s name is misprinted for that of Mordred in this place in the original.
[262]It standsroomsin the old copy, but to make sense of the line we must readgrooms. [Grooms is here and afterwards used in the sense ofman.]
[263]This reply, which belongs to Mordred, is given to Conan in the old copy.
[264]Instead of the words “commons grudge,” “realm envies” has been substituted and wafered over the text. The alteration, like some others, seems to have been originally pasted upon the objectionable passage.
[265]The following were substituted for the four preceding lines.
“The first art in a kingdom is to scornThe envy of the realm. He cannot ruleThat fears to be envi’d. What can divorceEnvy from sovereignty? Must my deserts!”
“The first art in a kingdom is to scorn
The envy of the realm. He cannot rule
That fears to be envi’d. What can divorce
Envy from sovereignty? Must my deserts!”
[266]It does not appear whether Conan goes out, or stands by, listening to the dialogue between Mordred and Gawin in the following scene.
[267]
Pejor est bello timor ipse belli—Seneca, Thyestes, A. III. Chor.
Pejor est bello timor ipse belli—
Seneca, Thyestes, A. III. Chor.
Jasper Heywood (“Thyestes Faithfully Englished.” 1560) thus translates this passage—
“Worse is then warre it selfe the feare of fyght.”
“Worse is then warre it selfe the feare of fyght.”
[268][Dulce bellum inexpertis.]
[269]i.e., Gawin: the Herald went out before.
[270]It had been originally printedSecond, but corrected by pastingFirstover it.
[271]Old copy,presence.
[272]i.e.,Reach’dorgavethe reins to will.
[273]The wordsubjectionin this place has been pasted over “allegiance.”
[274][Old copy,promise.]
[275]
“Illi mors gravis incubat,Qui notus nimis omnibus,Ignotus moritur sibi.”—Sen. Thyestes, actii.Chor.
“Illi mors gravis incubat,
Qui notus nimis omnibus,
Ignotus moritur sibi.”
—Sen. Thyestes, actii.Chor.
[276]In the original misprintedceeepe.
[277]Overhippesin the original.
[278][In the Chorus to the third scene, the wordfoulteris used in the undoubted sense of falter—
“They fall and foulter like the mellow fruit.”
“They fall and foulter like the mellow fruit.”
But see Nares,edit.1859,v. fouldring.]
[279][Old copy,mischiefes.]
[280]Curæ leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent.
“The grief that does not speak,Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.”—Macbeth, activ., sc.3.
“The grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.”
—Macbeth, activ., sc.3.
[281][Old copy,pagions.]
[282]“In omni adversitate fortunæ infelicissimum genus infortunii est fuisse felicem.”—Boet:De Consol Philos.L. II.
Dante translates the passage thus—
“Nessun maggior dolore,Che ricordarsi del tempo feliceNella miseria.”—Inferno, c. v.
“Nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria.”
—Inferno, c. v.
Fortiguerri follows him in these lines—
“E perchè rimembrare il ben perdutoFa piu meschino lo stato presente.”—Ricciardetto, c. xi., st. 81.
“E perchè rimembrare il ben perduto
Fa piu meschino lo stato presente.”
—Ricciardetto, c. xi., st. 81.
[283][The writer seems to have had in his memory the fourth eclogue of Virgil.]
[284]Printedbenthe.
THE FIRST PART
OF
EDITION.
The First Part of Ieronimo. With the Warres of Portugall, and the Life and Death of Don Andræa. Printed at London, for Thomas Pauyer, and are to be solde at his shop, at the entrance into the Exchange. 1605.4to. Black letter.
[PREFACE TO THE FORMER EDITION.][285]
From Heywood’s[286]“Apology for Actors,” it appears that Thomas Kyd was the author of the “Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again.” But whether he likewise wrote this “First Part of Jeronimo” does not appear.
This “First Part of Jeronimo” is so scarce that many have doubted whether it ever existed; and Mr Coxeter and the author of the “Playhouse Dictionary” were of opinion, that what is called the “Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again,” was only the old play altered and new-named. Ben Jonson has a passage in the induction to “Cynthia’s Revels,” 1600, that seems tofavour that opinion: “Another swears down all that sit about him, that the old Hieronimo, as it was first acted, was the only best and judiciously pen’d play of Europe.”
They were, however, two distinct plays, as appears from this copy of the first part, which is printed from one in the valuable collection of David Garrick, Esq.
From another passage in the induction to “Cynthia’s Revels,” acted in 1600, it may be conjectured, that “Jeronimo” first appeared on the stage about the year 1588.[287]“They say (says one of the children of the Queen’s Chapel) the ghosts of some three or four plays,departed a dozen years since, have been seen walking on your stage here.”
[Sound a Signet,[288]and pass over the Stage. Enter at one door the King of Spain, Duke of Castile, Duke Medina,Lorenzo,andRogero;at another door,Andrea,Horatio,andJeronimo.Jeronimokneels down, and the King creates him Marshal of Spain;Lorenzoputs on his Spurs,[289]andAndreahis sword. The King goes along withJeronimoto his House; after a long Signet is sounded, enter all the Nobles, with covered dishes, to the Banquet. Exeunt omnes. That done, enter all again as before.]
Spain.Frolic, Jeronimo! thou art now confirmedMarshal of Spain by all the duesAnd customary rights unto thy office.Jer.My knee sings thanks unto your highness’ bounty.—Come hither, boy Horatio; fold thy joints;Kneel by thy father’s loins, and thank my liege,By honouring me, thy mother, and thyself,With this high staff of office.Hor.O my liege,I have a heart thrice stronger than my years,And that shall answer gratefully for me.Let not my youthful blush impair my valour:If ever you have foes, or red field-scars,I’ll empty all my veins to serve your wars;I’ll bleed for you; and more, what speech affords,I’ll speak in drops, when I do fail in words.Jer.Well spoke, my boy; and on thy father’s side.—My liege, how like you Don Horatio’s spirit?What! doth it promise fair?Spain.Ay,And no doubt his merit will purchase more.Knight Marshal, rise, and still riseHigher and greater in thy sovereign’s eyes.Jer.O fortunate hour! bless’d minute! happy day!Able to ravish even my sense away!Now I remember too—O sweet remembrance!—This day my years strike fifty, and in RomeThey call the fifty year the year of jubilee,The merry year, the peaceful year, [the] jocund year,A year of joy, of pleasure and delight;This shall be my year of jubilee, for ’tis my fifty.Age ushers honour; ’tis no shame; confess:Beard, thou art fifty full, not a hair less.
Spain.Frolic, Jeronimo! thou art now confirmedMarshal of Spain by all the duesAnd customary rights unto thy office.
Spain.Frolic, Jeronimo! thou art now confirmed
Marshal of Spain by all the dues
And customary rights unto thy office.
Jer.My knee sings thanks unto your highness’ bounty.—Come hither, boy Horatio; fold thy joints;Kneel by thy father’s loins, and thank my liege,By honouring me, thy mother, and thyself,With this high staff of office.
Jer.My knee sings thanks unto your highness’ bounty.—
Come hither, boy Horatio; fold thy joints;
Kneel by thy father’s loins, and thank my liege,
By honouring me, thy mother, and thyself,
With this high staff of office.
Hor.O my liege,I have a heart thrice stronger than my years,And that shall answer gratefully for me.Let not my youthful blush impair my valour:If ever you have foes, or red field-scars,I’ll empty all my veins to serve your wars;I’ll bleed for you; and more, what speech affords,I’ll speak in drops, when I do fail in words.
Hor.O my liege,
I have a heart thrice stronger than my years,
And that shall answer gratefully for me.
Let not my youthful blush impair my valour:
If ever you have foes, or red field-scars,
I’ll empty all my veins to serve your wars;
I’ll bleed for you; and more, what speech affords,
I’ll speak in drops, when I do fail in words.
Jer.Well spoke, my boy; and on thy father’s side.—My liege, how like you Don Horatio’s spirit?What! doth it promise fair?
Jer.Well spoke, my boy; and on thy father’s side.—
My liege, how like you Don Horatio’s spirit?
What! doth it promise fair?
Spain.Ay,And no doubt his merit will purchase more.Knight Marshal, rise, and still riseHigher and greater in thy sovereign’s eyes.
Spain.Ay,
And no doubt his merit will purchase more.
Knight Marshal, rise, and still rise
Higher and greater in thy sovereign’s eyes.
Jer.O fortunate hour! bless’d minute! happy day!Able to ravish even my sense away!Now I remember too—O sweet remembrance!—This day my years strike fifty, and in RomeThey call the fifty year the year of jubilee,The merry year, the peaceful year, [the] jocund year,A year of joy, of pleasure and delight;This shall be my year of jubilee, for ’tis my fifty.Age ushers honour; ’tis no shame; confess:Beard, thou art fifty full, not a hair less.
Jer.O fortunate hour! bless’d minute! happy day!
Able to ravish even my sense away!
Now I remember too—O sweet remembrance!—
This day my years strike fifty, and in Rome
They call the fifty year the year of jubilee,
The merry year, the peaceful year, [the] jocund year,
A year of joy, of pleasure and delight;
This shall be my year of jubilee, for ’tis my fifty.
Age ushers honour; ’tis no shame; confess:
Beard, thou art fifty full, not a hair less.
Enter anEmbassador.
Spain.How now? what news for[290]Spain? tribute returned?Emb.Tribute in words, my liege, but not in coin.Spain.Ha! dare he still procrastinate with Spain?Not tribute paid! not three years paid!’Tis not at his coin,But his slack homage, that we most repine.Jer.My liege, if my opinion might stand firmWithin your highness’ thoughts——Spain.Marshal,Our kingdom calls thee father; therefore speak free.Thy counsel I’ll embrace, as I do thee.Jer.I thank your highness. Then, my gracious liege,I hold it meet, by way of embassage,To demand his mind, and the neglect of tribute.But, my liege,Here must be kind words, which doth oft besiegeThe ears of rough-hewn tyrants more than blows;O, a politic speech beguiles the ears of foes.Marry, my liege, mistake me not, I pray;If friendly phrases, honey’d speech, bewitching accent,Well-tuned melody, and all sweet giftsOf nature, cannot avail or win him to it,Then let him raise his gall up to his tongue,And be as bitter as physicians’ drugs,Stretch his mouth wider with big swoll’n phrases.O, here’s a lad of mettle, stout Don Andrea,Mettle to the crown,Would shake the king’s high court three handfuls down.Spain.And well picked out, Knight Marshal; speech well-strung;I’d rather choose Horatio, were he not so young.Hor.I humbly thank your highness,In placing me next unto his royal bosom.Spain.How stand ye, lords, to this election?Omnes.Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.Med.Only, with pardon, mighty sovereign——Cast.I should have chosen Don Lorenzo.Med.I, Don Rogero.Rog.O no; not me, my lords,I am war’s champion, and my fees are swords.Pray, king, pray, peers, let it be Don Andrea;He is a worthy limb,Loves wars and soldiers; therefore I love him.Jer.And I love him and thee, valiant Rogero.Noble spirits, gallant bloods;You are no wise, insinuating lords,You ha’ no tricks, you ha’ none of all their sleights.Lor.So, so, Andrea must be sent embassador;Lorenzo is not thought upon: good!I’ll wake the court, or startle out some blood.Spain.How stand you, lords, to this election?Omnes.Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.Spain.Then, Don Andrea——And.My approved liege.Spain.We make thee our lord high embassador.And.Your highness circles me with honour’s bounds;I shall discharge the weight of your commandWith best respect: if friendly-tempered phraseCannot affect the virtue of your charge,I will be hard like thunder, and as roughAs northern tempests, or the vexed bowelsOf too insulting waves, who at one blowFive merchants’ wealths into the deep doth throw.I’ll threaten crimson wars——Rog.Aye, aye, that’s good;Let them keep coin, pay tribute with their blood.Spain.Farewell, then, Don Andrea; to thy charge.Lords, let us in; joy shall be now our guest:Let’s in to celebrate our second feast.[Exeunt omnes, manetLorenzosolus.
Spain.How now? what news for[290]Spain? tribute returned?
Spain.How now? what news for[290]Spain? tribute returned?
Emb.Tribute in words, my liege, but not in coin.
Emb.Tribute in words, my liege, but not in coin.
Spain.Ha! dare he still procrastinate with Spain?Not tribute paid! not three years paid!’Tis not at his coin,But his slack homage, that we most repine.
Spain.Ha! dare he still procrastinate with Spain?
Not tribute paid! not three years paid!
’Tis not at his coin,
But his slack homage, that we most repine.
Jer.My liege, if my opinion might stand firmWithin your highness’ thoughts——
Jer.My liege, if my opinion might stand firm
Within your highness’ thoughts——
Spain.Marshal,Our kingdom calls thee father; therefore speak free.Thy counsel I’ll embrace, as I do thee.
Spain.Marshal,
Our kingdom calls thee father; therefore speak free.
Thy counsel I’ll embrace, as I do thee.
Jer.I thank your highness. Then, my gracious liege,I hold it meet, by way of embassage,To demand his mind, and the neglect of tribute.But, my liege,Here must be kind words, which doth oft besiegeThe ears of rough-hewn tyrants more than blows;O, a politic speech beguiles the ears of foes.Marry, my liege, mistake me not, I pray;If friendly phrases, honey’d speech, bewitching accent,Well-tuned melody, and all sweet giftsOf nature, cannot avail or win him to it,Then let him raise his gall up to his tongue,And be as bitter as physicians’ drugs,Stretch his mouth wider with big swoll’n phrases.O, here’s a lad of mettle, stout Don Andrea,Mettle to the crown,Would shake the king’s high court three handfuls down.
Jer.I thank your highness. Then, my gracious liege,
I hold it meet, by way of embassage,
To demand his mind, and the neglect of tribute.
But, my liege,
Here must be kind words, which doth oft besiege
The ears of rough-hewn tyrants more than blows;
O, a politic speech beguiles the ears of foes.
Marry, my liege, mistake me not, I pray;
If friendly phrases, honey’d speech, bewitching accent,
Well-tuned melody, and all sweet gifts
Of nature, cannot avail or win him to it,
Then let him raise his gall up to his tongue,
And be as bitter as physicians’ drugs,
Stretch his mouth wider with big swoll’n phrases.
O, here’s a lad of mettle, stout Don Andrea,
Mettle to the crown,
Would shake the king’s high court three handfuls down.
Spain.And well picked out, Knight Marshal; speech well-strung;I’d rather choose Horatio, were he not so young.
Spain.And well picked out, Knight Marshal; speech well-strung;
I’d rather choose Horatio, were he not so young.
Hor.I humbly thank your highness,In placing me next unto his royal bosom.
Hor.I humbly thank your highness,
In placing me next unto his royal bosom.
Spain.How stand ye, lords, to this election?
Spain.How stand ye, lords, to this election?
Omnes.Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.
Omnes.Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.
Med.Only, with pardon, mighty sovereign——
Med.Only, with pardon, mighty sovereign——
Cast.I should have chosen Don Lorenzo.
Cast.I should have chosen Don Lorenzo.
Med.I, Don Rogero.
Med.I, Don Rogero.
Rog.O no; not me, my lords,I am war’s champion, and my fees are swords.Pray, king, pray, peers, let it be Don Andrea;He is a worthy limb,Loves wars and soldiers; therefore I love him.
Rog.O no; not me, my lords,
I am war’s champion, and my fees are swords.
Pray, king, pray, peers, let it be Don Andrea;
He is a worthy limb,
Loves wars and soldiers; therefore I love him.
Jer.And I love him and thee, valiant Rogero.Noble spirits, gallant bloods;You are no wise, insinuating lords,You ha’ no tricks, you ha’ none of all their sleights.
Jer.And I love him and thee, valiant Rogero.
Noble spirits, gallant bloods;
You are no wise, insinuating lords,
You ha’ no tricks, you ha’ none of all their sleights.
Lor.So, so, Andrea must be sent embassador;Lorenzo is not thought upon: good!I’ll wake the court, or startle out some blood.
Lor.So, so, Andrea must be sent embassador;
Lorenzo is not thought upon: good!
I’ll wake the court, or startle out some blood.
Spain.How stand you, lords, to this election?
Spain.How stand you, lords, to this election?
Omnes.Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.
Omnes.Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.
Spain.Then, Don Andrea——
Spain.Then, Don Andrea——
And.My approved liege.
And.My approved liege.
Spain.We make thee our lord high embassador.
Spain.We make thee our lord high embassador.
And.Your highness circles me with honour’s bounds;I shall discharge the weight of your commandWith best respect: if friendly-tempered phraseCannot affect the virtue of your charge,I will be hard like thunder, and as roughAs northern tempests, or the vexed bowelsOf too insulting waves, who at one blowFive merchants’ wealths into the deep doth throw.I’ll threaten crimson wars——
And.Your highness circles me with honour’s bounds;
I shall discharge the weight of your command
With best respect: if friendly-tempered phrase
Cannot affect the virtue of your charge,
I will be hard like thunder, and as rough
As northern tempests, or the vexed bowels
Of too insulting waves, who at one blow
Five merchants’ wealths into the deep doth throw.
I’ll threaten crimson wars——
Rog.Aye, aye, that’s good;Let them keep coin, pay tribute with their blood.
Rog.Aye, aye, that’s good;
Let them keep coin, pay tribute with their blood.
Spain.Farewell, then, Don Andrea; to thy charge.Lords, let us in; joy shall be now our guest:Let’s in to celebrate our second feast.[Exeunt omnes, manetLorenzosolus.
Spain.Farewell, then, Don Andrea; to thy charge.
Lords, let us in; joy shall be now our guest:
Let’s in to celebrate our second feast.
[Exeunt omnes, manetLorenzosolus.
Lor.Andrea’s gone embassador;Lorenzo is not dreamt on in this age.Hard fate,When villains sit not in the highest state!Ambition’s plumes, that flourished in our court,Severe authority has dashed with justice;And policy and pride walk like two exiles,Giving attendance, that were once attended;And we rejected, that were once high-honoured.I hate Andrea; ’cause he aims at honour,When my purest thoughts work in a pitchy vale,Which are as different as heaven and hell.One peers for day, the other gapes for night.That yawning beldam, with her jetty skin—’Tis she I hug as mine effeminate bride,For such complexions best appease my pride.I have a lad in pickle of this stamp,A melancholy, discontented courtier,Whose famished jaws look like the chap of death;Upon whose eyebrows hangs damnation;Whose hands are washed in rape and murders bold:Him with a golden bait will I allure(For courtiers will do anything for gold),To be Andrea’s death at his return.He loves my sister, that shall cost his life;So she a husband, he shall lose a wife.O sweet, sweet policy, I hug thee! good;Andrea’s Hymen’s-draught shall be in blood.[Exit.
Lor.Andrea’s gone embassador;
Lorenzo is not dreamt on in this age.
Hard fate,
When villains sit not in the highest state!
Ambition’s plumes, that flourished in our court,
Severe authority has dashed with justice;
And policy and pride walk like two exiles,
Giving attendance, that were once attended;
And we rejected, that were once high-honoured.
I hate Andrea; ’cause he aims at honour,
When my purest thoughts work in a pitchy vale,
Which are as different as heaven and hell.
One peers for day, the other gapes for night.
That yawning beldam, with her jetty skin—
’Tis she I hug as mine effeminate bride,
For such complexions best appease my pride.
I have a lad in pickle of this stamp,
A melancholy, discontented courtier,
Whose famished jaws look like the chap of death;
Upon whose eyebrows hangs damnation;
Whose hands are washed in rape and murders bold:
Him with a golden bait will I allure
(For courtiers will do anything for gold),
To be Andrea’s death at his return.
He loves my sister, that shall cost his life;
So she a husband, he shall lose a wife.
O sweet, sweet policy, I hug thee! good;
Andrea’s Hymen’s-draught shall be in blood.
[Exit.
EnterHoratioat one door,Andreaat another.
Hor.Whither in such haste, my second self?And.I’faith, my dear bosom, to take solemn leaveOf a most weeping creature.Hor.That’s a woman.
Hor.Whither in such haste, my second self?
Hor.Whither in such haste, my second self?
And.I’faith, my dear bosom, to take solemn leaveOf a most weeping creature.
And.I’faith, my dear bosom, to take solemn leave
Of a most weeping creature.
Hor.That’s a woman.
Hor.That’s a woman.
EnterBell’-Imperia.
And.That’s Bell’-Imperia.Hor.See, see, she meets you here:And what is it to love, and be lov’d dear!Bel.I have heard of your honour, gentle breast,I do not like it now so well, methinks.And.What! not to have honour bestowed on me?Bel.O, yes; but not a wandering honour, dear;I could afford well, diddest thou stay here.Could honour melt itself into thy veins,And thou the fountain, I could wish it so,If thou wouldst remain here with me, and not go.And.’Tis but to Portugal.Hor.But to demand the tribute, lady.Bel.Tribute! alas, that Spain cannot of peaceForbear a little coin, the Indies being so near.And yet this is not all: I know you are too hot,Too full of spleen for an embassador,And will lean much to honour.And.Pish![291]Bel.Nay, hear me, dear! I know you will be roughAnd violent; and Portugal hath a tempestuous son,Stamp’d with the mark of fury, and you too.And.Sweet Bell’-Imperia!Bel.You’ll[292]meet like thunder, each imperiousOver other’s spleen; you have both proud spirits,And both will strive to aspire. WhenTwo vexed clouds justle, they strike out fire:And you, I fear me, war, which peace forefend.O dear Andrea, pray, let’s have no wars!First let them pay the soldiers that were maimedIn the last battle, ere more wretches fall,Or walk on stilts to timeless funeral.And.Respective dear! O my life’s happiness!The joy of all my being! do not shapeFrightful conceit beyond the intent of act!I know thy love is vigilant o’er my blood,And fears ill-fate which heaven hath yet withstood.But be of comfort; sweet Horatio knowsI go to knit friends, not to kindle foes.Hor.True, madam Bell’-Imperia, that’s his task:The phrase he useth must be gently styled,The king hath warned him to be smooth and mild.Bel.But will you, indeed, Andrea?And.By this.Bel.By this lip-blushing kiss.Hor.O, you swear sweetly.Bel.I’ll keep your oath for you, till you return,Then I’ll be sure you shall not be forsworn.
And.That’s Bell’-Imperia.
And.That’s Bell’-Imperia.
Hor.See, see, she meets you here:And what is it to love, and be lov’d dear!
Hor.See, see, she meets you here:
And what is it to love, and be lov’d dear!
Bel.I have heard of your honour, gentle breast,I do not like it now so well, methinks.
Bel.I have heard of your honour, gentle breast,
I do not like it now so well, methinks.
And.What! not to have honour bestowed on me?
And.What! not to have honour bestowed on me?
Bel.O, yes; but not a wandering honour, dear;I could afford well, diddest thou stay here.Could honour melt itself into thy veins,And thou the fountain, I could wish it so,If thou wouldst remain here with me, and not go.
Bel.O, yes; but not a wandering honour, dear;
I could afford well, diddest thou stay here.
Could honour melt itself into thy veins,
And thou the fountain, I could wish it so,
If thou wouldst remain here with me, and not go.
And.’Tis but to Portugal.
And.’Tis but to Portugal.
Hor.But to demand the tribute, lady.
Hor.But to demand the tribute, lady.
Bel.Tribute! alas, that Spain cannot of peaceForbear a little coin, the Indies being so near.And yet this is not all: I know you are too hot,Too full of spleen for an embassador,And will lean much to honour.
Bel.Tribute! alas, that Spain cannot of peace
Forbear a little coin, the Indies being so near.
And yet this is not all: I know you are too hot,
Too full of spleen for an embassador,
And will lean much to honour.
And.Pish![291]
And.Pish![291]
Bel.Nay, hear me, dear! I know you will be roughAnd violent; and Portugal hath a tempestuous son,Stamp’d with the mark of fury, and you too.
Bel.Nay, hear me, dear! I know you will be rough
And violent; and Portugal hath a tempestuous son,
Stamp’d with the mark of fury, and you too.
And.Sweet Bell’-Imperia!
And.Sweet Bell’-Imperia!
Bel.You’ll[292]meet like thunder, each imperiousOver other’s spleen; you have both proud spirits,And both will strive to aspire. WhenTwo vexed clouds justle, they strike out fire:And you, I fear me, war, which peace forefend.O dear Andrea, pray, let’s have no wars!First let them pay the soldiers that were maimedIn the last battle, ere more wretches fall,Or walk on stilts to timeless funeral.
Bel.You’ll[292]meet like thunder, each imperious
Over other’s spleen; you have both proud spirits,
And both will strive to aspire. When
Two vexed clouds justle, they strike out fire:
And you, I fear me, war, which peace forefend.
O dear Andrea, pray, let’s have no wars!
First let them pay the soldiers that were maimed
In the last battle, ere more wretches fall,
Or walk on stilts to timeless funeral.
And.Respective dear! O my life’s happiness!The joy of all my being! do not shapeFrightful conceit beyond the intent of act!I know thy love is vigilant o’er my blood,And fears ill-fate which heaven hath yet withstood.But be of comfort; sweet Horatio knowsI go to knit friends, not to kindle foes.
And.Respective dear! O my life’s happiness!
The joy of all my being! do not shape
Frightful conceit beyond the intent of act!
I know thy love is vigilant o’er my blood,
And fears ill-fate which heaven hath yet withstood.
But be of comfort; sweet Horatio knows
I go to knit friends, not to kindle foes.
Hor.True, madam Bell’-Imperia, that’s his task:The phrase he useth must be gently styled,The king hath warned him to be smooth and mild.
Hor.True, madam Bell’-Imperia, that’s his task:
The phrase he useth must be gently styled,
The king hath warned him to be smooth and mild.
Bel.But will you, indeed, Andrea?
Bel.But will you, indeed, Andrea?
And.By this.
And.By this.
Bel.By this lip-blushing kiss.
Bel.By this lip-blushing kiss.
Hor.O, you swear sweetly.
Hor.O, you swear sweetly.
Bel.I’ll keep your oath for you, till you return,Then I’ll be sure you shall not be forsworn.
Bel.I’ll keep your oath for you, till you return,
Then I’ll be sure you shall not be forsworn.
EnterPedringano.
And.Ho, Pedringano!Ped.Signior?And.Are all things aboard?Ped.They are, my good lord.And.Then. Bell’-Imperia, I take leave; HoratioBe, in my absence, my dear self, chaste self.—What! playing the woman, Bell’-Imperia?Nay, then you love me not; or, at the least,You drown my honours in those flowing waters.Believe it, Bell’-Imperia, ’tis as commonTo weep at parting, as to be a woman.Love me more valiant; play not this moist prize;Be woman in all parts save in thy eyes.And so I leave thee.Bel.Farewell, my lord:Be mindful of my love and of your word.And.’Tis fixed upon my heart; adieu, soul’s friend!Hor.All honour on Andrea’s steps attend.Bel.Yet he is in sight, and yet but now he’s vanished.[ExitAndrea.Hor.Nay, lady, if you stoop so much to passion,I’ll call him back again.Bel.O good Horatio, no; it is for honour.Pr’y-thee, let him go.Hor.Then, madam, be composed, as you were wont,To music and delight; the time being comic, willSeem short and pleasant, till his returnFrom Portugal. And, madam, in this circleLet your heart move;Honoured promotion is the sap of love.[Exeunt.
And.Ho, Pedringano!
And.Ho, Pedringano!
Ped.Signior?
Ped.Signior?
And.Are all things aboard?
And.Are all things aboard?
Ped.They are, my good lord.
Ped.They are, my good lord.
And.Then. Bell’-Imperia, I take leave; HoratioBe, in my absence, my dear self, chaste self.—What! playing the woman, Bell’-Imperia?Nay, then you love me not; or, at the least,You drown my honours in those flowing waters.Believe it, Bell’-Imperia, ’tis as commonTo weep at parting, as to be a woman.Love me more valiant; play not this moist prize;Be woman in all parts save in thy eyes.And so I leave thee.
And.Then. Bell’-Imperia, I take leave; Horatio
Be, in my absence, my dear self, chaste self.—
What! playing the woman, Bell’-Imperia?
Nay, then you love me not; or, at the least,
You drown my honours in those flowing waters.
Believe it, Bell’-Imperia, ’tis as common
To weep at parting, as to be a woman.
Love me more valiant; play not this moist prize;
Be woman in all parts save in thy eyes.
And so I leave thee.
Bel.Farewell, my lord:Be mindful of my love and of your word.
Bel.Farewell, my lord:
Be mindful of my love and of your word.
And.’Tis fixed upon my heart; adieu, soul’s friend!
And.’Tis fixed upon my heart; adieu, soul’s friend!
Hor.All honour on Andrea’s steps attend.
Hor.All honour on Andrea’s steps attend.
Bel.Yet he is in sight, and yet but now he’s vanished.[ExitAndrea.
Bel.Yet he is in sight, and yet but now he’s vanished.
[ExitAndrea.
Hor.Nay, lady, if you stoop so much to passion,I’ll call him back again.
Hor.Nay, lady, if you stoop so much to passion,
I’ll call him back again.
Bel.O good Horatio, no; it is for honour.Pr’y-thee, let him go.
Bel.O good Horatio, no; it is for honour.
Pr’y-thee, let him go.
Hor.Then, madam, be composed, as you were wont,To music and delight; the time being comic, willSeem short and pleasant, till his returnFrom Portugal. And, madam, in this circleLet your heart move;Honoured promotion is the sap of love.[Exeunt.
Hor.Then, madam, be composed, as you were wont,
To music and delight; the time being comic, will
Seem short and pleasant, till his return
From Portugal. And, madam, in this circle
Let your heart move;
Honoured promotion is the sap of love.
[Exeunt.
EnterLorenzoandLazarotto,a discontented Courtier.
Lor.Come, my soul’s spaniel, my life’s jetty substance,What’s thy name?Laz.My name ’s an honest name, a courtier’s name:’Tis Lazarotto.Lor.What, Lazarotto!Laz.Or rather rotting in this lazy ageThat yields me no employments: I have mischiefWithin my breast, more than my bulk[293]can hold:I want a midwife to deliver it.Lor.I’ll be the he-one then, and rid thee soonOf this dull, leaden, and tormenting elf.Thou know’st the love betwixtBell’-Imperia and Andrea’s bosom?Laz.Aye, I do.Lor.How might I cross it, my sweet mischief?Honey-damnation, how?Laz.Well:As many ways as there are paths to hell,And that’s enou’, i’ faith. From usurer’s door—There goes one path: from friars that nurse whores—There goes another path: from brokers’ stalls,From rich that die and build no hospitals—Two other paths: from farmers that crack barnsWith stuffing corn, yet starve the needy swarms—Another path: from drinking-schools one—From dicing-houses—but from the court, none, none.Lor.Here is a slave just of the stamp I wish;Whose ink-soul’s blacker than his name,Though it stand printed with a raven’s quill.[Aside.But, Lazarotto, cross my sister’s love,And I’ll rain showers of ducats in thy palm.Laz.O duckets, dainty ducks; forgive me, duckets,I’ll fetch you duck enough for gold; and chinkMakes the punk wanton and the bawd to wink.Lor.Discharge, discharge, good Lazarotto,How we may cross my sister’s loving hopes.Laz.Nay, now I’ll tell you.Lor.Thou knowest Andrea’s gone embassador.Laz.The better; there is opportunity:Now list to me.
Lor.Come, my soul’s spaniel, my life’s jetty substance,What’s thy name?
Lor.Come, my soul’s spaniel, my life’s jetty substance,
What’s thy name?
Laz.My name ’s an honest name, a courtier’s name:’Tis Lazarotto.
Laz.My name ’s an honest name, a courtier’s name:
’Tis Lazarotto.
Lor.What, Lazarotto!
Lor.What, Lazarotto!
Laz.Or rather rotting in this lazy ageThat yields me no employments: I have mischiefWithin my breast, more than my bulk[293]can hold:I want a midwife to deliver it.
Laz.Or rather rotting in this lazy age
That yields me no employments: I have mischief
Within my breast, more than my bulk[293]can hold:
I want a midwife to deliver it.
Lor.I’ll be the he-one then, and rid thee soonOf this dull, leaden, and tormenting elf.Thou know’st the love betwixtBell’-Imperia and Andrea’s bosom?
Lor.I’ll be the he-one then, and rid thee soon
Of this dull, leaden, and tormenting elf.
Thou know’st the love betwixt
Bell’-Imperia and Andrea’s bosom?
Laz.Aye, I do.
Laz.Aye, I do.
Lor.How might I cross it, my sweet mischief?Honey-damnation, how?
Lor.How might I cross it, my sweet mischief?
Honey-damnation, how?
Laz.Well:As many ways as there are paths to hell,And that’s enou’, i’ faith. From usurer’s door—There goes one path: from friars that nurse whores—There goes another path: from brokers’ stalls,From rich that die and build no hospitals—Two other paths: from farmers that crack barnsWith stuffing corn, yet starve the needy swarms—Another path: from drinking-schools one—From dicing-houses—but from the court, none, none.
Laz.Well:
As many ways as there are paths to hell,
And that’s enou’, i’ faith. From usurer’s door—
There goes one path: from friars that nurse whores—
There goes another path: from brokers’ stalls,
From rich that die and build no hospitals—
Two other paths: from farmers that crack barns
With stuffing corn, yet starve the needy swarms—
Another path: from drinking-schools one—
From dicing-houses—but from the court, none, none.
Lor.Here is a slave just of the stamp I wish;Whose ink-soul’s blacker than his name,Though it stand printed with a raven’s quill.[Aside.But, Lazarotto, cross my sister’s love,And I’ll rain showers of ducats in thy palm.
Lor.Here is a slave just of the stamp I wish;
Whose ink-soul’s blacker than his name,
Though it stand printed with a raven’s quill.
[Aside.
But, Lazarotto, cross my sister’s love,
And I’ll rain showers of ducats in thy palm.
Laz.O duckets, dainty ducks; forgive me, duckets,I’ll fetch you duck enough for gold; and chinkMakes the punk wanton and the bawd to wink.
Laz.O duckets, dainty ducks; forgive me, duckets,
I’ll fetch you duck enough for gold; and chink
Makes the punk wanton and the bawd to wink.
Lor.Discharge, discharge, good Lazarotto,How we may cross my sister’s loving hopes.
Lor.Discharge, discharge, good Lazarotto,
How we may cross my sister’s loving hopes.
Laz.Nay, now I’ll tell you.
Laz.Nay, now I’ll tell you.
Lor.Thou knowest Andrea’s gone embassador.
Lor.Thou knowest Andrea’s gone embassador.
Laz.The better; there is opportunity:Now list to me.
Laz.The better; there is opportunity:
Now list to me.
EnterJeronimoandHoratio,and overhear their talk.
Alcario, the Duke Medina’s son,Doats on your sister Bell’-Imperia:Him in her private gallery you shall placeTo court her; let his protestations beFashioned with rich jewels,[294]for in loveGreat gifts and gold have the best tongue to move.Let him not spare an oath without a jewelTo bind it fast: O, I know women’s hearts,What stuff they are made of, my lord: gifts and givingWill melt the chastest-seeming female living.Lor.Indeed Andrea is but poor, though honourable;His bounty among soldiers soaks him dry,And their o’er-great gifts may bewitch her eye.Jer.Here’s no fine villainy, no damned brother![Aside.Lor.But say she should deny his gifts, be allComposed of hate, as my mind gives me thatShe will: what then?Laz.Then thus: at his returnTo Spain, I’ll murder Don Andrea.Lor.Dar’st thou, spirit?Laz.What dares not he do, that ne’er hopes t’inherit?Hor.He dares be damn’d like thee.[Aside.Laz.Dare I? Ha, ha!I have no hope of everlasting height,My soul’s a Moor, you know, salvation’s white.What dare I not enact then? Tush, he dies;I will make way to Bell’-Imperia’s eyes.Lor.To weep, I fear, but not to tender love.Laz.Why, is she not a woman? she must weepAwhile, as widows use, till their first sleep;Who in the morrow following will be soldTo new, before the first are throughly cold.So Bell’-Imperia; for this is common;The more she weeps, the more she plays the woman.Lor.Come then, howe’er it hap, Andrea shall be cross’d.Laz.Let me alone, I’ll turn him to a ghost.[ExeuntLorenzoandLazarotto.ManentJeronimoandHoratio.[295]Jer.Farewell, true brace of villains;Come hither, boy Horatio, didst thou hear them?Hor.O my true-breasted father, my earsHave suck’d in poison, deadly poison:Murder Andrea! O inhuman practice!Had not your reverend years been present here,I should have poniarded the villain’s bowels,And shoved his soul out to damnation.Murder Andrea! honest lord! impious villains!Jer.I like thy true heart, boy; thou lov’st thy friend:It is the greatest argument and sign,That I begot thee, for it shows thou ’rt mine.Hor.O father, ’tis a charitable deedTo prevent those that would make virtue bleed!I’ll despatch letters to Don Andrea;Unfold their hellish practice, damn’d intent,Against the virtuous rivers of his life.Murder Andrea!
Alcario, the Duke Medina’s son,Doats on your sister Bell’-Imperia:Him in her private gallery you shall placeTo court her; let his protestations beFashioned with rich jewels,[294]for in loveGreat gifts and gold have the best tongue to move.Let him not spare an oath without a jewelTo bind it fast: O, I know women’s hearts,What stuff they are made of, my lord: gifts and givingWill melt the chastest-seeming female living.
Alcario, the Duke Medina’s son,
Doats on your sister Bell’-Imperia:
Him in her private gallery you shall place
To court her; let his protestations be
Fashioned with rich jewels,[294]for in love
Great gifts and gold have the best tongue to move.
Let him not spare an oath without a jewel
To bind it fast: O, I know women’s hearts,
What stuff they are made of, my lord: gifts and giving
Will melt the chastest-seeming female living.
Lor.Indeed Andrea is but poor, though honourable;His bounty among soldiers soaks him dry,And their o’er-great gifts may bewitch her eye.
Lor.Indeed Andrea is but poor, though honourable;
His bounty among soldiers soaks him dry,
And their o’er-great gifts may bewitch her eye.
Jer.Here’s no fine villainy, no damned brother![Aside.
Jer.Here’s no fine villainy, no damned brother!
[Aside.
Lor.But say she should deny his gifts, be allComposed of hate, as my mind gives me thatShe will: what then?
Lor.But say she should deny his gifts, be all
Composed of hate, as my mind gives me that
She will: what then?
Laz.Then thus: at his returnTo Spain, I’ll murder Don Andrea.
Laz.Then thus: at his return
To Spain, I’ll murder Don Andrea.
Lor.Dar’st thou, spirit?
Lor.Dar’st thou, spirit?
Laz.What dares not he do, that ne’er hopes t’inherit?
Laz.What dares not he do, that ne’er hopes t’inherit?
Hor.He dares be damn’d like thee.[Aside.
Hor.He dares be damn’d like thee.
[Aside.
Laz.Dare I? Ha, ha!I have no hope of everlasting height,My soul’s a Moor, you know, salvation’s white.What dare I not enact then? Tush, he dies;I will make way to Bell’-Imperia’s eyes.
Laz.Dare I? Ha, ha!
I have no hope of everlasting height,
My soul’s a Moor, you know, salvation’s white.
What dare I not enact then? Tush, he dies;
I will make way to Bell’-Imperia’s eyes.
Lor.To weep, I fear, but not to tender love.
Lor.To weep, I fear, but not to tender love.
Laz.Why, is she not a woman? she must weepAwhile, as widows use, till their first sleep;Who in the morrow following will be soldTo new, before the first are throughly cold.So Bell’-Imperia; for this is common;The more she weeps, the more she plays the woman.
Laz.Why, is she not a woman? she must weep
Awhile, as widows use, till their first sleep;
Who in the morrow following will be sold
To new, before the first are throughly cold.
So Bell’-Imperia; for this is common;
The more she weeps, the more she plays the woman.
Lor.Come then, howe’er it hap, Andrea shall be cross’d.
Lor.Come then, howe’er it hap, Andrea shall be cross’d.
Laz.Let me alone, I’ll turn him to a ghost.[ExeuntLorenzoandLazarotto.ManentJeronimoandHoratio.[295]
Laz.Let me alone, I’ll turn him to a ghost.
[ExeuntLorenzoandLazarotto.
ManentJeronimoandHoratio.[295]
Jer.Farewell, true brace of villains;Come hither, boy Horatio, didst thou hear them?
Jer.Farewell, true brace of villains;
Come hither, boy Horatio, didst thou hear them?
Hor.O my true-breasted father, my earsHave suck’d in poison, deadly poison:Murder Andrea! O inhuman practice!Had not your reverend years been present here,I should have poniarded the villain’s bowels,And shoved his soul out to damnation.Murder Andrea! honest lord! impious villains!
Hor.O my true-breasted father, my ears
Have suck’d in poison, deadly poison:
Murder Andrea! O inhuman practice!
Had not your reverend years been present here,
I should have poniarded the villain’s bowels,
And shoved his soul out to damnation.
Murder Andrea! honest lord! impious villains!
Jer.I like thy true heart, boy; thou lov’st thy friend:It is the greatest argument and sign,That I begot thee, for it shows thou ’rt mine.
Jer.I like thy true heart, boy; thou lov’st thy friend:
It is the greatest argument and sign,
That I begot thee, for it shows thou ’rt mine.
Hor.O father, ’tis a charitable deedTo prevent those that would make virtue bleed!I’ll despatch letters to Don Andrea;Unfold their hellish practice, damn’d intent,Against the virtuous rivers of his life.Murder Andrea!
Hor.O father, ’tis a charitable deed
To prevent those that would make virtue bleed!
I’ll despatch letters to Don Andrea;
Unfold their hellish practice, damn’d intent,
Against the virtuous rivers of his life.
Murder Andrea!
EnterIsabella.