[HIERONIMO's house.]Enter HIERONIMO.
HIER. Where shall I run to breath abroad my woes,—My woes whose weight hath wearied the earth,Or mine exclaimes that haue surcharged the aireWith ceasles plaints for my deceased sonne?The blustring winds, conspiring with my words,At my lament haue moued to leaueless trees,Disroabde the medowes of their flowred greene,Made mountains marsh with spring-tides of my teares,And broken through the brazen gates of hell;Yet still tormented is my tortured souleWith broken sighes and restles passions,That, winged, mount, and houering in the aire,Beat at the windowes of the brightest heauens,Soliciting for iustice and reuenge.But they are plac't in those imperiall heights,Where, countermurde with walles of diamond,I finde the place impregnable, and theyResist my woes and giue 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 merie conceits—HIER. Wel, what of him?HANG. O Lord, sir! he went the wrong way; the fellowhad a faire commission to the contrary. Sir, heere is hispasport, I pray you, sir; we haue done him wrong.HIERO. I warrant thee; giue it me.HANG. You will stand between the gallowes and me?HIERO. I, I!HANG. I thank your l[ord] worship.Exit HANGMAN.HIERO. And yet, though somewhat neerer me concernesI will, to ease the greefe that I sustaine,Take truce with sorrow while I read on this.[Reads] "My lord, I writ, as mine extreames require,That you would labour my deliuerie:If you neglect, my life is desperate,And in my death I shall reueale the troth.You know, my lord, I slew him for your sake,And was confederate 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 tragedieWast thou, Lorenzo? Bathazar and thou,Of whome my sone, my sonne deseru'd so well?What haue I heard? what haue mine eies behelde?O sacred heauens, may it come to passeThat such a monstrous and detested deed,So closely smootherd and so long conceald,Shall thus by this be [revenged] or reuealed?Now see I, what I durst not then suspect,That Bel-imperias letter was not fainde,Nor fained she, though falsly they haue wrongdBoth her, my-selfe, Horatio and themselues.Now may I make compare twixt hers and thisOf euerie accident. I neere could findeTill now, and now I feelingly perceiue,They did what Heauen vnpunisht [should] not leaue.O false Lorenzo! are these thy flattering lookes?Is this honour that thou didst my sonne?And, Balthazar,—bane to thy soule and me!—What this the ransome he reseru'd [for thee]?Woe to the cause of these constrained warres!Woe to thy basenes and captiuitie!Woe to thy birth, thy body and thy soule,Thy cursed father, and thy conquerd selfe!And band with bitter execrations beThe day and place where he did pittie thee!But wherefore waste I mine vnfruitfull words,When naught but blood will satisfie my woes?I will goe plaine me to my lord the king,And cry aloud for iustice through the court,Wearing the flints with these my withered feet,And either purchase iustice by intreatsOr tire them all with my reuenging threats.Exit.
[HIERONIMO's house.]Enter ISABELL and her MAID.ISA. So that you say this hearb will purge the [eyes],And this the head? ah! but none of them will purge thehart!No, thers no medicine left for my disease,Nor any physick to recure the dead.She runnes lunatick.Horatio! O, wheres Horatio?MAIDE. Good madam, affright not thus your-selfeWith outrage for your sonne Horatio;He sleepes in quiet in the Elizian fields.ISA. Why did I not giue you gownes and goodly things,Bought you a wistle and a whipstalke too,To be reuenged on their villanies?MAIDE. Madame, these humors doe torment my soule.ISA. My soule? poore soule, thou talkes of thingsThou knowest not what! My soule hath siluer wings,That mounts me vp vnto the highest heauens—To heauen? I, there sits up Horatio,Backt with troup of fierry cherubinsDauncing about his newly healed wounds,Singing sweet hymns and chaunting heauenly notes,Rare harmony to greet his innocence,That dyde, I, dyde a mirrour in our daies!But say, where shall I finde, the men, the murderers,That slew Horatio? whether shall I runneTo finde them out, that murdered my sonne?Exeunt.
[The DUKE's castle.]BEL-IMPERIA at a window.BEL. What meanes this outrage that is offred me?What am I thus sequestred from the court?No notice? shall I not know the causeOf these my secret and suspitious ils?Accursed brother! vnkinde murderer!Why bends thou thus thy minde to martir me?Hieronimo, why writ I of they wrongs,Or why art thou so slack in thy reuenge?Andrea! O Andrea, that thou sawestMe for thy freend Horatio handled thus,And him for me thus causeles murdered!Well, force perforce, I must constraine my-selfeTo patience, and apply me to the time,Till Heauen, as I haue hoped, shall set me free.Enter [CHRISTOPHEL.]CHRIS. Come, Madame Bel-imperia, this [must] not be!Exeunt.
[A room in the DUKE's castle.]Enter LORENZO, BALTHAZAR and the PAGE.LOR. Boy, talke no further; thus farre things goe well.Thou art assurde that thou sawest him dead?PAGE. Or els, my lord, I liue not.LOR. Thats enough.As for this resolution at his end,Leaue that to him with whom he soiourns now.Heere, take my ring, and giue it [Christophel],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.BAL. And time, Lorenzo; for my lord the duke,You heard, enquired for her yester-night.LOR. Why! and, my lord, I hope you have heard me saySufficient reason why she kept away;But thats all one. My lord, you loue her?BAL. I.LOR. Then in your loue beware; deale cunningly;Salue all suspititons; only sooth me vp,And, if she hap to stand on tearmes with vs,As for her sweet-hart, and concealement so,Iest with her gently; vnder fained iestAre things concealde that els would breed vnrest.But heere she comes.Enter BEL-IMPERIA.LOR. Now, sister.BEL. Sister? No!Thou art no brother, but an enemy,Els wouldst thou not haue vsde thy sister so:First, to affright me with thy weapons drawne,And with extreames abuse my company;And then to hurry me like whirlwinds rageAmidst a crew of thy confederates,And clap my vp where none might come at me,Nor I at any to reueale my wrongs.What madding fury did possesse thy wits?Or wherein ist that I offended thee?LOR. Aduise you better, Bel-imperia;For I haue done you no disparagement,—Vnlesse, by more discretion then deseru'd,I sought to saue your honour and mine owne.BEL. Mine honour? Why, Lorenzo, wherein istThat I neglect my reputation soAs you, or any, need to rescue it?LOR. His Highnes and my father were resolu'dTo come conferre with olde HieronimoConcerning certaine matters of estateThat by the viceroy was determined.BEL. And wherein was mine honour toucht in that?BAL. Haue patience, Bel-imperia; heare the rest.LOR. Me, next in sight, as messenger they sentTo giue him notice that they were so nigh:Now, when I came, consorted with the prince,And vnexpected in an arbor thereFound Bel-imperia with Horatio—BEL. How then?LOR. Why, then, remembring that olde disgraceWhich you for Don Andrea had indurde,And now were likely longer to sustaineBy being found so meanely accompanied,Thought rather, for I knew no readier meane,To thrust Horatio forth my fathers way.BAL. And carry you obscurely some-where els,Least that his Highnes should haue found you there.BEL. Euen so, my lord? And you are witnesseThat this is true which he entreateth of?You, gentle brother, forged this for my sake?And you, my lord, were made his instrument?A worke of worth! worthy the noting too!But whats the cause that you concealde me since?LOR. Your melancholly, sister, since the newesOf your first fauorite Don Andreas deathMy fathers olde wrath hath exasperate.BAL. And better wast for you, being in disgrace,To absent your-selfe and giue his fury place.BEL. But why I had no notice of his ire?LOR. That were to adde more fewell to your fire,Who burnt like Aetne for Andreas losse.BEL. Hath not my father then enquird for me?LOR. Sister, he hath; and this excusde I thee.He whispereth in her eare.But, Bel-imperia, see the gentle prince;Looke on thy loue; beholde yong Balthazar,Whose passions by the presence are increast,And in whose melachollie thou maiest seeThy hate, his loue, thy flight, his following thee.BEL. Brother, you are become an oratour—I know not, I, by what experience—Too politick for me, past all compare,Since I last saw you. But content your-selfe;The prince is meditating higher things.BAL. Tis of thy beauty, then, that conquers kings,Of those thy tresses, Ariadnes twines,Wherewith my libertie thou hast surprisde,Of that thine iuorie front, my sorrowes map,Wherein I see no hauen to rest my hope.BEL. To loue and feare, and both at once, my lord,In my conceipt, are things of more importThen womens wit are to be busied with.BAL. Tis that I loue thee.BEL. Whome?BAL. Bel-imperia.BEL. But that I feare?BAL. Whome?BEL. Bel-imperia.LOR. Feare your-selfe?BEL. I, brother.LOR. How?BEL. As thoseThat, [when] they loue, are loath and feare to loose.BAL. Then, faire, let Balthazar your keeper be.BEL. No, Balthazar doth feare as well as we;Et tremulo metui pauidum iunxere timorem,Et vanum stolidae proditionis opus.Exit.LOR. Nay, and you argue things so cunningly,Weele goe continue this discourse at court.BAL. Led by the loadstar of heauenly lookes,Wends poore oppressed Balthazar,As ore the mountains walkes the wandererIncertain to effect his pilgrimage.Exeunt.
[A street.]Enter two PORTINGALES, and HIERONIMOmeets them.I PORT. By your leaue, sir.
[The following is inserted in the 1618, 1623, and 1633 editions.]
HIER. Tis neither as you thinke, nor as you thinke,Nor as you thinke, you'r wide all:These slippers are not mine, they were my sonne Horatios.My sonne? And what's a sonne? A thing begotWithin a paire of minutes, there-about;A lump bred up in darknesse, and doth serueTo ballance those light creatures we call women,And at nine monethes end creepes foorth to light.What is there yet in a sonne to make a fatherDote, rave or runne mad? Being born, it pouts,Cries, and breeds teeth. What is there yet in a sonne?He must be fed, be taught to goe and speake.I, and yet? Why might not a man loveA calfe as well, or melt in passion overA frisking kid, as for a sonne? Me thinkesA young bacon or a fine smooth little horse-coltShould moove a man as much as doth a son;For one of these in very little timeWill grow to some good use, whereas a sonne,The more he growes in stature and in yeeres,The more unsquar'd, unlevelled he appeares,Reckons his parents among the ranke of fooles,Strikes cares upon their heads with his mad ryots,Makes them looke old before they meet with age.—This is a son! And what a losse were this,Considered truely! Oh, but my HoratioGrew out of reach of those insatiate humours:He lovd his loving parents, he was my comfortAnd his mothers joy, the very arme that didHold up our house, our hopes were stored up in him.None but a damned murderer could hate him!He had not seene the backeOf nineteene yeere, when his strong arme unhorstThe proud prince Balthazar; and his great minde,Too full of honour tooke him unto mercy,That valient but ignoble Portingale.Well! Heaven is Heaven still! And there's Nemesis, and Furies,And things called whippes, and they sometimes doe meetWith murderers! They doe not alwayes scape,—That is some comfort! I, I, I; and thenTime steales on, and steales and steales, till violenceLeapes foorth like thunder wrapt in a ball of fire,And so doth bring confusion to them all.
[End of insertion.]
Good leaue haue you; nay, I pray you goe,For Ile leaue you, if you can leaue me so.II PORT. Pray you, which is the next way to my l[ord]the dukes?HIERO. The next way from me.I PORT. To the house, we meane.HIERO. O hard by; tis yon house that you see.II PORT. You could not tell vs if his sonne were there?HIERO. Who? my lord Lorenzo?I PORT. I, sir.He goeth in at one doore and comes out at another.HIERO. Oh, forbeare,For other talke for vs far fitter were!But, if you be importunate to knowThe way to him and where to finde him out,Then list to me, and Ile resolue your doubt:There is a path vpon your left hand sideThat leadeth from a guiltie conscienceVnto a forrest of distrust and feare,—A darksome place and dangerous to passe,—There shall you meet with melancholy thoughtsWhose balefull humours if you but [behold],It will conduct you to dispaire and death:Whose rockie cliffes when you haue once behelde,Within a hugie dale of lasting night,That, kindled with worlds of iniquities,Doth cast vp filthy and detested fumes,—Not far from thence where murderers haue builtA habitation for their cursed soules,There, in a brazen caldron fixed by IoveIn his fell wrath vpon a sulpher flame,Your-selues shall finde Lorenzo bathing himIn boyling lead and blood of innocents.I PORT. Ha, ha, ha!HIERO. Ha, ha, ha! why, ha, ha, ha! Farewell, good ha,ha, ha!Exit.II PORT. Doubtles this man is passing lunaticke,Or imperfection of his age doth make him dote.Come, lets away to seek my lord the duke.[Exeunt.]
[The Spanish court.]Enter HIERONIMO with a ponyard in one hand,and a rope in the other.HIERO. Now, sir, perhaps I come to see the king,The king sees me, and faine would heare my sute:Why, is this not a strange and seld-seene thingThat 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 goreStandeth a firie tower; there sits a iudgeVpon a seat of steele and molten brasse,And twixt his teeth he holdes afire-brand,That leades vnto the lake where he doth stand.Away, Hieronimo; to him be gone:Heele doe thee iustice for Horatios 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 knowWho will reuenge Horatios 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.And heere Ile haue 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, CASTILLE, andLORENZO.KING. Now shew, embassadour, what our viceroy saith:Hath hee receiu'd the articles we sent?HIERO. Iustice! O, iustice to Hieronimo!LOR. Back! seest thou not the king is busie?HIERO. O! is he so?KING. Who is he that interrupts our busines?HIERO. Not I! [aside] Hieronimo, beware! goe by, goeby!EMBAS. Renowned king, he hath receiued and readthy kingly proffers and thy promist league,And, as a man exreamely ouer-ioydTo heare his sonne so princely entertainde,Whose death he had so solemnely bewailde,This, for thy further satisfactionAnd kingly loue, he kindely lets thee know:First, for the marriage of his princely sonneWith Bel-imperia, thy beloued neece,The newes are more delightfull to his souleThen myrrh or incense to the offended Heauens.In person, therefore, will be come himselfeTo see the marriage rites solemnizedAnd in the presence of the court of SpaineTo knit a sure [inextricable] bandOf kingly loue and euerlasting leagueBetwixt the crownes of Spaine and Portingale.There will he giue his crowne to Balthazar,And make a queene of Bel-imperia.KING. Brother, how like you this our vice-roies loue?CAST. No doubt, my lord, it is an argumentOf honorable care to keepe his freendAnd wondrous zeale to Balthazar, his sonne.Nor am I least indebted to his Grace,That bends his liking to my daughter thus.EM. Now last, dread lord, heere hath his Highnes sent—Although he send not that his sonne returne—His ransome doe to Don Horatio.HIERO. Horatio? who cals Horatio?KING. And well remembred, thank his Maiestie!Heere, see it giuen to Horatio.HIERO. Iustice! O iustice! iustice, gentle king!KING. Who is that? Hieronimo?HIERO. Iustice! O iustice! O my sonne! my sonne!My sonne, whom naught can ransome or redeeme!LOR. Hieronimo, you are not well aduisde.HIERO. Away, Lorenzo! hinder me no more,For thou hast made me bankrupt of my blisse!Giue me my sonne! You shall not ransome him!Away! Ile rip the bowels of the earth,He diggeth with his dagger.And ferrie ouer th' Elizian plainesAnd bring my sonne to shew his deadly wounds.Stand from about me! Ile make a pickaxe of my poniard,And heere surrender vp my marshalship;For Ile goe marshall vp the feends in hell,To be auenged on you all for this.KING. What means this outrage?Will none of you restraine his fury?HIERO. Nay, soft and faire; you shall not need to striue!Needs must he goe that the diuels driue.Exit.KING. What accident hath hapt [to] Hieronimo?I haue not seene him to demeane him so.LOR. My gratious lord, he is with extreame prideConceiued of yong Horatio, his sonne,And couetous of hauing himselfeThe ransome of the yong prince, Balthazar,Distract, and in a manner lunatick.KING. Beleeue me, nephew, we are sorie for 't;This is the loue that fathers beare their sonnes.But, gentle brother, goe giue to him this golde,The princes raunsome; let him haue his due;For what he hath, Horatio shall not want.Happily Hieronimo hath need thereof.LOR. But if he be thus helpelesly distract,Tis requisite his office be resigndeAnd giuen to one of more discretion.KING. 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 embassadour,That he may be a witnes of the matchTwixt Balthazar and Bel-imperia,And that we may prefixe a certaine timeWherein the marriage shalbe solemnized,That we may haue thy lord the vice-roy heere.EM. Therein your Highnes highly shall contentHis maiestie, that longs to heare from hence.KING. On then, and heare you, lord embassadour.Exeunt.
[HIERONIMO's house.]Enter HIERONIMO with a book in his hand.[HIERO.] Vindicta mihi.I, heauen will be reuenged of euery ill,Nor will they suffer murder vnrepaide!Then stay, Hieronimo, attend their will;For mortall men may not appoint their time.Per scelus semper tutum est sceleribus iter:Strike, and strike home, where wrong is offred thee;For euils vnto ils conductors be,And death's the worst of resultion.For he that thinks with patience to contendTo quiet life, his life shall easily end.Fata si miseros iuuant, habes selutem;Fata si vitam negant, habes sepulchrum:If destinie thy miseries doe ease,Then hast thou health, and happie shalt thou be;If destinie denie thee life, Hieronimo,Yet shalt thou be assured of a tombe;If neither, yet let this thy comfort be:Heauen couereth him that hath no buriall.And, to conclude, I will reuenge his death!But how? Not as the vulgare wits of men,With open, but ineuitable ils;As by a secret, yet a certaine meane,Which vnder kindeship wilbe cloked best.Wise men will take their opportunitie,Closely and safely fitting things to time;But in extreames aduantage hath no time;And therefore all times fit not for reuenge.Thus, therefore, will I rest me in unrest,Dissembling quiet in vnquietnes,Not seeming that I know their villanies,That my simplicitie may make them thinkThat ignorantly I will let all slip;For ignorance, I wot, and well they know,Remedium malorum iners est.Nor ought auailes it me to menace them.Who, as a wintrie storme vpon a plaine,Will beare me downe with their nobilitie.No, no, Hieronimo, thou must enioyneThine eies to obseruation, and thy tungTo milder speeches then thy spirit affoords,Thy hart to patience, and thy hands to rest,Thy cappe to curtesie, and they knee to bow,Till to reuenge thou know when, where and how.How now? what noise, what coile is that you keepe?A noise within.Enter a SERVANT.SER. Heere are a sort of poore petitionersThat are importunate, and it shall please you, sir,That you should plead their cases to the king.HIERO. That I should plead their seuerall actions?Why, let them enter, and let me see them.Enter three CITIZENS and an OLDE MAN[DON BAZULTO].I CIT. So I tell you this: for learning and for lawThere is not any aduocate in SpaineThat can preuaile or will take halfe the paineThat he will in pursuite of equitie.HIERO. Come neere, you men, that thus importune me![Aside] Now must I beare a face of grauitie,For thus I vsde, before my marshalship,To pleide the causes as corrigedor.—Come on, sirs, whats the matter?II CIT. Sir, an action.HIERO. Of batterie?I CIT. Mine of debt.HIERO. Giue place.II CIT. No, sir, mine is an action of the case.III CIT. Mine an eiectionae firmae by a lease.HIERO. Content you, sirs; are you determinedThat I should plead your seuerall actions?I CIT. I, sir; and heeres my declaration.II CIT. And heere is my band.III CIT. And heere is my lease.They giue him papers.HIERO. But wherefore stands you silly man so mute,With mournfall eyes and hands to heauen vprearde?Come hether, father; let me know thy cause.SENEX, [DON BAZULTO]. O worthy sir, my cause but slightly knowneMay mooue the harts of warlike Myrmydons,And melt the Corsicke rockes with ruthfull teares!HIERO. Say, father; tell me whats thy sute![BAZULTO]. No, sir, could my woesGiue way vnto my most distresfull words,Then should I not in paper, as you see,With incke bewray what blood began in me.HIERO. Whats heere? "The Humble SupplicationOf Don Bazulto for his Murdered Sonne."[BAZULTO]. I, sir.HIERO. No, sir, it was my murdred sonne!Oh, my sonne, 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 seeThe liuely 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 meThat of thy death reuenged 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.I CIT. Oh, see the kindenes of Hieronimo!II CIT. This gentlenes shewes him a gentleman.HIERO. See, see, oh, see thy shame, Hieronimo!See heere a louing father to his sonne:Beholde the sorrowes and the sad lamentsThat he deliuereth for his sonnes dicease.If loues effects so striues in lesser things,If loue enforce such moodes in meaner wits,If loue expresse such power in poor estates,Hieronimo, as when a raging sea,Tost with the winde and tide, ore-turneth thenThe vpper-billowes, course of waues to keep,Whilest lesser waters labour in the deepe,Then shamest thou not, Hieronimo, to neglectThe [swift] reuenge of thy Horatio?Though on this earth iustice will not be found,Ile downe to hell and in this passionKnock at the dismall gates of Plutos 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 shouldDenye my passage to the slimy strond,The Thracian poet thou shalt counterfeite;Come on, old father, be my Orpheus;And, if thou canst no notes vpon the harpe,Then sound the burden of thy sore harts greefeTill we do gaine that Proserpine may grauntReuenge on them that murd[er]red my sonne.Then will I rent and teare them thus and thus,Shiuering their limmes in peeces with my teeth!Teare the papers.I CIT. Oh, sir, my declaration!Exit HIERONIMO and they after.II CIT. Saue my bond!Enter HIERONIMO.II CIT. Saue my bond!III CIT. Alas my lease, it cost meTen pound, and you, my lord, haue torne the same!HIERO. That can not be, I gaue it neuer 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 [DONBAZULTO].BAZULTO remaines till HIERONIMO entersagaine, who, staring him the face, speakes:And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth,To aske for iustice in this vpper earth?T[o] tell thy father thou art vnreuenged?To wring more teares from Isabellas eies,Whose lights are dimd with ouer-long laments?Goe back, my sonne, complaine to Eacus;For heeres no iustice. Gentle boy, begone;For iustice is exiled from the earth.H[i]eronimo will beare thee company.Thy mother cries on righteous RadamantFor iust reuenge against the murderers.[BAZULTO]. Alas, my l[ord], whence springs this troubled speech?HIERO. But let me looke on my Horatio:Sweet boy, how art thou chang'd in deaths black shade!Had Proserpine no pittie on thy youth,But suffered thy fair crimson-colourd springWith withered winter to be blasted thus?Horatio, thou are older then thy father:Ah, ruthless father, that fauour thus transformess.BA. Ah, my good lord, I am not your yong sonne.HIE. What! not my sonne? thou then a Furie artSent from the emptie kingdome of blacke nightTo summon me to make appearanceBefore grim Mynos and iust Radamant,To plague Hieronimo, that is remisseAnd seekes not vengeance for Horatios death.BA. I am a greeued man, and not a ghost,That came for iustice for my murdered sonne.HIE. I, now I know thee, now thou namest thy sonne;Thou art the liuely image of my griefe:Within thy face sorrowes I may see;The eyes are [dim'd] with teares, they cheekes are wan,They forehead troubled, and thy muttring lipsMurmure sad words abruptly broken offBy force of windie sighes thy spirit breathes;And all this sorrow riseth for thy sonne,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,Three parts in one, but all of discords fram'd,—Talke not of cords!—but let vs now be gone,—For with a cord Horatio was slaine.Exeunt.
[The Spanish court.]Enter KING OF SPAINE, the DUKE, VICE-ROY, andLORENZO, BALTHAZAR, DON PEDRO, and BELIMPERIA.KING. Go, brother, it is the Duke of Castiles cause;Salute the vice-roy in our name.CASTILE. I go.VICE. Go forth, Don Pedro, for they nephews sake,And greet the Duke of Castile.PEDRO. It shall be so.KING. And now to meet these Portaguise;For, as we now are, so sometimes were these,Kings and commanders of the westerne Indies.Welcome, braue vice-roy, to the court of Spaine!And welcome, all his honorable traine!Tis not vnknowne to vs for why you come,Or haue so kingly crost the seas.Suffiseth it, in this we note the trothAnd more then common loue you lend to vs.So is it that mine honorable neece,For it beseemes vs 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 so flatly.VICE. Renowned king, I come not, as thou thinkst,With doubtfull followers, vnresolued men,But such as haue vpon thine articlesConfirmed thy motion and contented me.Know, soueraigne, I come to solemnizeThe marriage of they beloued neece,Faire Bel-imperia, with my Balthazar,—With thee, my sonne, whom sith I liue to see,Heere, take my crowne, I giue it to her and thee,And let me liue a solitarie life,In ceaseless praiers,To think how strangely heauen hath thee preserued.KING. See, brother, see, how nature striues in him!Come, worthy vice-roy, and accompanyThey freend, [to strive] with thine extremities:A place more priuate fits this princely mood.VICE. Or heere or where your Highnes thinks it good.Exeunt all but CAST[TILE] and LOR[ENZO].CAS. Nay, stay, Lorenzo; let me talke with you.Seest thou this entertainement of these kings?LOR. I doe, my lord, and ioy to see the same.CAS. And knowest thou why this meeting is?LOR. For her, my lord, whom Balthazar doth loue,And to confirme their promised marriage.CAS. She is thy sister.LOR. Who? Bel-imperia?I, my gratious lord, and this is the dayThat I haue longd so happily to see.CAS. Thou wouldst be loath that any fault of thineShould intercept her in her happines?LOR. Heauens will not let Lorenzo erre so much.CAS. Why then, Lorenzo, listen to my words:It is suspected, and reported too,That thou, Lorenzo, wrongst Hieronimo,And in his sutes toward his MaiestieStill keepst him back and seekes to crosse his sute.LOR. That I, my lord?CAS. I tell thee, sonne, my-selfe haue heard it said,When to my sorrow I haue been ashamedTo answere for thee, though thou art my sonne.Lorenzo, knowest thou not the common loueAnd kindenes that Hieronimo hath woneBy his deserts within the court of Spaine?Or seest thou not the k[ing] my brothers careIn his behalfe and to procure his health?Lorenzo, shouldst thou thwart his passions,And he exclaime against thee to the king,What honour wert in this assembly,Or what a scandale were among the kings,To heare Hieronimo exclaime on thee!Tell me,—and loke thou tell me truely too,—Whence growes the ground of this report in court?LOR. My l[ord], it lyes not in Lorenzos powerTo stop the vulgar liberall of their tongues:A small aduantage makes a water-breach;And no man liues that long contenteth all.CAS. My-selfe haue seene thee busie to keep backHim and his supplications from the king.LOR. Your-selfe, my l[ord], hath seene his assions,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 HieronimoAs to my soule, my lord.CAS. Hieronimo, my sonne, mistakes thee then.LOR. My gratious father, beleeue me, so he doth;But whats a silly man, distract in mindeTo think vpon 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[ord], that Hieronimo and IWere reconcilde, if he misconster me.CAS. Lorenzo, that hast said; it shalbe so!Goe, one of you, and call Hieronimo.Etner BALTHAZAR and BEL-IMPERIA.BAL. Come, Bel-imperia, Balthazars content,My sorrowes ease, and soueraigne of my blisse,—Sith heauen hath [thee ordainded] to be mine,Disperce those cloudes and melanchollie lookes,And cleere them vp with those thy sunne-bright eies,Wherein my hope and heauens faire beautie lies!BEL. My lookes, my lord, are fitting for my loue,Which, new begun, can shew no brighter yet.BAL. New kindled flames should burne as morning sun.BEL. But not too fast, least heate and all be done.I see my lord my father.BAL. True, my loue;I will goe salute him.CAS. Welcome, Balthazar,Welcome, braue prince, the pledge of Castiles peace!And welcome Bel-imperia! How now, girle?Why commest thou sadly to salute vs thus?Content thy-selfe, for I am satisfied.It is not now as when Andrea liu'd;We haue forgotten and forgiuen that,And thou art graced with a happeir loue.But, Balthazar, heere comes Hieronimo;Ile haue a word with him.Enter HIERONIMO and a SERUANT.HIERO. And wheres the duke?SER. Yonder.HIERO. Euen so.[aside] What new deuice haue they deuised, tro?Pocas palabras! Milde as the lambe!Ist I will be reueng'd? No, I am not the man.CAS. Welcome, Hieronimo!LOR. Welcome, Hieronimo!BAL. Welcome, Hieronimo!HIERO. My lords, I thank you for Horatio.CAS. Hieronimo, the reason that I sentTo speak with you is this—HIERO. What? so short?Then Ile be gone; I thank you fort!CAS. Nay, stay, Hieronimo; goe call him, sonne.LOR. Hieronimo, my father craues a word with you.HIERO. With me, sir? Why, my l[ord], I thought youhad done.LOR. [aside] No; would he had!CAS. Hieronimo, I hearYou finde your-selfe agreeued at my sonne,Because you haue not accesse vnto the king,And say tis he that intercepts your sutes.HIERO. Why, is not this a miserable thing, my lord?CAS. Hieronimo, I hope you haue no cause,And would be loth that one of your deserts,Should once haue reason to suspect my sonne,Considering how I think of you my-selfe.HIERO. Your sonne Lorenzo? whome, my noble lord?The hope of Spaine? mine honorable freend?Graunt me the combat of them, if they dare!Drawes out his sword.Ile meet them face-to-face to tell me so!These be the scandalous reports of suchAs loues not me, and hate my lord too much.Should I suspect Lorenzo would preuentOr crosse my sute, that loued my sonne so well?My lord, I am ashamed it should be said.LOR. Hieronimo, I neuer gaue you cause.H[I]ERO. My good lord, I know you did not.CAS. 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, vse me, my sonne, and it.But heere before Prince Balthazar and meEmbrace each other, and be perfect freends.HIERO. I, marry, my lord, and shall!Freends, quoth he? See, Ile be freends with you all!Especially with you, my louely lord;For diuers causes it is fit for vsThat we be freends. The world is suspitious,And men may think what we imagine not.BAL. Why this is freely doone, Hieronimo.LOR. And I hope olde grudges are forgot.HIERO. What els? it were a shame it should notbe so!CAS. Come on, Hieronimo, at my request;Let vs entreat your company to-day!Exeunt.
[CHORUS.]
Enter GHOAST and REUENGE.GHOST. Awake Erictho! Cerberus, awake!Sollicite Pluto, gentle Proserpine!To combat, Achinon and Ericus in hell!For neere by Stix and Phlegeton [there came.]Nor ferried Caron to the fierie lakes,Such fearfull sights, as poore Andrea see[s]?Reuenge awake!REUENGE. Awake? for-why?GHOST. Awake, Reuenge! for thou art ill aduisdeTo sleepe away what thou art warnd to watch!REUENGE. Content thy-selfe, and doe not trouble me.GHOST. Awake, Reuenge, if loue, as loue hath had,Haue yet the power of preuailance in hell!Hieronimo with Lorenzo is ioynde in league,And intecepts our passage to reuenge.Awake, Reuenge, or we are woe-begone!REUENGE. Thus worldings ground what they haue dreamd vpon!Content thy-selfe, Andrea; though I sleepe,Yet is my mood soliciting their soules.Sufficeth thee that poore HieronimoCannot forget his sonne Horatio.Nor dies Reuegne although he sleepe a-while;For in vnquiet, quietnes is faind,And slumbring is a common worldly wile.Beholde, Andrea, for an instance howReuenge hath slept; and then imagine thouWhat tis to be subiect to destinie.Enter a Dumme-show.GHOST. Awake, Reuenge! reueale this misterie!REUENGE. The two first [do] the nuptiall torches beare,As brightly burning as the mid-daies sunne;But after them doth Himen hie as fast,Clothed in sable and saffron robe,And blowes them out and quencheth them with blood,As discontent that things continue so.GHOST. Sufficeth me; thy meanings vnderstood,And thanks to thee and those infernall powersThat will not tollerate a louers woe.Rest thee; for I will sit to see the rest.REUENGE. Then argue not; for thou hast thy request.Exeunt.