The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Spanish TragedyThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The Spanish TragedyAuthor: Thomas KydRelease date: February 19, 2011 [eBook #35330]Most recently updated: January 7, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Richard Schwarz*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPANISH TRAGEDY ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The Spanish TragedyAuthor: Thomas KydRelease date: February 19, 2011 [eBook #35330]Most recently updated: January 7, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Richard Schwarz
Title: The Spanish Tragedy
Author: Thomas Kyd
Author: Thomas Kyd
Release date: February 19, 2011 [eBook #35330]Most recently updated: January 7, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Richard Schwarz
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPANISH TRAGEDY ***
Produced by Richard Schwarz
1587
By Thomas Kyd
Containing the lamentable end of DON HORATIO, and BEL-IMPERIA: with the pitiful death of old HIERONIMO.
Newly corrected and amended of such gross faults as passed in the first impression.
At London
Printed by Edward Allde, for
Edward White
GHOST OF ANDREA |REVENGE | the Chorus.KING OF SPAIN.VICEROY OF PORTUGAL.DON PEDRO, the viceroy's brother.DON CIPRIAN, duke of Castile.HIERONIMO, knight-marshall of Spain.BALTHAZAR, the Viceroy's son.LORENZO, Don Ciprian's son [and Bel-imperia's brother].HORATIO, Hieronimo's son.ALEXANDRO |VILLUPPO | lords of Portugal.PEDRINGANO, servant of Bel-imperia.SERBERINE, servant of Balthazar.Spanish General, Portuguese Ambassador,Hangman, Soldiers, Attendants, &c.BEL-IMPERIA, Lorenzo's sister.ISABELLA, Hieronimo's wife.PAGE.MESSENGER.CHRISTOPHEL.SERVANT.SENEX (DON BAZULTO).CITIZENS.
[Prologue]
Enter the GHOST OF ANDREA, and with him REVENGE.
GHOST. When this eternal substance of my soulDid live imprison'd in my wanton flesh,Each in their function serving others' need,I was a courtier in the Spanish court:My name was Don Andrea; my descent,Though not ignoble, yet inferior farTo gracious fortunes of my tender youth,For there, in prime and pride of all my years,By duteous service and deserving love,In secret I possess'd a worthy dame,Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.But in the harvest of my summer joysDeath's winter nipped the blossoms of my bliss,Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me;For in the late conflict with PortingalMy valour drew me into danger's mouthTill life to death made passage through my wounds.When I was slain, my soul descended straightTo pass the flowing stream of Acheron;But churlish Charon, only boatman there,Said that, my rites of burial not perform'd,I might not sit amongst his passengers.Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis' lap,And slak'd his smoking chariot in her flood,By Don Horatio, our knight-marshall's son,My funerals and obsequies were done.Then was the ferryman of hell contentTo pass me over to the slimy strandThat leads to fell Avernus' ugly waves.There, pleasing Cerberus with honeyed speech,I passed the perils of the foremost porch.Not far from hence, amidst ten thousand souls,Sat Minos, Eacus and Rhadamant;To whom no sooner 'gan I make approach,To crave a passport for my wandering ghost,But Minos in graven leaves of lotteryDrew forth the manner of my life and death."This knight," quoth he, "both liv'd and died in love;And for his love tried fortune of the wars;And by war's fortune lost both love and life.""Why then," said Eacus, "convey him henceTo walk with lovers in our field of loveAnd the course of everlasting timeUnder green myrtle-trees and cypress shades.""No, no!" said Rhadamant, "it were not wellWith loving souls to place a martialist.He died in war, and must to martial fields,Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain,And Achilles' Myrmidons do scour the plain."Then Minos, mildest censor of the three,Made this device, to end the difference:"Send him," quoth he, "to our infernal king,To doom him as best seems his Majesty."To this effect my passport straight was drawn.In keeping on my way to Pluto's courtThrough dreadful shades of ever-glooming night,I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tellOr pens can write or mortal hearts can think.Three ways there were: that on the right hand sideWas ready way unto the 'foresaid fieldsWhere lovers live and bloody martialists,But either sort contain'd within his bounds;The left hand path, declining fearfully,Was ready downfall to the deepest hell,Where bloody Furies shake their whips of steel,And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel,Where usurers are chok'd with melting gold,And wantons are embrac'd with ugly snakes,And murderers groan with never-killing wounds,And perjur'd wights scalded in boiling lead,And all foul sins with torments overwhelm'd;'Twixt these two ways I trod the middle path,Which brought me to the fair Elysian green,In midst whereof there stands a stately tower,The walls of brass, the gates of adamant.Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine,I show'd my passport, humbled on my knee.Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile,And begg'd that only she might give me doom.Pluto was pleas'd, and seal'd it with a kiss.Forthwith, Revenge, she rounded thee in th' ear,And bad thee lead me though the gates of horn,Where dreams have passage in the silent night.No sooner had she spoke but we were here,I wot not how, in the twinkling of an eye.
REVENGE. Then know, Andrea, that thou arriv'dWhere thou shalt see the author of thy death,Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingal,Depriv'd of life by Bel-imperia:Here sit we down to see the mystery,And serve for Chorus in this tragedy.
[ACT I. SCENE 1.][The Spanish Court]
Enter SPANISH KING, GENERAL, CASTILLE, HIERONIMO.
KING. Now say, lord general: how fares our camp?
GEN. All well, my sovereign liege, except some fewThat are deceas'd by fortune of the war.
KING. But what portends thy cheerful countenanceAnd posting to our presence thus in haste?Speak, man: hath fortune given us victory?
GEN. Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.
KING. Our Portugals will pay us tribute then?
GEN. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithal.
KING. Then blest be Heav'n, and Guider of the heav'ns,From whose fair influence such justice flows!
CAST. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,Et conjuratae curvato poplite gentesSuccumbunt: recti soror est victoria juris!
KING. Thanks to my loving brother of Castille.But, general, unfold in brief discourseYour form of battle and your war's success,That, adding all the pleasure of thy newsUnto the height of former happiness,With deeper wage and gentle dignityWe may reward thy blissful chivalry.
GEN. Where Spain and Portingal do jointly knitTheir frontiers, leaning on each other's bound,There met our armies in the proud array:Both furnish'd well, both full of hope and fear,Both menacing alike with daring shows,Both vaunting sundry colours of device,Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes,Both raising dreadful clamors to the sky,That valleys, hills, and rivers made reboundAnd heav'n itself was frighted with the sound.Our battles both were pitch'd in squadron form,Each corner strongly fenc'd with wings of shot;But, ere we join'd and came to push of pike,I brought a squadron of our readiest shotFrom out our rearward to begin the fight;They brought another wing to encounter us;Meanwhile our ordnance play'd on either side,And captains strove to have their valours try'd.Don Pedro, their chief horsemen's colonel,Did with his cornet bravely make attemptTo break the order of our battle ranks;But Don Rogero, worthy man of war,March'd forth against him with our musketeersAnd stopp'd the malice of his fell approach.While they maintain hot skirmish to and fro,Both battles join and fall to handy blows,Their violent shot resembling th' oceans rageWhen, roaring loud and with a swelling tide,It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks,And gapes to swallow neighbor-bounding lands.Now, while Bellona rageth here and there,Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail,And shiver'd lances dark the troubled air;Pede pes & cuspide cuspis,Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro;On every side drop captains to the ground,And soldiers, some ill-maim'd, some slain outright:Here falls a body sunder'd from his head;There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass,Mingled with weapons and unbowel'd steeds,That scattering over-spread the purple plain.In all this turmoil, three long hours and moreThe victory to neither part inclin'd,Till Don Andrea with his brave lancersIn their main battle made so great a breachThat, half dismay'd, the multitude retir'd.But Balthazar, the Portingales' young prince,Brought rescue and encourag'd them to stay.Here-hence the fight was eagerly renew'd,And in that conflict was Andrea slain,—Brave man-at-arms, but weak to Balthazar.Yet, while the prince, insulting over him,Breath'd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproach,Friendship and hardy valour join'd in onePrick'd forth Horatio, our knight-marshall's son,To challenge forth that prince in single fight.Not long between these twain the fight endur'd,But straight the prince was beaten from his horseAnd forc'd to yield him prisoner to his foe.When he was taken, all the rest fled,And our carbines pursu'd them to death,Till, Phoebus waning to the western deep,Our trumpeters were charg'd to sound retreat.
KING. Thanks, good lord general, for these good news!And, for some argument of more to come,Take this and wear it for thy sovereign's sake.
Give him his chain.
But tell me now: hast thou confirm'd a peace?
GEN. No peace, my liege, but peace conditional,That, if with homage tribute be well paid,The fury of your forces will be stay'd.And to this peace their viceroy hath subscrib'd,
Give the King a paper.
And made a solemn vow that during lifeHis tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.
KING. These words, these deeds become thy person well.But now, knight-marshall, frolic with thy king,For 'tis thy son that wins this battle's prize.
HIERO. Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege!And soon decay unless he serve my liege!
A trumpet afar off.
KING. Nor thou nor he shall die without reward.What means this warning of this trumpet's sound?
GEN. This tells me that your Grace's men of war,Such as war's fortune hath reserv'd from death,Come marching on towards your royal seat,To show themselves before your Majesty;For so gave I in charge at my depart.Whereby by demonstration shall appearThat all, except three hundred or few more,Are safe return'd and by their foes enrich'd.
The army enters, BALTHAZAR between LORENZOand HORATIO, captive.
KING. A gladsome sight! I long to see them here.
They enter and pass by.
Was that the warlike prince of PortingalThat by our nephew was in triumph led?
GEN. It was, my liege, the prince of Portingal.
KING. But what was he that on the other sideHeld him by th' arm as partner of the prize?
HIERO. That was my son, my gracious sovereign;Of whom though from his tender infancyMy loving thoughts did never hope but well,He never pleasd his father's eyes till now,Nor fill'd my heart with overcloying joys.
KING. Go, let them march once more about these walls,That staying them we may confer and talkWith our brave prisoner and his double guard.
[Exit a MESSENGER.]
Hieoronimo, it greatly pleaseth usThat in our victory thou have a shareBy virtue of thy worthy son's exploit.
Enter again.
Bring hither the young prince of Portingal!The rest march on, but, ere they be dismiss'd,We will bestow on every soldierTwo ducats, and on every leader ten,That they may know our largesse welcomes them.
Exeunt all [the army] but BAL[THAZAR],LOR[ENZO], and HOR[ATIO].
KING. Welcome, Don Balthazar! Welcome nephew!And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too!Young prince, although thy father's hard misdeedsIn keeping back the tribute that he owesDeserve but evil measure at our hands,Yet shalt thou know that Spain is honourable.
BALT. The trespass that my father made in peaceIs now controll'd by fortune of the wars;And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so.His men are slain,—a weakening to his realm;His colours seiz'd,—a blot unto his name;His son distress'd,—a corsive to his heart;These punishments may clear his late offence.
KING. Aye, Balthazar, if he observe this truce,Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars.Meanwhile live thou, though not in liberty,Yet free from bearing any servile yoke;For in our hearing thy deserts were great.And in our sight thyself art gracious.
BALT. And I shall study to deserve this grace.
KING. But tell me,—for their holding makes me doubt:To which of these twain art thou prisoner?
LOR. To me, my liege.
HOR. To me, my sovereign.
LOR. This hand first took his courser by the reins.
HOR. But first my lance did put him from his horse.
LOR. I seiz'd the weapon and enjoy'd it first.
HOR. But first I forc'd him lay his weapons down.
KING. Let go his arm, upon my privilege!
Let him go.
Say, worthy prince: to whether didst thou yield?
BALT. To him in courtesy; to this perforce;He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes;He promis'd life, this other threaten'd death;He won my love, this other conquer'd me;And, truth to say, I yield myself to both.
HIERO. But that I know your Grace is just and wise,And might seem partial in this difference,Enforc'd by nature and by law of arms,My tongue should plead for young Horatio's right.He hunted well that was a lion's death,Not he that in a garment wore his skin;So hares may pull dead lions by the beard.
KING. Content thee, marshall; thou shalt have no wrong,And for thy sake thy son shall want to right.Will both abide the censure of my doom?
LOR. I crave no better than your Grace awards.
HOR. Nor I, although I sit beside my right.
KING. Then by judgment thus your strife shall end:You both deserve and both shall have reward.Nephew, thou took'st his weapons and his horse:His weapons and his horse are thy reward.Horatio, thou did'st force him first to yield:His ransom therefore is thy valour's fee;Appoint the sum as you shall both agree.But, nephew, thou shalt have the prince in guard,For thine estate best fitteth such a guest;Horatio's house were small for all his train.Yet, in regard thy substance passeth his,And that just guerdon may befall desert,To him we yield the armour of the prince.How likes Don Balthazar of this device?
BALT. Right well, my liege, if this proviso were:That Don Horatio bear us company,Whom I admire and love for chivalry.
KING. Horatio, leave him not that loves thee so.Now let us hence, to see our soldiers paid,And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest.
Exeunt.
[Portugal: the VICEROY'S palace.]
Enter VICEROY, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO.
VICE. Is our ambassador dispatch'd for Spain?
ALEX. Two days, my liege, are past since his depart.
VICE. And tribute payment gone along with him?
ALEX. Aye, my good lord.
VICE. Then rest we here a-while in our unrest;And feed our sorrows with inward sighs,For deepest cares break never into tears.But wherefore sit I in a regal throne?This better fits a wretch's endless moan.Yet this is higher then my fortunes reach,And therefore better than my state deserves.
Falls to the ground.
Aye, aye, this earth, image of melancholy,Seeks him whom fates adjudge to misery!Here let me lie! Now am I at the lowest!Qui jacet in terra non habet unde cadat.In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo,Nil superest ut jam possit obesse magis.Yes, Fortune may bereave me of my crown—Here, take it now; let Fortune do her worst,She shall not rob me of this sable weed.O, no, she envies none but pleasant things.Such is the folly of despiteful chance,Fortune is blind and sees not my deserts,So is she deaf and hears not my laments;And, could she hear, yet is she willful mad,And therefore will not pity my distress.Suppose that she could pity me, what then?What help can be expected at her handsWhose foot is standing on a rolling stoneAnd mind more mutable then fickle winds?Why wail I, then, where's hope of no redress?O, yes, complaining makes my grief seem less.My late ambition hath distain'd my faith,My breach of faith occasion'd bloody wars,Those bloody wars have spent my treasury,And with my treasury my people's blood,And with the blood my joy and best belov'd,—My best belov'd, my sweet and only son!O, wherefore went I not to war myself?The cause was mine; I might have died for both.My years were mellow, but his young and green:My death were natural, but his was forc'd.
ALEX. No doubt, my liege, but still the prince survives.
VICE. Survives! Ay, where?
ALEX. In Spain, a prisoner by mischance of war.
VICE. Then they have slain him for his father's fault.
ALEX. That were a breach to common law of arms.
VICE. They reck no laws that meditate revenge.
ALEX. His ransom's worth will stay from foul revenge.
VICE. No; if he liv'd, the news would soon be here.
VILLUP. My sovereign, pardon the author of ill news,And I'll bewray the fortune of thy son.
VICE. Speak on; I'll guerdon thee, whate'er it be.Mine ear is ready to receive ill news,My heart grown hard 'gainst mischief's battery;Stand up, I say, and tell thy tale at large.
VILLUP. Then hear that truth which these mine eyes have seen:When both the armies were in battle join'd.Don Balthazar amidst the thickest troops,To win renown, did wondrous feats of arms;Amongst the rest I saw him hand-to-handIn single fight with their lord general.Till Alexandro, that here counterfeitsUnder the colour of a duteous friend,Discharg'd a pistol at the princes back,As though he would have slain their general,But therewithal Don Balthazar fell down;And when he fell, then we began to fly;But, had he liv'd, the day had sure been ours.
ALEX. O wicked forgery! O trait'rous miscreant!
VICE. Hold thou thy peace! But now, Villuppo, say:Where then became the carcass of my son?
VILLUP. I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.
VICE. Aye, aye, my nightly dreams have told me this!Thou false, unkind, unthankful, traitorous beast!Wherein had Balthazar offended thee,That thou should betray him to our foes?Was't Spanish gold that bleared so thine eyesThat thou couldst see no part of our deserts?Perchance, because thou art Terserae's lord,Thou hadst some hope to wear this diademIf first my son and then myself were slain;But thy ambitious thought shall break thy neck.Aye, this was it that made thee spill his blood!
Takes the crown and puts it on again.
But I'll now wear it till thy blood be spilt.
ALEX. Vouchsafe, dread sovereign, to hear me speak!
VICE. Away with him! his sight is second hell!Keep him till we determine his death.If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live.
[They take him out.]
Villuppo, follow us for thy reward.
Exit VICE[ROY].
VILLUP. Thus have I with an envious forged taleDeceiv'd the king, betray'd mine enemy,And hope for guerdon of my villainy.
[Spain: the palace]
Enter HORATIO and BEL-IMPERIA.
BEL. Signior Horatio, this is the place and hourWherein I must entreat thee to relateThe circumstance of Don Andrea's death,Who living was my garland's sweetest flower,And in his death hath buried my delights.
HOR. For love of him and service to yourself,I'll not refuse this heavy doleful charge;Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me.When both our armies were enjoin'd in fight,Your worthy cavalier amidst the thickest,For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest,Was at the last by young Don BalthazarEncounter'd hand-to-hand. Their fight was long,Their hearts were great, their clamours menacing,Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous;But wrathful Nemesis, that wicked power,Envying at Andrea's praise and worth,Cut short his life to end his praise and worth.She, she herself, disguis'd in armour's mask,As Pallas was before proud Pergamus,Brought in a fresh supply of halberdiers,Which punch'd his horse and ding'd him to the ground.Then young Don Balthazar, with ruthless rage,Taking advantage of his foe's distress,Did finish what his halberdiers begun;And left not till Andrea's life was done.Then, though too late, incens'd with just remorse,I with my band set forth against the prince,And brought him prisoner from his halberdiers.
BEL. Would thou hadst slain him that so slew my love!But then was Don Andrea's carcass lost?
HOR. No; that was it for which I chiefly strove,Nor stepp'd I back till I recover'd him.I took him up, and wound him in mine arms,And, wielding him unto my private tent,There laid him down and dew'd him with my tears,And sigh'd and sorrow'd as became a friend.But neither friendly sorrow, sighs and tearsCould win pale Death from his usurped right.Yet this I did, and less I could not do:I saw him honour'd with due funeral.This scarf I pluck'd from off his lifeless arm,And wear it in remembrance of my friend.
BEL. I know the scarf: would he had kept it still!For, had he liv'd, he would have kept it still,And worn it for his Bel-imperia's sake;For 'twas my favour at his last depart.But now wear thou it both for him and me;For, after him, thou hast deserv'd it best.But, for thy kindness in his life and death,Be sure, while Bel-imperia's life endures,She will be Don Horatio's thankful friend.
HOR. And, madame, Don Horatio will not slackHumbly to serve fair Bel-imperia.But now, if your good liking stand thereto,I'll crave your pardon to go seek the prince;For so the duke, your father, gave me charge.
Exit.
BEL. Aye, go, Horatio; leave me here alone,For solitude best fits my cheerless mood.—Yet what avails to wail Andreas death,From whence Horatio proves my second love?Had he not lov'd Andrea as he did,He could not sit in Bel-imperia's thoughts.But how can love find harbour in my breast,Till I revenge the death of my belov'd?Yes, second love shall further my revenge:I'll love Horatio, my Andrea's friend,The more to spite the prince that wrought his end;And, where Don Balthazar, that slew my love,Himself now pleads for favor at my hands,He shall, in rigour of my just disdain,Reap long repentance for his murderous deed,—For what was't else but murderous cowardice,So many to oppress one valiant knight,Without respect of honour in the fight?And here he comes that murder'd my delight.
Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR.
LOR. Sister, what means this melancholy walk?
BEL. That for a-while I wish no company.
LOR. But here the prince is come to visit you.
BEL. That argues that he lives in liberty.
BAL. No madam, but in pleasing servitude.
BEL. Your prison then, belike, is your conceit.
BAL. Aye, by conceit my freedom is enthrall'd.
BEL. Then with conceit enlarge yourself again.
BAL. What if conceit have laid my heart to gage?
BEL. Pay that you borrow'd, and recover it.
BAL. I die if it return from whence it lies.
BEL. A heartless man, and live? A miracle!
BAL. Aye, lady, love can work such miracles.
LOR. Tush, tush, my lord! let go these ambages,And in plain terms acquaint her with your love.
BEL. What boots complaint, when there's no remedy?
BAL. Yes, to your gracious self must I complain,In whose fair answer lies my remedy,On whose perfection all my thoughts attend,On whose aspect mine eyes find beauty's bower,In whose translucent breast my heart is lodg'd.
BEL. Alas, my lord! These are but words of course,And but devis'd to drive me from this place.
She, going in, lets fall her glove, whichHORATIO, coming out, takes up.
HOR. Madame, your glove.
BEL. Thanks, good Horatio; take it for thy pains.
[BEL-IMPERIA exits.]
BAL. Signior Horatio stoop'd in happy time!
HOR. I reap'd more grace that I deserv'd or hop'd.
LOR. My lord, be not dismay'd for what is past;You know that women oft are humorous:These clouds will overblow with little wind;Let me alone, I'll scatter them myself.Meanwhile let us devise to spend the timeIn some delightful sports and revelling.
HOR. The king, my lords, is coming hither straightTo feast the Portingal ambassador;Things were in readiness before I came.
BAL. Then here it fits us to attend the king,To welcome hither our ambassador,And learn my father and my country's health.
Enter the banquet, TRUMPETS, the KING,and AMBASSADOR.
KING. See, lord ambassador, how Spain entreatsTheir prisoner Balthazar, thy viceroy's son:We pleasure more in kindness than in wars.
AMBASS. Sad is our king, and Portingal laments,Supposing that Don Balthazar is slain.
BAL. [aside] So am I, slain by beauty's tyranny!—You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slain:I frolic with the Duke of Castille's son,Wrapp'd every hour in pleasures of the court,And grac'd with favours of his Majesty.
KING. Put off your greetings till our feast be done;Now come and sit with us, and taste our cheer.
Sit to the banquet.
Sit down, young prince, you are our second guest;Brother, sit down; and nephew, take your place.Signior Horatio, wait thou upon our cup,For well thou hast deserved to be honour'd.Now, lordings, fall too: Spain is Portugal,And Portugal is Spain; we both are friends;Tribute is paid, and we enjoy our right.But where is old Hieronimo, our marshall?He promis'd us, in honour of our guest,To grace our banquet with some pompous jest.
Enter HIERONIMO with a DRUM, three KNIGHTS,each with scutcheon; then he fetches threeKINGS; they take their crowns and themcaptive.
Hieronimo, this makes content mine eye,Although I sound not well the mystery.
HIERO. The first arm'd knight that hung his scutcheon up
He takes the scutcheon and gives it tothe KING.
Was English Robert, Earle of Gloucester,Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,Arriv'd with five and twenty thousand menIn Portingal, and, by success of war,Enforc'd the king, then but a Saracen,To bear the yoke of the English monarchy.
KING. My lord of Portingal, by this you seeThat which may comfort both your king and you,And make your late discomfort seem the less.But say, Hieronimo: what was the next?
HIERO. The second knight that hung his scutcheon up
He doth as he did before.
Was Edmond, Earle of Kent in Albion.When English Richard wore the diadem,He came likewise and razed Lisbon walls,And took the king of Portingal in fight,—For which, and other such service done,He after was created Duke of York.
KING. This is another special argumentThat Portingal may deign to bear our yoke,When it by little England hath been yok'd.But now, Hieronimo, what were the last?
HIERO. The third and last, not least in our account,
Doing as before.
Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman,Brave John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster,As by his scutcheon plainly may appear:He with a puissant army came to SpainAnd took our King of Castille prisoner.
AMBASS. This is an argument for our viceroyThat Spain may not insult for her success,Since English warriors likewise conquer'd SpainAnd made them bow their knees to Albion.
KING. Hieronimo, I drink to thee for this device,Which hath pleas'd both the ambassador and me:Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou love the king!
Takes the cup of HORATIO.
My lord, I fear we sit but over-long,Unless our dainties were more delicate,—But welcome are you to the best we have.Now let us in, that you may be dispatch'd;I think our council is already set.
Exeunt omnes.
ANDREA. Come we for this from depth of under ground,—To see him feast that gave me my death's wound?These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soul:Nothing but league and love and banqueting!
REVENGE. Be still, Andrea; ere we go from hence,I'll turn their friendship into fell despite,Their love to mortal hate, their day to night,Their hope into despair, their peace to war,Their joys to pain, their bliss to misery.
[The DUKE's castle.]
Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR.
LORENZO. My lord, though Bel-imperia seem thus coy,Let reason hold you in your wonted joy:In time the savage bull sustains the yoke,In time all haggard hawks will stoop to lure,In time small wedges cleave the hardest oak,In time the flint is pierc'd with softest shower;And she in time will fall from her disdain,And rue the sufferance of your friendly pain.
BAL. No; she is wilder, and more hard withal,Then beast or bird, or tree or stony wall!But wherefore blot I Bel-imperia's name?It is my fault, not she that merits blame.My feature is not to content her sight;My words are rude and work her no delight;The lines I send her are but harsh and ill,Such as do drop from Pan and Marsya's quill;My presents are not of sufficient cost;And, being worthless, all my labours lost.Yet might she love me for my valiancy.Aye; but that's slander'd by captivity.Yet might she love me to content her sire.Aye; but her reason masters her desire.Yet might she love me as her brother's friend.Aye; but her hopes aim at some other end.Yet might she love me to uprear her state.Aye; but perhaps she loves some nobler mate.Yet might she love me as her beauty's thrall.Aye; but I fear she cannot love at all.
LOR. My lord, for my sake leave these ecstasies,And doubt not but we'll find some remedy.Some cause there is that lets you not be lov'd:First that must needs be known, and then remov'd.What if my sister love some other knight?
BAL. My summer's day will turn to winter's night.
LOR. I have already found a stratagemTo sound the bottom of this doubtful theme.My lord, for once you shall be rul'd by me;Hinder me not what ere you hear or see:By force or fair means will I cast aboutTo find the truth of all this question out.Ho, Pedringano!
PED. Signior.
LOR. Vien qui presto!
Enter PEDRINGANO.
PED. Hath your lordship any service to command me?
LOR. Aye, Pedringano, service of import.And, not to spend the time in trifling words,Thus stands the case: it is not long, thou know'st,Since I did shield thee from my father's wrathFor thy convenience in Andrea's love,For which thou wert adjudg'd to punishment;I stood betwixt thee and thy punishment,And since thou knowest how I have favour'd thee.Now to these favours will I add reward,Not with fair words, but store of golden coinAnd lands and living join'd with dignities,If thou but satisfy my just demand;Tell truth and have me for thy lasting friend.
PED. Whate'er it be your lordship shall demand,My bounden duty bids me tell the truth,If case it lie in me to tell the truth.
LOR. Then, Pedringano, this is my demand;Whom loves my sister Bel-imperia?For she reposeth all her trust in thee.Speak, man, and gain both friendship and reward:I mean, whom loves she in Andrea's place?
PED. Alas, my lord, since Don Andrea's deathI have no credit with her as before,And therefore know not if she love or no.
LOR. Nay, if thou dally, then I am thy foe,And fear shall force what friendship cannot win.Thy death shall bury what thy life conceals.Thou die'st for more esteeming her than me!
[Draws his sword.]
PED. Oh stay, my lord!
LOR. Yet speak the truth, and I will guerdon theeAnd shield thee from whatever can ensue,And will conceal whate'er proceeds from thee;But, if thou dally once again, thou diest!
PED. If madame Bel-imperia be in love—
LOR. What, villain! ifs and ands?
PED. Oh stay, my lord! she loves Horatio!
BALTHAZAR starts back.
LOR. What! Don Horatio, our knight-marshall's son?
PED. Even him, my lord.
LOR. Now say but how know'st thou he is her love,And thou shalt find me kind and liberal.Stand up, I say, and fearless tell the truth.
PED. She sent him letters,—which myself perus'd,—Full-fraught with lines and arguments of love,Preferring him before Prince Balthazar.
LOR. Swear on this cross that what thou say'st is true,And that thou wilt conceal what thou hast told.
PED. I swear to both, by him that made us all.
LOR. In hope thine oath is true, here's thy reward.But, if I prove thee perjur'd and unjust,This very sword whereon thou took'st thine oathShall be the worker of thy tragedy.
PED. What I have said is true, and shall, for me,Be still conceal'd from Bel-imperia.Besides, your Honour's liberalityDeserves my duteous service ev'n till death.
LOR. Let this be all that thou shall do for me:Be watchful when and where these lovers meet,And give me notice in some secret sort.
PED. I will, my lord.
LOR. Then thou shalt find that I am liberal.Thou know'st that I can more advance thy stateThan she: be therefore wise and fail me not.Go and attend her as thy custom is,Least absence make her think thou dost amiss.
Exit PEDRINGANO.
Why, so, Tam armis quam ingenio:Where words prevail not, violence prevails.But gold doth more than either of them both.How likes Prince Balthazar this stratagem?
BAL. Both well and ill; it makes me glad and sad:Glad, that I know the hind'rer of my love;Sad, that I fear she hates me whom I love;Glad, that I know on whom to be reveng'd;Sad, that she'll fly me if I take revenge.Yet must I take revenge or die myself;For love resisted grows impatient.I think Horatio be my destin'd plague:First, in his hand he brandished a sword,And with that sword he fiercely waged war,And in that war he gave me dangerous wounds,And by those wounds he forced me to yield,And by my yielding I became his slave;Now, in his mouth he carries pleasing words,Which pleasing words do harbour sweet conceits,Which sweet conceits are lim'd with sly deceits,Which sly deceits smooth Bel-imperia's ears,And through her ears dive down into her heart,And in her heart set him, where I should stand.Thus hath he ta'en my body by his force,And now by sleight would captivate my soul;But in his fall I'll tempt the Destinies,And either lose my life or win my love.
LOR. Let's go, my lord; our staying stays revenge.Do but follow me, and gain your love;Her favour must be won by his remove.
Exeunt.
[The Duke's Castle]
Enter HORATIO and BEL-IMPERIA.
HOR. Now, madame, since by favour of your loveOur hidden smoke is turn'd to open flame,And that with looks and words we feed our thought,—Two chief contents where more cannot be had,—Thus in the midst of love's fair blandishmentsWhy show you sign of inward languishments?
PEDRINGANO showeth all to the PRINCE andLORENZO, placing them in secret.
BEL. My heart, sweet friend, is like a ship at sea:She wisheth port, where, riding all at ease,She may repair what stormy times have worn,And, leaning on the shore, may sing with joyThat pleasure follows pain, and bliss annoy.Possession of thy love is th' only portWherein my heart, with fears and hopes long toss'd,Each hour doth wish and long to make resort,There to repair the joys that it hath lost,And, sitting safe, to sing in Cupid's choirThat sweetest bliss is crown of love's desire.
BALTHAZAR, above.
BAL. O sleep, mine eyes; see not my love profan'd!Be deaf, my ears; hear not my discontent!Die, heart; another joys what thou deserv'st!
LOR. Watch still, mine eyes, to see this love disjoin'd!Hear still, mine ears, to hear them both lament!Live, heart, to joy at fond Horatio's fall!
BEL. Why stands Horatio speechless all this while?
HOR. The less I speak, the more I meditate.
BEL. But whereon dost thou chiefly meditate?
HOR. On dangers past and pleasures to ensue.
BAL. On pleasures past and dangers to ensue!
BEL. What dangers and what pleasures dost thou mean?
HOR. Dangers of war and pleasures of our love.
LOR. Dangers of death, but pleasures none at all!
BEL. Let dangers go; thy war shall be with me,But such a war as breaks no bond of peace.Speak thou fair words, I'll cross them with fair words;Send thou sweet looks, I'll meet them with sweet looks;Write loving lines, I'll answer loving lines;Give me a kiss, I'll countercheck thy kiss:Be this our warring peace, or peaceful war.
HOR. But, gracious madame, then appoint the fieldWhere trial of this war shall first be made.
BAL. Ambitious villain, how his boldness grows!
BEL. Then be thy father's pleasant bow'r the field,—Where first we vow'd a mutual amity.The court were dangerous; that place is safe.Our hour shall be when Vesper 'gins to rise,That summons home distressful travelers.There none shall hear us but the harmless birds:Haply the gentle nightingaleShall carroll us asleep ere we be ware,And, singing with the prickle at her breast,Tell our delight and mirthful dalliance.Till then, each hour will seem a year and more.
HOR. But, honey-sweet and honourable love,Return we now into your father's sight;Dang'rous suspicion waits on our delight.
LOR. Aye, danger mix'd with jealous despiteShall send thy soul into eternal night!
Exeunt.
[The Spanish court.]
Enter the KING OF SPAIN, PORTINGALAMBASSADOR, DON CIPRIAN, &c.
KING. Brother of Castille, to the prince's loveWhat says your daughter Bel-imperia?
CIP. Although she coy it, as becomes her kind,And yet dissemble that she loves the prince,I doubt not, aye, but she will stoop in time;And, were she froward,—which she will not be,—Yet herein shall she follow my advice,Which is to love him or forgo my love.
KING. Then, lord ambassador of Portingal,Advise thy king to make this marriage upFor strengthening of our late-confirmed league;I know no better means to make us friends.Her dowry shall be large and liberal;Besides that she is daughter and half heirUnto our brother here, Don Ciprian,And shall enjoy the moiety of his land,I'll grace her marriage with an uncle's gift,And this is it: in case the match go forward,The tribute which you pay shall be releas'd;And, if by Balthazar she have a son,He shall enjoy the kingdom after us.
AMBASS. I'll make the motion to my sovereign liege,And work it if my counsel may prevail.
KING. Do so, my lord; and, if he give consent,I hope his presence here will honour usIn celebration of the nuptial day,—And let himself determine of the time.
AMBASS. Wilt please your Grace command me ought beside?
KING. Commend me to the king; and so, farewell!But where's Prince Balthazar, to take his leave?
AMBASS. That is perform'd already, my good lord.
KING. Amongst the rest of what you have in charge,The prince's ransom must not be forgot:That's none of mine, but his that took him prisoner,—And well his forwardness deserves reward:It was Horatio, our knight-marshall's son.
AMBASS. Between us there's a price already pitch'd,And shall be sentwith all convenient speed.
KING. Then once again farewell, my lord!
AMBASS. Farwell, my lord of Castile, and the rest!
Exit.
KING. Now, brother, you must make some little painsTo win fair Bel-imperia from her will;Young virgins must be ruled by their friends.The prince is amiable, and loves her well;If she neglect him and forgo his love,She both will wrong her own estate and ours.Therefore, whiles I do entertain the princeWith greatest pleasure that our court affords,Endeavor you to win your daughter's thought.If she give back, all this will come to naught.
Exeunt.
[HORATIO's garden.]
Enter HORATIO, BEL-IMPERIA, and PEDRINGANO.
HOR. Now that the night begins with sable wingsTo over-cloud the brightness of the sun,And that in darkness pleasures may be done,Come, Bel-imperia, let us to the bower,And there is safety pass a pleasant hour.
BEL. I follow thee, my love, and will not back,Although my fainting heart controls my soul.
HOR. Why, make you doubt of Pedringano's faith?
BEL. No; he is as trusty as my second self.Go, Pedringano, watch without the gate,And let us know if any make approach.
PED. [aside] Instead of watching, I'll deserve more goldBy fetching Don Lorenzo to this match.
Exit PEDRINGANO.
HOR. What means my love?
BEL. I know not what, myself;And yet my heart foretells me some mischance.
HOR. Sweet, say not so; fair Fortune is our friend,And heav'ns have shut up day to pleasure us.The stars, thou see'st, hold back their twinkling shineAnd Luna hides herself to pleasure us.
BEL. Thou hast prevail'd! I'll conquer my misdoubt,And in thy love and counsel drown my fear.I fear no more; love now is all my thoughts!Why sit we not? for pleasure asketh ease.
HOR. The more thou sitt'st within these leafy bowers,The more will Flora deck it with her flowers.
BEL. Aye; but, if Flora spy Horatio here,Her jealous eye will think I sit too near.
HOR. Hark, madame, how the birds record by night,For joy that Bel-imperia sits in sight!
BEL. No; Cupid counterfeits the nightingale,To frame sweet music to Horatio's tale.
HOR. If Cupid sing, then Venus is not far,—Aye, thou art Venus, or some fairer star!
BEL. If I be Venus, thou must needs be Mars;And where Mars reigneth, there must needs be wars.
HOR. Then thus begin our wars: put forth thy hand,That it may combat with my ruder hand.
BEL. Set forth thy foot to try the push of mine.
HOR. But, first, my looks shall combat against thee.
BEL. Then ward thyself! I dart this kiss at thee.
HOR. Thus I return the dart thou throwest at me!
BEL. Nay then, to gain the glory of the field,My twining arms shall yoke and make thee yield.
HOR. Nay then, my arms are large and strong withal:Thus elms by vines are compass'd till they fall.
BEL. O, let me go, for in my troubled eyesNow may'st thou read that life in passion dies!
HOR. O, stay a-while, and I will die with thee;So shalt thou yield, and yet have conquer'd me.
BEL. Who's there? Pedringano? We are betray'd!
Enter LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, SERBERINE,PEDRINGANO, disguised.
LOR. My lord, away with her! take her aside!O sir, forbear, your valour is already tried.Quickly dispatch, my masters.
They hang him in the arbor.
HOR. What, will you murder me?
LOR. Aye; thus! and thus! these are the fruits of love!
They stab him.
BEL. O, save his life, and let me die for him!O, save him, brother! save him, Balthazar!I lov'd Horatio, but he lov'd not me.
BAL. But Balthazar loves Bel-imperia.
LOR. Although his life were still ambitious, proud,Yet is he at the highest now he is dead.
BEL. Murder! murder! help! Hieronimo, help!
LOR. Come, stop her mouth! away with her!
Exeunt.
Enter HIERONIMO in his shirt, &c.
HIERO. What outcries pluck me from my naked bed,And chill my throbbing heart with trembling fear,Which never danger yet could daunt before?Who calls Hieronimo? speak; hear I am!I did not slumber; therefore 'twas no dream.No, no; it was some woman cried for help.And here within this garden did she cry,And in this garden must I rescue her.But stay! what murderous spectacle is this?A man hang'd up, and all the murderers gone!And in the bower, to lay the guilt on me!This place was made for pleasure not for death.
He cuts him down.
Those garments that he wears I oft have seen,—Alas! it is Horatio, my sweet son!O, no; but he that whilome was my son!O, was it thou that call'dst me from my bed?O, speak, if any spark of life remain!I am thy father. Who hath slain my son?What savage monster, not of human kind,Hath here been glutted with thy harmless blood,And left thy bloody corpse dishonour'd here,For me amidst these dark and dreadful shadesTo drown thee with an ocean of my tears?O heav'ns, why made you night, to cover sin?By day this deed of darkness had not been.O earth, why didst thou not in time devourThe vile profaner of this sacred bower?O poor Horatio, what hadst thou misdoneTo leese thy life ere life was new begun?O wicked butcher, whatsoe'er thou wert,How could thou strangle virtue and desert?Ay me, most wretched! that have lost my joyIn leesing my Horatio, my sweet boy!
Enter ISABELL.
ISA. My husband's absence makes my heart to throb.Hieronimo!
HIERO. Here, Isabella. Help me to lament;For sighs are stopp'd, and all my tears are spent.
ISA. What world of grief—my son Horatio!O where's the author of this endless woe?
HIERO. To know the author were some ease of grief,For in revenge my heart would find relief.
ISA. Then is he gone? and is my son gone too?O, gush out, tears! fountains and floods of tears!Blow, sighs, and raise an everlasting storm;For outrage fits our cursed wretchedness.
HIERO. Sweet lovely rose, ill pluck'd before thy time!Fair, worthy son, not conquer'd, but betray'd!I'll kiss thee now, for words with tears are stay'd.
ISA. And I'll close up the glasses of his sight;For once these eyes were only my delight.
HIERO. See'st thou this handkerchief besmear'd with blood?It shall not from me till I take revenge;See'st thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh?I'll not entomb them till I have reveng'd:Then will I joy amidst my discontent,Till then, my sorrow never shall be spent.
ISA. The heav'ns are just, murder cannot be hid;Time is the author of both truth and right,And time will bring this treachery to light.
HIERO. Meanwhile, good Isabella, cease thy plaints,Or, at the least, dissemble them awhile;So shall we sooner find the practise out,And learn by whom all this was brought about.Come, Isabell, now let us take him up.
They take him up.
And bear him in from out this cursed place.I'll say his dirge,—singing fits not this case.O aliquis mihi quas pulchrum ver educat herbas
HIERONIMO sets his breast unto his sword.
Misceat, et nostro detur medicina dolori;Aut, si qui faciunt annorum oblivia, succosPraebeat; ipse metam magnum quaecunque per orbemGramina Sol pulchras effert in luminis oras.Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni,Quicquid et herbarum vi caeca nenia nectit.Omnia perpetiar, lethum quoque, dum semel omnisNoster in extincto moriatur pectore sensus.Ergo tuos oculos nunquam, mea vita videbo,Et tua perpetuus sepelivit lumina somnus?Emoriar tecum: sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras!Attamen absistam properato cedere letho,Ne mortem vindicta tuam tam nulla sequatur.
Here he throws it from him and bears thebody away.
ANDREA. Brought'st thou me hither to increase my pain?I look'd that Balthazar should have been slain;But 'tis my friend Horatio that is slain,And they abuse fair Bel-imperia,On whom I doted more then all the world,Because she lov'd me more then all the world.
REVENGE. Thou talk'st of harvest, when the corn is green;The end is crown of every work well done;The sickle comes not till the corn be ripe.Be still, and, ere I lead thee from this place,I'll show thee Balthazar in heavy case.