Tears the papers.
I CIT. Oh, sir, my declaration!
Exit HIERONIMO and they after.
II CIT. Save my bond!
Enter HIERONIMO.
II CIT. Save my bond!
III CIT. Alas my lease, it cost meTen pound, and you, my lord, have torn the same!
HIERO. That can not be, I gave it never a wound;Show me one drop of blood 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 DON BAZULTO.
BAZULTO remains till HIERONIMO entersagain, who, staring him in the face, speaks:
And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth,To ask for justice in this upper earth?To tell thy father thou art unreveng'd?To wring more tears from Isabella's eyes,Whose lights are dimm'd with over-long laments?Go back, my son, complain to Eacus;For here's no justice. Gentle boy, begone;For justice is exiled from the earth.Hieronimo will bear thee company.Thy mother cries on righteous RadamantFor just revenge against the murderers.
BAZULTO. Alas, my lord, whence springs this troubled speech?
HIERO. But let me look on my Horatio:Sweet boy, how art thou chang'd in death's black shade!Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth,But suffer'd thy fair crimson-colour'd springWith wither'd winter to be blasted thus?Horatio, thou are older than thy father:Ah, ruthless father, that favour thus transforms.
BA. Ah, my good lord, I am not your young son.
HIE. What! not my son? thou then a Fury artSent from the empty kingdom of black nightTo summon me to make appearanceBefore grim Minos and just Radamant,To plague Hieronimo, that is remissAnd seeks not vengeance for Horatio's death.
BA. I am a grieved man, and not a ghost,That came for justice for my murder'd son.
HIE. Aye, now I know thee, now thou namest thy son;Thou art the lively image of my grief:Within thy face my sorrows I may see;The eyes are dimm'd with tears, thy cheeks are wan,Thy forehead troubled, and thy mutt'ring lipsMurmur sad words abruptly broken offBy force of windy sighs thy spirit breathes;And all this sorrow riseth for thy son,And self-same sorrow feel I for my son.Come in, old man; thou shalt to Isabell.Lean on my arm; 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,—Talk not of cords!—but let us now be gone,—For with a cord Horatio was slain.
Exeunt.
[The Spanish court.]
Enter KING OF SPAIN, the DUKE, VICEROY, andLORENZO, BALTHAZAR, DON PEDRO, and BEL-IMPERIA.
KING. Go, brother, 'tis the Duke of Castile's cause;Salute the viceroy in our name.
CASTILE. I go.
VICE. Go forth, Don Pedro, for thy nephew's sake,And greet the Duke of Castile.
PEDRO. It shall be so.
KING. And now to meet these Portuguese;For, as we now are, so sometimes were these,Kings and commanders of the western Indies.Welcome, brave viceroy, to the court of Spain!And welcome, all his honourable train!'Tis not unknown to us for why you come,Or have so kingly cross'd the seas.Sufficeth it, in this we note the trothAnd more than common love you lend to us.So is it that mine honourable niece,For it beseems us now that it be known,Already is betroth'd to Balthazar;And, by appointment and our condescent,Tomorrow are they to be married.To this intent we entertain thyself,Thy followers, their pleasure, and our peace.Speak, men of Portingal, shall it be so?If aye, say so; if not, say so flatly.
VICE. Renowned king, I come not, as thou think'st,With doubtful followers, unresolved men,But such as have upon thine articlesConfirm'd thy motion and contented me.Know, sovereign, I come to solemnizeThe marriage of thy beloved niece,Fair Bel-imperia, with my Balthazar,—With thee, my son, whom sith I live to see,Here, take my crown, I give it to her and thee,And let me live a solitary life,In ceaseless prayers,To think how strangely heav'n hath thee preserved.
KING. See, brother, see, how nature strives in him!Come, worthy viceroy, and accompanyThy friend, to strive with thine extremities:A place more private fits this princely mood.
VICE. Or here or where your Highness thinks it good.
Exeunt all but CASTILE and LORENZO.
CAS. Nay, stay, Lorenzo; let me talk with you.See'st thou this entertainment of these kings?
LOR. I do, my lord, and joy to see the same.
CAS. And know'st thou why this meeting is?
LOR. For her, my lord, whom Balthazar doth love,And to confirm their promis'd marriage.
CAS. She is thy sister.
LOR. Who? Bel-imperia?Aye, my gracious lord, and this is the dayThat I have long'd so happily to see.
CAS. Thou wouldst be loath that any fault of thineShould intercept her in her happiness?
LOR. Heav'ns will not let Lorenzo err so much.
CAS. Why then, Lorenzo, listen to my words:It is suspected, and reported too,That thou, Lorenzo, wrong'st Hieronimo,And in his suits toward his MajestyStill keep'st him back and seek'st to cross his suit.
LOR. That I, my lord?
CAS. I tell thee, son, myself have heard it said,When to my sorrow I have been asham'dTo answer for thee, though thou art my son.Lorenzo, know'st thou not the common loveAnd kindness that Hieronimo hath wonBy his deserts within the court of Spain?Or see'st thou not the king my brother's careIn his behalf and to procure his health?Lorenzo, should'st thou thwart his passions,And he exclaim against thee to the king,What honour were't in this assembly,Or what a scandal were't among the kings,To hear Hieronimo exclaim on thee!Tell me,—and look thou tell me truly too,—Whence grows the ground of this report in court?
LOR. My lord, it lies not in Lorenzo's powerTo stop the vulgar, liberal of their tongues:A small advantage makes a water-breach;And no man lives that long contenteth all.
CAS. Myself have seen thee busy to keep backHim and his supplications from the king.
LOR. Yourself, my lord, hath seen his passions,That ill beseem'd the presence of a king;And, for I pitied him in his distress,I held him thence with kind and courteous words,As free from malice to HieronimoAs to my soul, my lord.
CAS. Hieronimo, my son, mistakes thee then.
LOR. My gracious father, believe me, so he doth;But what's a silly man, distract in mind,To think upon the murder of his son?Alas, how easy is it for him to err!But, for his satisfaction and the world's,'Twere good, my lord, that Hieronimo and IWere reconcil'd, if he misconstrue me.
CAS. Lorenzo, that hast said; it shall be so!Go, one of you, and call Hieronimo.
Enter BALTHAZAR and BEL-IMPERIA.
BAL. Come, Bel-imperia, Balthazar's content,My sorrow's ease, and sovereign of my bliss,—Sith heav'n hath ordain'd thee to be mine,Disperse those clouds and melancholy looks,And clear them up with those thy sun-bright eyes,Wherein my hope and heav'n's fair beauty lies!
BEL. My looks, my lord, are fitting for my love,Which, new begun, can show no brighter yet.
BAL. New kindled flames should burn as morning sun.
BEL. But not too fast, least heat and all be done.I see my lord my father.
BAL. True, my love;I will go salute him.
CAS. Welcome, Balthazar,Welcome, brave prince, the pledge of Castile's peace!And welcome Bel-imperia! How now, girl?Why com'st thou sadly to salute us thus?Content thyself, for I am satisfied.It is not now as when Andrea liv'd;We have forgotten and forgiven that,And thou art graced with a happier love.But, Balthazar, here comes Hieronimo;I'll have a word with him.
Enter HIERONIMO and a SERVANT.
HIERO. And where's the duke?
SER. Yonder.
HIERO. Even so.[aside] What new device have they devised, trow?Pocas palabras! Mild as the lamb!Is't I will be reveng'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 I'll be gone; I thank you for't!
CAS. Nay, stay, Hieronimo; go call him, son.
LOR. Hieronimo, my father craves a word with you.
HIERO. With me, sir? Why, my lord, I thought you had done.
LOR. [aside] No; would he had!
CAS. Hieronimo, I hearYou find yourself aggrieved at my son,Because you have not access unto the king,And say 'tis he that intercepts your suits.
HIERO. Why, is not this a miserable thing, my lord?
CAS. Hieronimo, I hope you have no cause,And would be loath that one of your desertsShould once have reason to suspect my son,Considering how I think of you myself.
HIERO. Your son Lorenzo? whom, my noble lord?The hope of Spain? mine honourable friend?Grant me the combat of them, if they dare!
Draws out his sword.
I'll meet them face-to-face to tell me so!These be the scandalous reports of suchAs love not me, and hate my lord too much.Should I suspect Lorenzo would preventOr cross my suit, that lov'd my son so well?My lord, I am asham'd it should be said.
LOR. Hieronimo, I never gave you cause.
HIERO. 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 Ciprian's ancient seat;And when thou wilt, use me, my son, and it.But here before Prince Balthazar and meEmbrace each other, and be perfect friends.
HIERO. Aye, marry, my lord, and shall!Friends, quoth he? See, I'll be friends with you all!Especially with you, my lovely lord;For divers causes it is fit for usThat we be friends. The world is suspicious,And men may think what we imagine not.
BAL. Why this is freely done, Hieronimo.
LOR. And I hope old grudges are forgot.
HIERO. What else? it were a shame it should notbe so!
CAS. Come on, Hieronimo, at my request;Let us entreat your company today!
Exeunt.
Enter GHOST and REVENGE.
GHOST. Awake Erictho! Cerberus, awake!Solicit Pluto, gentle Proserpine!To combat, Acheron and Erebus in hell!For ne'er by Styx and Phlegeton there came,Nor ferried Charon to the fiery lakes,Such fearful sights, as poor Andrea sees!Revenge awake!
REVENGE. Awake? For why?
GHOST. Awake, Revenge! for thou art ill advis'dTo sleep away what thou art warn'd to watch!
REVENGE. Content thyself, and do not trouble me.
GHOST. Awake, Revenge, if love, as love hath had,Have yet the power of prevalence in hell!Hieronimo with Lorenzo is join'd in league,And intercepts our passage to revenge.Awake, Revenge, or we are woe-begone!
REVENGE. Thus worldings ground what they have dream'd upon!Content thyself, Andrea; though I sleep,Yet is my mood soliciting their souls.Sufficeth thee that poor HieronimoCannot forget his son Horatio.Nor dies Revenge although he sleep awhile;For in unquiet, quietness is feign'd,And slumb'ring is a common worldly wile.Behold, Andrea, for an instance howRevenge hath slept; and then imagine thouWhat 'tis to be subject to destiny.
Enter a Dumb-show.
GHOST. Awake, Revenge! reveal this mystery!
REVENGE. The two first do the nuptial torches bear,As brightly burning as the midday's sun;But after them doth Hymen hie as fast,Clothed in sable and a saffron robe,And blows them out and quencheth them with blood,As discontent that things continue so.
GHOST. Sufficeth me; thy meanings understood,And thanks to thee and those infernal powersThat will not tolerate a lover's woe.Rest thee; for I will sit to see the rest.
REVENGE. Then argue not; for thou hast thy request.
Exeunt.
[The DUKE's castle.]
Enter BEL-IMPERIA and HIERONIMO.
BEL-IMPERIA. Is this the love thou bear'st Horatio?Is this the kindness that thou counterfeit'st,Are these the fruits of thine incessant tears?Hieronimo, are these thy passions,Thy protestations and thy deep laments,That thou wert wont to weary men withal?O unkind father! O deceitful world!With what excuses canst thou show thyself,—With what dishonour, and the hate of men,—Thus to neglect the loss and life of himWhom both my letters and thine own beliefAssures thee to be causeless slaughtered?Hieronimo! for shame, Hieronimo,Be not a history to after timesOf such ingratitude unto thy son!Unhappy mothers of such children then!But monstrous fathers, to forget so soonThe death of those whom they with care and costHave tender'd so, thus careless should be lost!Myself, a stranger in respect to thee,So lov'd his life as still I wish their deaths.Nor shall his death be unreveng'd by me.Although I bear it out for fashion's sake;For here I swear in sight of heav'n and earth,Shouldst thou neglect the love thou shouldst retainAnd give it over and devise no more,Myself should send their hateful souls to hellThat wrought his downfall with extremest death!
HIE. But may it be that Bel-imperiaVows such revenge as she hath deign'd to say?Why then, I see that heav'n applies our drift,And all the saints do sit solicitingFor vengeance on those cursed murtherers.Madame, 'tis true, and now I find it so.I found a letter, written in your name,And in that letter, how Horatio died.Pardon, O pardon, Bel-imperia,My fear and care in not believing it!Nor think I thoughtless think upon a meanTo let his death be unreveng'd at full.And here I vow, so you but give consentAnd will conceal my resolution,I will ere long determine of their deathsThat causeless thus have murdered my son.
BEL. Hieronimo, I will consent, conceal,And aught that may effect for thine avail,Join with thee to revenge Horatio's death.
HIER. On then, and whatsoever I devise,Let me entreat you grace my practice,For-why the plot's already in mine head.—Here they are!
Enter BALTHAZAR and LORENZO.
BAL. How now, Hieronimo?What, courting Bel-imperia?
HIERO. Aye, my lord,Such courting as, I promise you,She hath my heart, but you, my lord, have hers.
LOR. But now, Hieronimo, or neverWe are to entreat your help.
HIE. My help?Why, my good lords, assure yourselves of me;For you have giv'n me cause,—Aye, by my faith, have you!
BAL. It pleased youAt the entertainment of the ambassador,To grace the King so much as with a show;Now were your study so well furnishedAs, for the passing of the first night's sport,To entertain my father with the like,Or any such like pleasing motion,Assure yourself it would content them well.
HIERO. Is this all?
BAL. Aye, this is all.
HIERO. Why then I'll fit you; say no more.When I was young I gave my mindAnd plied myself to fruitless poetry,Which, though it profit the professor naught,Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.
LOR. And how for that?
HIERO. Marry, my good lord, thus.—And yet, me thinks, you are too quick with us!—When in Toledo there I studied,It was my chance to write a tragedy,—See here, my lords,—
He shows them a book.
Which, long forgot, I found this other day.Nor would your lordships favour me so muchAs but to grace me with your acting it,I mean each one of you to play a part.Assure you it will prove most passing strangeAnd wondrous plausible to that assembly.
BAL. What, would you have us play a tragedy?
HIERO. Why, Nero thought it no disparagement,And kings and emperors have ta'en delightTo make experience of their wit in plays!
LOR. Nay, be not angry, good Hieronimo;The prince but ask'd a question.
BAL. In faith, Hieronimo, and you be in earnest,I'll make one.
LOR. And I another.
HIERO. Now, my good lord, could you entreat,Your sister, Bel-imperia, to make one,—For what's a play without a woman in it?
BEL. Little entreaty shall serve me, Hieronimo,For I must needs be employed in your play.
HIERO. Why, this is well! I tell you, lordings,It was determined to have been acted,By gentlemen and scholars too,Such as could tell what to speak.
BAL. And nowIt shall be play'd by princes and courtiers,Such as can tell how to speak,If, as it is our country manner,You will but let us know the argument.
HIERO. That shall I roundly. The chronicles of SpainRecord this written of a knight of Rhodes;He was betroth'd, and wedded at the length,To one Perseda, an Italian dame,Whose beauty ravish'd all that her beheld,Especially the soul of Suleiman,Who at the marriage was the chiefest guest.By sundry means sought Suleiman to winPerseda's love, and could not gain the same.Then 'gan he break his passions to a friend,One of his bashaws whom he held full dear.Her has this bashaw long solicited,And saw she was not otherwise to be wonBut by her husband's death, this knight of Rhodes,Whom presently by treachery he slew.She, stirr'd with an exceeding hate therefore,As cause of this, slew Sultan Suleiman,And, to escape the bashaw's tyranny,Did stab herself. And this is the tragedy.
LOR. O, excellent!
BEL. But say, Hieronimo:What then became of him that was the bashaw?
HIERO.Marry thus:Moved with remorse of his misdeeds,Ran to a mountain top and hung himself.
BAL. But which of us is to perform that part?
HIERO. O, that will I, my lords; make no doubt of it;I'll play the murderer, I warrant you;For I already have conceited that.
BAL. And what shall I?
HIERO. Great Suleiman, the Turkish emperor.
LOR. And I?
HIERO. Erastus, the knight of Rhodes.
BEL. And I?
HIERO. Perseda, chaste and resolute.And here, my lords, are several abstracts drawn,For each of you to note your several parts.And act it as occasion's offer'd you.You must provide you with a Turkish cap,A black moustache and a fauchion.
Gives paper to BALTHAZAR.
You with a cross, like a knight of Rhodes.
Gives another to LORENZO.
And, madame, you must then attire yourself
He giveth BEL-IMPERIA another.
Like Phoebe, Flora, or the huntress Dian,Which to your discretion shall seem best.And as for me, my lords, I'll look to one,And with the ransom that the viceroy sentSo furnish and perform this tragedyAs all the world shall say HieronimoWas liberal in gracing of it so.
BAL. Hieronimo, methinks a comedy were better.
HIERO. A comedy? fie! comedies are fit for common wits;But to present a kingly troupe withal,Give me a stately-written tragedy,—Tragedia cothurnata, fitting kings,Containing matter, and not common things!My lords, all this our sport must be perform'd,As fitting for the first night's revelling.The Italian tragedians were so sharpOf wit that in one hour's meditationThey would perform any-thing in action.
LOR. And well it may, for I have seen the likeIn Paris, 'mongst the French tragedians.
HIERO. In Paris? mass, and well remembered!—There's one thing more that rests for us to do.
BAL. What's that, Hieronimo?Forget not anything.
HIERO. Each one of usMust act his part in unknown languages,That it may breed the more variety:As you, my lord, in Latin, I in Greek,You in Italian, and, for-because I knowThat Bel-imperia hath practised the French,In courtly French shall all her phrases be.
BEL. You mean to try my cunning then, Hieronimo!
BAL. But this will be a mere confusion,And hardly shall we all be understood.
HEIRO. It must be so; for the conclusionShall prove the invention and all was good;And I myself in an oration,That I will have there behind a curtain,And with a strange and wondrous show besides,Assure yourself, shall make the matter known.And all shall be concluded in one scene,For there's no pleasure ta'en in tediousness.
BAL. [to LOR.] How like you this?
LOR. Why thus, my lord, we must resolve,To soothe his humors up.
BAL. On then, Hieronimo; farewell till soon!
HIERO. You'll ply this gear?
LOR. I warrant you.
Exeuent all but HIERONIMO.
HIERO. Why, so! now shall I see the fall of BabylonWrought by the heav'ns in this confusion.And, if the world like not this tragedy,Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo.
Exit.
[HIERONIMO's garden.]
Enter ISABELLA with a weapon.
[ISA.] Tell me no more! O monstrous homicides!Since neither piety nor pity movesThe king to justice or compassion,I will revenge myself upon this place,Where thus they murder'd my beloved son.
She cuts down the arbour.
Down with these branches and these loathsome boughsOn this unfortunate and fatal pine!Down with them, Isabella; rent them up,And burns the roots from whence the rest is sprung!I will leave not a root, a stalk, a tree,A bough, a branch, a blossom, nor a leaf,—Not, not an herb within this garden plot,Accursed complot of my misery!Fruitless forever may this garden be,Barren the earth, and blissless whosoeverImagines not to keep it unmanur'd!An eastern wind comix'd with noisome airsShall blast the plants and young saplings here,The earth with serpents shall be pestered,And passengers, for fear to be infect,Shall stand aloof, and, looking at it, tellThere, murder'd, died the son of Isabell.Aye, here he died, and here I him embrace!See where his ghost solicits with his woundsRevenge on her that should revenge his death!Hieronimo, make haste to see thy son,For Sorrow and Despair hath 'cited meTo hear Horatio plead with Radamant.Make haste, Hieronimo, to hold excus'dThy negligence in pursuit of their deathsWhose hateful wrath bereav'd him of his breath.Ah, nay; thou dost delay their deaths,Forgiv'st the murd'rers of thy noble son;And none but I bestir me,—to no end!And, as I curse this tree from further fruit,So shall my womb be cursed for his sake;And with this weapon will I wound this breast,—That hapless breast that gave Horatio suck!
She stabs herself.
[The DUKE's castle.]
Enter HIERONIMO; he knocks up the curtain.Enter the DUKE OF CASTILE.
CAS. How now, Hieronimo? where's your fellows,That you take all this pain?
HIERO. O sir, it is for the author's creditTo look that all things may go well.But, good my lord, let me entreat your GraceTo give the king the copy of the play:This is the argument of what we show.
CAS. I will, Hieronimo.
HIERO. One more thing, my good lord.
CAS. What's that?
HIERO. Let me entreat your GraceThat, when the train are pass'd into the gallery,You would vouchsafe to throw me down the key.
CAS. I will Hieronimo.
Exit CAS[TILE].
HIERO. What, are you ready, Balthazar?Bring a chair and a cushion for the king.
Enter BALTHAZAR with a chair.
Well done, Balthazar; hang up the title:Our scene is Rhodes. What, is your beard on?
BAL. Half on, the other is in my hand.
HIERO. Dispatch, for shame! are you so long?
Exit BALTHAZAR.
Bethink thyself, Hieronimo,Recall thy wits, recompt thy former wrongsThou hast receiv'd by murder of thy son,And lastly, but not least, how Isabell,Once his mother and my dearest wife,All woe-begone for him, hath slain herself.Behooves thee then, Hieronimo, to beReveng'd! The plot is laid of dire revenge:On then, Hieronimo; pursue revenge,For nothing wants but acting of revenge!
Exit HIERONIMO.
Enter SPANISH KING, VICEROY, the DUKEOF CASTILE, and their train, to the gallery.
KING. Now, viceroy, shall we see the tragedyOf Suleiman, the Turkish emperor,Perform'd by pleasure by your son the prince,My nephew Don Lorenzo, and my niece.
VICE. Who? Bel-imperia?
KING. Aye; and Hieronimo our marshall,At whose request they deign to do't themselves.These be our pastimes in the court of Spain.Here, brother, you shall be the book-keeper:This is the argument of that they show.
He giveth him a book.
[Gentlemen, this play of Hieronimo in sundry languages was thought good to be set down in English more largely, for the easier understanding to every publique reader.]
Enter BALTHAZAR, BEL-IMPERIA, andHIERONIMO.
BALTHAZAR. [acting] Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours yieldHeav'ns the honourAnd holy Mahomet, our sacred prophet!And be thou grac'd with every excellenceThat Suleiman can give or thou desire!But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is lessThen in reserving this fair Christian nymph,Perseda, blissful lamp of excellence,Whose eyes compel, like powerful adamant,The warlike heart of Suleiman to wait.
KING. See, viceroy, that is Balthazar your son,That represents the Emperor Suleiman:How well he acts his amorous passion!
VICE. Aye; Bel-imperia hath taught him that.
CASTILE: That's because his mind runs all on Bel-imperia.
HIERO. [acting] Whatever joy earth yields betide your Majesty!
BALT. [acting] Earth yields no joy without Perseda's love.
HIERO. [acting] Let then Perseda on your Grace attend.
BALT. [acting] She shall not wait on me, but I on her!Drawn by the influence of her lights, I yield.But let my friend, the Rhodian knight, come forth,—Erasto, dearer than my life to me,—That he may see Perseda, my belov'd.
Enter ERASTO [LORENZO].
KING. Here comes Lorenzo: look upon the plotAnd tell me, brother, what part plays he.
BEL. [acting] Ah, my Erasto! Welcome to Perseda!
LO. [acting] Thrice happy is Erasto that thou livest!Rhodes' loss is nothing to Erasto's joy;Sith his Perseda lives, his life survives.
BALT. [acting] Ah, bashaw, here is love between ErastoAnd fair Perseda, sovereign of my soul!
HIERO. [acting] Remove Erasto, mighty Suleiman,And then Perseda will be quickly won.
BALT. [acting] Erasto is my friend; and, while he lives,Perseda never will remove her love.
HIERO. [acting] Let not Erasto live to grieve great Suleiman!
BALT. [acting] Dear is Erasto in our princely eye.
HIERO. [acting] But, if he be your rival, let him die!
BALT. [acting] Why, let him die! so love commaundeth me.Yet grieve I that Erasto should so die.
HIERO. [acting] Erasto, Suleiman saluteth thee,And lets thee wit by me his Highness' will,Which is, thou should'st be thus employ'd.
Stabs him.
BEL. [acting] Ay, me, Erasto! See, Suleiman, Erasto's slain!
BALT. [acting] Yet liveth Suleiman to comfort thee.Fair queen of beauty, let not favour die,But with a gracious eye behold his grief,That with Perseda's beauty is increas'd,If by Perseda grief be not releas'd.
BEL. [acting] Tyrant, desist soliciting vain suits;Relentless are mine ears to thy lamentsAs thy butcher is pitiless and baseWhich seiz'd on my Erasto, harmless knight.Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command,And to thy power Perseda doth obey;But, were she able, thus she would revengeThy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince;
Stabs him.
And on herself she would be thus revengd.
Stabs herself.
KING. Well said, old marshall! this was bravely done!
HIERO. But Bel-imperia plays Perseda well.
VICE. Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia,You would be better to my son than so.
KING. But now what follows for Hieronimo?
HIERO. Marry, this follows for Hieronimo!Here break we off our sundry languages,And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue:Haply you think—but bootless are your thoughts—That this is fabulously counterfeit,And that we do as all tragedians do,—To die today, for fashioning our scene,The death of Ajax, or some Roman peer,And, in a minute starting up again,Revive to please tomorrow's audience.No, princes; know I am Hieronimo,The hopeless father of a hapless son,Whose tongue is tun'd to tell his latest tale,Not to excuse gross errors in the play.I see your looks urge instance of these words:Behold the reason urging me to this!
Shows his dead son.
See here my show; look on this spectacle!Here lay my hope, and here my hope hath end;Here lay my heart, and here my heart was slain;Here lay my treasure, here my treasure lost;Here lay my bliss, and here my bliss bereft.But hope, heart, treasure, joy and bliss,—All fled, fail'd, died, yea, all decay'd with this.From forth these wounds came breath that gave me life;They murder'd me that made these fatal marks.The cause was love whence grew this mortal hate:The hate, Lorenzo and young Balthazar;The love, my son to Bel-imperia.But night, the cov'rer of accursed crimes,With pitchy silence hush'd these traitors' harms,And lent them leave—for they had sorted leisure—To take advantage in my garden plotUpon my son, my dear Horatio.There merciless they butcher'd up my boy,In black, dark night, to pale, dim, cruel death!He shrieks; I heard—and yet, methinks, I hear—His dismal out-cry echo in the air;With soonest speed I hasted to the noise,Where, hanging on a tree, I found my sonThrough-girt with wounds and slaughter'd, as you see.And griev'd I, think you, at this spectacle?Speak, Portuguese, whose loss resembles mine!If thou canst weep upon thy Balthazar,'Tis like I wail'd for my Horatio.And you, my lord, whose reconciled sonMarch'd in a net and thought himself unseen,And rated me for a brainsick lunacy,With "God amend that mad Hieronimo!"—How can you brook our play's catastrophe?And here behold this bloody handkerchief,Which at Horatio's death I weeping dipp'dWithin the river of his bleeding wounds!It as propitious, see, I have reserv'd,And never hath it left my bloody heart,Soliciting remembrance of my vowWith these, O these accursed murderers!Which now perform'd, my heart is satisfied.And to this end the bashaw I became,That might revenge me on Lorenzo's life,Who therefore was appointed to the partAnd was to represent the knight of Rhodes,That I might kill him more conveniently.So, viceroy, was this Balthazar thy son—That Suleiman which Bel-imperiaIn person of Perseda murdered,—Solely appointed to that tragic part,That she might slay him that offended her.Poor Bel-imperia miss'd her part in this:For, though the story saith she should have died,Yet I, of kindness and of care for her,Did otherwise determine of her end.But love of him whom they did hate too muchDid urge her resolution to be such.And princes, now behold Hieronimo,Author and actor in this tragedy,Bearing his latest fortune in his fist;And will as resolute conclude his partAs any of the actors gone before.And, gentles, thus I end my play!Urge no more words, I have no more to say.
He runs to hang himself.
KING. O hearken, viceroy; hold Hieronimo!Brother, my nephew and thy son are slain!
VICE. We are betray'd! my Balthazar is slain!Break ope the doors; run save Hieronimo!Hieronimo, do but inform the king of these events;Upon mine honour, thou shalt have no harm!
HIERO. Viceroy, I will not trust thee with my life,Which I this day have offer'd to my son:Accursed wretch, why stayst thou him that was resolv'd to die?
KING. Speak, traitor! damned, bloody murd'rer, speak!—For, now I have thee, I will make thee speak!Why hast thou done this undeserving deed?
VICE. Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?
CAS. Why hast thou butcher'd both my children thus?
HIERO. O good words! As dear to me was HoratioAs yours, or yours, my lord, to you.My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain;And by Lorenzo and that BalthazarAm I at last revenged thoroughly,—Upon whose souls may Heav'n be yet aveng'dWith greater far than these afflictions!
CAS. But who were thy confederates in this?
VICE. That was thy daughter Bel-imperia;For by her hand my Balthazar was slain,—I saw her stab him.
KING. Why speak'st thou not?
HIERO. What lesser liberty can kings affordThan harmless silence? Then afford it me!Sufficeth I may not nor I will not tell thee.
KING. Fetch forth the tortures!Traitor as thou art, I'll make thee tell!
HIERO. Indeed?Thou mayst torment me as his wretched sonHath done in murd'ring my Horatio;But never shalt thou force me to revealThe thing which I have vow'd inviolate.And therefore, in despite of all thy threats,Pleas'd with their deaths, and eas'd with their revenge,First take my tongue, and afterwards my heart!
He bites out his tongue.
KING. O monstrous resolution of a wretch!See, Viceroy, he hath bitten forth his tongueRather than reveal what we require'd.
CAS. Yet can he write.
KING. And if in this he satisfy us not,We will devise th' extremest kind of deathThat ever was invented for a wretch.
Then he makes signs for a knife to mend his pen.
CAS. O, he would have a knife to mend his pen.
VICE. Here; and advise thee that thou write the troth,—Look to my brother! save Hieronimo!
He with a knife stabs the DUKE and himself.
KING. What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds?My brother and the whole succeeding hopeThat Spain expected after my decease.Go bear his body hence, that we may mournThe loss of our beloved brother's death,That he may be entomb'd. Whate'er befall,I am the next, the nearest, last of all.
VICE. And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for us:Take up our hapless son untimely slain;Set me up with him, and he with woeful me,Upon the main-mast of a ship unmann'd,And let the wind and tide hale me alongTo Scylla's barking and untamed gulfOr to the loathsome pool of Acheron,To weep my want for my sweet Balthazar.Spain hath no refuge for a Portingale!
The trumpets sound a dead march, the KING OF SPAINmourning after his brother's body, and the KING OFPORTINGAL bearing the body of his son.
Enter GHOST and REVENGE.
GHOST. Aye; now my hopes have end in their effects,When blood and sorrow finish my desires:Horatio murder'd in his father's bower,Vile Serberine by Pedrigano slain,False Pedrigano hang'd by quaint device,Fair Isabella by herself misdone,Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabb'd,The Duke of Castile and his wicked sonBoth done to death by old Hieronimo,My Bel-imperia fallen as Dido fell,And good Hieronimo slain by himself!Aye, these were spectacles to please my soul.Now will I beg at lovely ProserpineThat, by the virtue of her princely doom,I may consort my friends in pleasing sort,And on my foes work just and sharp revenge.I'll lead my friend Horatio through those fieldsWhere never-dying wars are still inur'd;I'll lead fair Isabella to that trainWhere pity weeps but never feeleth pain;I'll lead my Bel-imperia to those joysThat vestal virgins and fair queens possess;I'll lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plays,Adding sweet pleasure to eternal days.But say, Revenge,—for thou must help or none,—Against the rest how shall my hate be shown?
REVENGE. This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,Where none but furies, bugs and tortures dwell.
GHOST. Then, sweet Revenge, do this at my request:Let me judge and doom them to unrest;Let loose poor Titius from the vulture's gripe,And let Don Ciprian supply his room;Place Don Lorenzo on Ixion's wheel,And let the lovers' endless pains surcease,Juno forget old wrath and grant him ease;Hang Balthazar about Chimera's neck,And let him there bewail his bloody love,Repining at our joys that are above;Let Serberine go roll the fatal stoneAnd take from Sisyphus his endless moan;False Pedringano, for his treachery,Let him be dragg'd through boiling Acheron,And there live dying still in endless flames,Blaspheming gods and all their holy names.
REVENGE. Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes;To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes.For here though death doth end their misery,I'll there begin their endless tragedy.
Exeunt.