The Spanish Tragedie/Act 4
ACTVS QVARTVS.
Enter Bel-imperia and Hieronimo.
Bel-imperia.
Is this the loue thou bearst Horatio?
Is this the kindnes that thou counterfeites?
Are these the fruits of thine incessant teares?
Hieronimo, are these thy passions,
Thy protestations and thy deepe lamentes,
That thou wert wont to wearie men withall?
O vnkind Father, O deceitfull worlde,
With what excuses canst thou shew thy selfe?
With what dishonour, and the hate of men:
From this dishonour and the hate of men:
Thus to neglect the life and losse of him.
Whom both my letters, and thine owne beliefe,
Assures thee to be causelesse slaughtered?
Hieronimo, for shame Hieronimo,
Be not a historie to after times,
Of such ingratitude vnto thy Sonne,
Vnhappie Mother of such children then:
But monstrous Father, to forget so soone
The death of those, whom they with care and cost,
Haue tendred so, thus carelesse should be lost.
My selfe a stranger in respect of thee,
So loued his life, as still I wish their deathes;
Nor shall his death be vnreueng'd by me,
Although I beare it out for fashions sake,
For heere I sweare in sight of heauen and earth,
Shouldst thou neglect the loue thou shouldst retaine,
And giue it ouer, and deuise no more,
My selfe should send their hatefull soules to hell,
That wrought his downefall with extreamest death.
Is this the loue thou bearst Horatio?
Is this the kindnes that thou counterfeites?
Are these the fruits of thine incessant teares?
Hieronimo, are these thy passions,
Thy protestations and thy deepe lamentes,
That thou wert wont to wearie men withall?
O vnkind Father, O deceitfull worlde,
With what excuses canst thou shew thy selfe?
With what dishonour, and the hate of men:
From this dishonour and the hate of men:
Thus to neglect the life and losse of him.
Whom both my letters, and thine owne beliefe,
Assures thee to be causelesse slaughtered?
Hieronimo, for shame Hieronimo,
Be not a historie to after times,
Of such ingratitude vnto thy Sonne,
Vnhappie Mother of such children then:
But monstrous Father, to forget so soone
The death of those, whom they with care and cost,
Haue tendred so, thus carelesse should be lost.
My selfe a stranger in respect of thee,
So loued his life, as still I wish their deathes;
Nor shall his death be vnreueng'd by me,
Although I beare it out for fashions sake,
For heere I sweare in sight of heauen and earth,
Shouldst thou neglect the loue thou shouldst retaine,
And giue it ouer, and deuise no more,
My selfe should send their hatefull soules to hell,
That wrought his downefall with extreamest death.
Hiero. But may it be that Bel-imperia,
Vowes such reuenge as she hath daind to say:
Why then I see that heauen applies our drift,
And all the Saintes do sit soliciting,
For vengeance on those cursed murtherers.
Madame tis true, and now I finde it so,
I found a Letter written in your name,
And in that Letter how Horatio dyed.
Pardon, O pardon Bel-imperia,
My feare and care in not beleeuing it,
Nor thinke, I thoughtles thinke vpon a meane,
To let his death be vnreuende at full:
And heere I vow, so you but giue consent,
And will conceale my resolution:
I will ere long determine of their deaths,
That causeles thus haue murdered my sonne.
Vowes such reuenge as she hath daind to say:
Why then I see that heauen applies our drift,
And all the Saintes do sit soliciting,
For vengeance on those cursed murtherers.
Madame tis true, and now I finde it so,
I found a Letter written in your name,
And in that Letter how Horatio dyed.
Pardon, O pardon Bel-imperia,
My feare and care in not beleeuing it,
Nor thinke, I thoughtles thinke vpon a meane,
To let his death be vnreuende at full:
And heere I vow, so you but giue consent,
And will conceale my resolution:
I will ere long determine of their deaths,
That causeles thus haue murdered my sonne.
Bel. Hieronimo, I will consent conceale,
And ought that may effect for thine auaile,
Ioyne with thee to reuenge Horatios death,
And ought that may effect for thine auaile,
Ioyne with thee to reuenge Horatios death,
Hie. On then, whatsoeuer I deuise,
Let me entreat you grace my practises?
For why the plot's already in my head.
Heere they are.
Let me entreat you grace my practises?
For why the plot's already in my head.
Heere they are.
Enter Balthazar and Lorenzo.
Bal. How now, Hieronimo, What courting Bel-imperia?
Hie. I, my Lord, such courting, as I promise you
She hath my heart; but you my Lord haue hers.
She hath my heart; but you my Lord haue hers.
Lor. But now, Hieronimo, or never wee are to entreat your helpe.
Hi. My helpe, why my good Lords assure your selues of me
For you haue giuen me cause, I, by my faith haue you.
For you haue giuen me cause, I, by my faith haue you.
Bal. It pleasd you at the entertainement of the Embassador
To grace the king so much as with a shew:
Now were your studie so well furnished,
As for the passing of the first nights sport
To entertaine my father with the like:
Or any such like pleasing motion,
Assure your selfe it would content them well.
To grace the king so much as with a shew:
Now were your studie so well furnished,
As for the passing of the first nights sport
To entertaine my father with the like:
Or any such like pleasing motion,
Assure your selfe it would content them well.
Hier. Is this all?
Bal. I, this is all.
Hier. Why then Ile fit you, say no more.
When I was yong I gave my minde,
And plide my selfe to fruitlesse Poetrie;
Which though it profite the Professor naught,
Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.
When I was yong I gave my minde,
And plide my selfe to fruitlesse Poetrie;
Which though it profite the Professor naught,
Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.
Lor. And how for that?
Hie. Marry, my good Lord, thus
And yet me thinke you are too quicke with vs.
When in Tolledo, there I studied,
It was my chance to write a Tragedie:
He shewes them a Booke.See heere my Lords,
Which long forgot, I found this other day.
Now would your Lordships fauour me so much,
As but to grace me with your acting it:
I meane each one of you to play a part,
Assure you it will prooue most passing strange,
And wonderous plausible to that assembly.
And yet me thinke you are too quicke with vs.
When in Tolledo, there I studied,
It was my chance to write a Tragedie:
He shewes them a Booke.See heere my Lords,
Which long forgot, I found this other day.
Now would your Lordships fauour me so much,
As but to grace me with your acting it:
I meane each one of you to play a part,
Assure you it will prooue most passing strange,
And wonderous plausible to that assembly.
Bal. What? would you haue vs plaie a Tragedie?
Hie. Why, Nero thought it no disparagement:
And Kings, and Emperours haue tane delight,
To make experience of their wits in plaies.
And Kings, and Emperours haue tane delight,
To make experience of their wits in plaies.
Lor. Nay, be not angrie good Hieronimo,
The Prince but asked a question.
The Prince but asked a question.
Bal. In faith Hieronimo, and you be in earnest,
Ile make one.
Ile make one.
Lor. And I, another.
Hier. Now, my good Lord, could you entreat
Your sister Bel-imperia to make one,
For what's a plaie without a woman in't?
Your sister Bel-imperia to make one,
For what's a plaie without a woman in't?
Bel. Little entreatie shall serue me Hieronimo,
For I must needes be imployed in your play.
For I must needes be imployed in your play.
Hier. Why this is well, I tell you Lordings,
It was determined to haue beene acted,
By Gentlemen and schollers too:
Such as could tell what to speake.
It was determined to haue beene acted,
By Gentlemen and schollers too:
Such as could tell what to speake.
Bal. And now it shall be said, by Princes and Courtiers,
Such as can tell how to speake:
If as it is our Countrey maner,
You will but let vs know the Argument.
Such as can tell how to speake:
If as it is our Countrey maner,
You will but let vs know the Argument.
Hie. That shall I roundly. The Cronicles of Spaine,
Record this written of a Knight of Rhodes:
He was betrothed and wedded at the length,
To one Perseda, an Italian Dame,
Whose beautie rauished all that her beheld,
Especially the soule of Soliman,
Who at the marriage was the cheefest guest:
By sundry meanes sought Soliman to winne
Persedas loue, and could not gaine the same:
Then gan he breake his passions to a friend,
One of his Bashawes whom he held full deare,
Her had this Bashaw long solicited,
And saw she was not otherwise to be wonne,
But by her husbands death, this Knight of Rhodes,
Whom presently by treacherie he slew.
She, stirde with an exceeding hate therefore,
As cause of this, slew Soliman,
And to escape the Bashawes tyrannie,
Did stab her selfe: and this is the Tragedie.
Record this written of a Knight of Rhodes:
He was betrothed and wedded at the length,
To one Perseda, an Italian Dame,
Whose beautie rauished all that her beheld,
Especially the soule of Soliman,
Who at the marriage was the cheefest guest:
By sundry meanes sought Soliman to winne
Persedas loue, and could not gaine the same:
Then gan he breake his passions to a friend,
One of his Bashawes whom he held full deare,
Her had this Bashaw long solicited,
And saw she was not otherwise to be wonne,
But by her husbands death, this Knight of Rhodes,
Whom presently by treacherie he slew.
She, stirde with an exceeding hate therefore,
As cause of this, slew Soliman,
And to escape the Bashawes tyrannie,
Did stab her selfe: and this is the Tragedie.
Lor. O, excellent!
Bel. But say, Hieronimo, What then became of him
That was the Bashaw?
That was the Bashaw?
Hie. Marry, thus, mooued with remorse of his misdeedes,
Ran to a mountaine top and hang himselfe.
Ran to a mountaine top and hang himselfe.
Bal. But which of vs is to performe that part.
Hie. O, that will I my Lords, make no doubt of it,
Ile play the murderer I warrant you,
For I already haue conceited that.
Ile play the murderer I warrant you,
For I already haue conceited that.
Bal. And what shall I?
Hie. Great Soliman the Turkish Emperour.
Lor. And I?
Hie. Erasto, the Knight of Rhodes.
Bel. And I?
Hie. Perseda, chaste, and resolute.
And heere, my Lords, are seuerall abstracts drawne,
For each of you to note your parts,
And act it as occasion's offered you.
You must prouide a Turkish cappe,
A blacke mustacio, and a Fauchion.
Gives a paper to Balt.
You, with a Crosse, like to a Knight of Rhodes.
Gives another to Lor.
And Madame, you must attyre your selfe.
Giues Bel. another.
Like Phæbe, Flora, or the huntresse,
Which to your discretion shall seeme best.
And as for me my Lords, Ile look to one,
And with the ransome that the Vice-roy sent,
So furnish and perform this Tragedie,
As all the world shall say, Hieronimo
Was liberall in gracing of it so.
And heere, my Lords, are seuerall abstracts drawne,
For each of you to note your parts,
And act it as occasion's offered you.
You must prouide a Turkish cappe,
A blacke mustacio, and a Fauchion.
Gives a paper to Balt.
You, with a Crosse, like to a Knight of Rhodes.
Gives another to Lor.
And Madame, you must attyre your selfe.
Giues Bel. another.
Like Phæbe, Flora, or the huntresse,
Which to your discretion shall seeme best.
And as for me my Lords, Ile look to one,
And with the ransome that the Vice-roy sent,
So furnish and perform this Tragedie,
As all the world shall say, Hieronimo
Was liberall in gracing of it so.
Bal. Hieronimo, me thinkes a Comedie were better.
Hie. A Comedie, fie, Comedies are fit for common wits,
But to present a Kingly troupe with-all,
Giue me a stately written Tragedie,
Tragedia cothornato, fitting Kings,
Containing matter and not common things.
My Lords, all this must be performed,
As fitting for the first nights reuelling.
The Italian Tragedians were so sharpe of wit,
That in one houres meditation,
They would performe any thing in action.
But to present a Kingly troupe with-all,
Giue me a stately written Tragedie,
Tragedia cothornato, fitting Kings,
Containing matter and not common things.
My Lords, all this must be performed,
As fitting for the first nights reuelling.
The Italian Tragedians were so sharpe of wit,
That in one houres meditation,
They would performe any thing in action.
Lor. And well it may, for I haue seene the like
In Paris, mongst the French Tragedians.
In Paris, mongst the French Tragedians.
Hie. In Paris, mas and well remembred.
There's one thing more that rests for vs to doe.
There's one thing more that rests for vs to doe.
Bal. Whats that Hieronimo? forget not any thing:
Hier. Each one of vs must act his part,
In vnknowne languages,
That it may breed the more varietie.
As you, my Lord, in Latin, I, in Greeke,
You in Italian, and for because I know
That Bel-imperia hath practised the French,
In courtly French shall all her phrases be.
In vnknowne languages,
That it may breed the more varietie.
As you, my Lord, in Latin, I, in Greeke,
You in Italian, and for because I know
That Bel-imperia hath practised the French,
In courtly French shall all her phrases be.
Bel. You mean to try my cunning then Hieronimo.
Bal. But this will be a meere confusion,
And hardly shall we all be vnderstood.
And hardly shall we all be vnderstood.
Hier. It must be so, for the conclusion
Shall prooue the inuention, and all was good:
And I my selfe in an Oration,
And with a strange and wonderous shew besides
That I will haue there behinde a curtaine,
Assure your selfe shall make the matter knowen,
And all shall be concluded in one Scene,
For there's no pleasure tane in tediousnes.
Shall prooue the inuention, and all was good:
And I my selfe in an Oration,
And with a strange and wonderous shew besides
That I will haue there behinde a curtaine,
Assure your selfe shall make the matter knowen,
And all shall be concluded in one Scene,
For there's no pleasure tane in tediousnes.
Bal. How like you this?
Lor. Why thus, my Lord, we must resolue,
To sooth his humors vp.
To sooth his humors vp.
Bal. On then, Hieronimo, farewell til soone.
Hie. Youle ply this geere?
Lor. I warrant you.
Exeunt all but Hieronimo.
Exeunt all but Hieronimo.
Hie. I, why so, Now shall I see the fall of Babylon,
Wrought by the heauens in this confusion.
And if the world like not this Tragedie,
Exit.Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo.
Enter Isabella with a weapon.
Tell me no more, O monstrous homicides.
Since neither pietie nor pittie mooues
The King to iustice or compassion:
I will reuenge my selfe vpon this place,
Where they murdered my beloued sonne.
She cuts downe the Arbor.
Downe with those branches and these loathsome bowes,
Of this vnfortunate and fatall Pine.
Downe with them Isabella, rent them vp,
And burne the rootes from whence the rest is sprunge.
I will not leaue a roote, a stalke, a tree,
A bough, a brance, a blossome, nor a leafe,
No, not an hearbe within this garden plot.
Accursed complot of my miserie,
Fruitlesse for euer may this garden be,
Barren the earth, and bliselesse whosoeuer
Imagines not to keepe it vnmanured.
An Easterne winde commixt with noisome ayres,
Shall blast the plants and the yong saplings.
The earth with serpents shall be pestered,
And passengers for feare to be infect
Shall stand aloofe, and looking at it, tell:
There, murdred, died the sonne of Isabell,
I, heere he di'd, and heere I him imbrace.
See where his Ghost solicites with his wounds,
Reuenge on her that should reuenge his death.
Hieronimo, make haste to see thy sonne,
For sorrow and dispaire hath cited me,
To heare Horatio plead with Radamant,
Make haste Hieronimo, to holde excusde,
Thy negligence in pursuite of their deaths,
Whose hatefull wrath bereau'd him of his breath.
Ah ha, thou doest delay their deaths,
Forgiues the murderers of thy noble sonne,
And none but I, bestirre me to no ende,
And as I curse this tree from further fruite,
So shall my wombe be cursed for his sake,
And with this weapon will I wound the breast,
The haplesse breast that gaue Horatio sucke.
She stabs her selfe.
Wrought by the heauens in this confusion.
And if the world like not this Tragedie,
Exit.Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo.
Enter Isabella with a weapon.
Tell me no more, O monstrous homicides.
Since neither pietie nor pittie mooues
The King to iustice or compassion:
I will reuenge my selfe vpon this place,
Where they murdered my beloued sonne.
She cuts downe the Arbor.
Downe with those branches and these loathsome bowes,
Of this vnfortunate and fatall Pine.
Downe with them Isabella, rent them vp,
And burne the rootes from whence the rest is sprunge.
I will not leaue a roote, a stalke, a tree,
A bough, a brance, a blossome, nor a leafe,
No, not an hearbe within this garden plot.
Accursed complot of my miserie,
Fruitlesse for euer may this garden be,
Barren the earth, and bliselesse whosoeuer
Imagines not to keepe it vnmanured.
An Easterne winde commixt with noisome ayres,
Shall blast the plants and the yong saplings.
The earth with serpents shall be pestered,
And passengers for feare to be infect
Shall stand aloofe, and looking at it, tell:
There, murdred, died the sonne of Isabell,
I, heere he di'd, and heere I him imbrace.
See where his Ghost solicites with his wounds,
Reuenge on her that should reuenge his death.
Hieronimo, make haste to see thy sonne,
For sorrow and dispaire hath cited me,
To heare Horatio plead with Radamant,
Make haste Hieronimo, to holde excusde,
Thy negligence in pursuite of their deaths,
Whose hatefull wrath bereau'd him of his breath.
Ah ha, thou doest delay their deaths,
Forgiues the murderers of thy noble sonne,
And none but I, bestirre me to no ende,
And as I curse this tree from further fruite,
So shall my wombe be cursed for his sake,
And with this weapon will I wound the breast,
The haplesse breast that gaue Horatio sucke.
She stabs her selfe.
Enter Hieronimo, he knocks vp the curtaine.
Enter the Duke of Castile.
Cast. How now, Hieronimo, where's your fellowes,
That you take all this paine?
That you take all this paine?
Hier. O sir, it is for the Authors credite,
To looke that all things may goe well:
But good my L. let me entreate your Grace,
To giue the King the coppie of the Play:
This is the Argument of what we shew.
To looke that all things may goe well:
But good my L. let me entreate your Grace,
To giue the King the coppie of the Play:
This is the Argument of what we shew.
Cast. I will, Hieronimo.
Hier. One thing more, my good L.
Cast. What's that?
Hier. Let me entreate your grace,
That when the traine are past into the gallerie,
You would vouchsafe to throw me downe the key.
That when the traine are past into the gallerie,
You would vouchsafe to throw me downe the key.
Exit Cas.Cast. I will, Hieronimo.
Hier. What are you ready Balthazar?
Bring a chaire and a cushion for the King.
Enter Balthazar with a chaire.
Well done, Balthazar, hang vp the Title:
Our Scene is Rhodes, what is your beard on?
Bring a chaire and a cushion for the King.
Enter Balthazar with a chaire.
Well done, Balthazar, hang vp the Title:
Our Scene is Rhodes, what is your beard on?
Bal. Halfe on, the other is in my hand.
Hier. Dispatch for shame, are you so long?
Exit. Balt.
Bethinke thy selfe Hieronimo,
Recall thy wits, recount thy former wrongs
Thou hast receiued by murder of thy sonne.
And lastly, not least, how Isabell,
Once his mother and thy dearest wife:
All woe begone for him; hath sliane her selfe:
Behooues thee then Hieronimo to be reueng'd.
The plot is laid of dire reuenge,
On then Hieronimo, pursue reuenge:
For nothing wants but acting of reuenge.
Exit. Hier.
Exit. Balt.
Bethinke thy selfe Hieronimo,
Recall thy wits, recount thy former wrongs
Thou hast receiued by murder of thy sonne.
And lastly, not least, how Isabell,
Once his mother and thy dearest wife:
All woe begone for him; hath sliane her selfe:
Behooues thee then Hieronimo to be reueng'd.
The plot is laid of dire reuenge,
On then Hieronimo, pursue reuenge:
For nothing wants but acting of reuenge.
Exit. Hier.
Enter Spanish King, Vice-roy, Duke of Castile,
and their train.
and their train.
King. Now, Vice-roy, shall we see the Tragedie,
Of Soliman the Turkish Emperour:
Performde of pleasure by your sonne the Prince,
My Nephew Don Lorenzo, and my Neece.
Of Soliman the Turkish Emperour:
Performde of pleasure by your sonne the Prince,
My Nephew Don Lorenzo, and my Neece.
Vice. Who, Bel-imperia?
King. I, and Hieronimo our Mashall,
At whose request, they deine to doo't them selues.
These be our pastimes in the Court of Spaine.
Here brother, you shall be the Booke-keeper.
This is the Argument of that they shew.
He giues him a booke.
At whose request, they deine to doo't them selues.
These be our pastimes in the Court of Spaine.
Here brother, you shall be the Booke-keeper.
This is the Argument of that they shew.
He giues him a booke.
Gentlemen, this Play of Hieronimo, in sundry languages,
was thought good to be set downe in English, more
largely for the easier vnderstanding to
euery Publique Reader.
was thought good to be set downe in English, more
largely for the easier vnderstanding to
euery Publique Reader.
Enter Balthazar, Bel-imperia and Hieronimo.
Balthazar.
Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours, yeeld heauens the honour
And holy Mahomet our sacred Prophet:
And be thou grac't, with euery excellence,
That Soliman can giue, or thou desire.
But thy desert in conquering Rhodes, is lesse,
Then in reseruing this faire Christian Nimph,
Perseda blisfull lampe of excellence:
Whose eyes compell like powrefull Adamant,
The warlike heart of Soliman to waite.
Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours, yeeld heauens the honour
And holy Mahomet our sacred Prophet:
And be thou grac't, with euery excellence,
That Soliman can giue, or thou desire.
But thy desert in conquering Rhodes, is lesse,
Then in reseruing this faire Christian Nimph,
Perseda blisfull lampe of excellence:
Whose eyes compell like powrefull Adamant,
The warlike heart of Soliman to waite.
King. See Vice-roy, that is Balthazar your sonne,
That represents the Emperour Soliman:
How well he actes his amourous passion.
That represents the Emperour Soliman:
How well he actes his amourous passion.
Vice. I, Bel-imperia hath taught him that.
Castile. That's because his minde runs all on Bel-imperia.
Hier. What euer ioy earth yeelds betide your Maiestie.
Bal. Earth yeelds no ioy, without Persedas loue.
Hier. Then let Perseda on your grace attend.
Bal. She shall not waite on me, but I on her:
Drawne by the influence of her lights, I yeeld.
But let my friend the Rhodian Knight come forth,
Erasto, deerer then my life to me,
That he may see Perseda my beloued.
Drawne by the influence of her lights, I yeeld.
But let my friend the Rhodian Knight come forth,
Erasto, deerer then my life to me,
That he may see Perseda my beloued.
Enter Erasto.
King. Heere comes Lorenzo, looke vpon the plot,
And tell me brother, what part playes he?
And tell me brother, what part playes he?
Bel. Ah, my Erasto, welcome to Perseda.
Era. Thrise happy is Erasto that thou liuest,
Rhodes losse is nothing to Erastoes ioy,
Sith his Perseda liues, his life suruiues.
Rhodes losse is nothing to Erastoes ioy,
Sith his Perseda liues, his life suruiues.
Bal. Ah, Bashaw, heere is loue betwixt Erasto,
And faire Perseda soueraigne of my soule.
And faire Perseda soueraigne of my soule.
Hie. Remoue Erasto mighty Soliman,
And then Perseda, will be quickely wonne.
And then Perseda, will be quickely wonne.
Bal. Erasto is my friend, and while he liues,
Perseda neuer will remooue her loue.
Perseda neuer will remooue her loue.
Hier. Let not Erasto liue to grieue great Soliman,
Bal. Deare is Erasto in our princely eye.
Hier. But if he be your riuall let him die.
Bal. Why let him die, so loue commandeth me,
Yet griue I that Erasto should so die.
Yet griue I that Erasto should so die.
Hier. Erasto, Soliman saluteth thee,
And lets thee wit by me his highnes will:
Which is, thou shouldst be thus employd.
Stab him.
And lets thee wit by me his highnes will:
Which is, thou shouldst be thus employd.
Stab him.
Bel. Aye me Erasto, see Soliman, Erasto's slaine.
Balt. Yet liueth Soliman to comfort thee.
Faire Queene of beautie, let not fauour die,
But with a gracious eyes behold his griefe,
That with Persedaes beautie is encreast?
If by Persedaes griefe be not releast.
Faire Queene of beautie, let not fauour die,
But with a gracious eyes behold his griefe,
That with Persedaes beautie is encreast?
If by Persedaes griefe be not releast.
Bel. Tyrant, desist soliciting vaine suites,
Relentles are mine eares to thy lamentes,
As thy butcher is pittilesse and base,
Which seazd on my Erasto, harmelesse Knight,
Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command,
And to thy power Perseda doeth obey:
But were she able, thus she would reuenge
Thy treacheries on thee ignoble Prince:
Let her stab him.
And on her selfe, she would be thus reuenged.
Stab her selfe.
Relentles are mine eares to thy lamentes,
As thy butcher is pittilesse and base,
Which seazd on my Erasto, harmelesse Knight,
Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command,
And to thy power Perseda doeth obey:
But were she able, thus she would reuenge
Thy treacheries on thee ignoble Prince:
Let her stab him.
And on her selfe, she would be thus reuenged.
Stab her selfe.
King. Well sayd old Marshall, this was brauely done.
Hier. But Bel-imperia playes Perseda well.
Vice. Were this in earnest Bel-imperia,
You would be better to my sonne then so.
You would be better to my sonne then so.
King. But now what followes for Hieronimo.
Hier. Marty, this followes for Hieronimo.
Heere breake we off our sundry languages,
And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue.
Happely you thinke, but bootelesse be your thoughts:
That this is fabulously counterfeit
And that we doe as all Tragedians doe,
To die to day for (fashioning our Scene)
The death of Aiax, or some Romane Peere,
And in a minute starting vp againe,
Reuiue to please too morrowes audience.
No, Princes: know I am Hieronimo,
The hopelesse father of a haplesse sonne,
Whose tongue is tun'd to tell his latest tale,
Not to excuse grosse errours in the Play.
I see your lookes vrge instance of these wordes,
Behold the reason vrging me to this.
He shewes his dead sonne.
See heere my shew, looke on this spectacle:
Heere lay my hope, and heere my hope hath ende:
Heere lay my heart, and heere my heart was slaine:
Heere lay my treasure, heere my treasure lost:
Heere lay my blisse, and heere my blisse bereft:
But hope, heart, treasure, ioy and blisse:
All fled, faild, died, yea all decayde with this.
From forth these woundes came breath that gaue me life.
They murdered me that made these fatall markes:
Thecausee was loue, whence grew this mortall hate,
The hate Lorenzo, and yong Balthazar:
The loue my sonne to Bel-imperia.
But night the couerer of accursed crimes,
With pitchie silence husht the traitors harmes,
And lent them leaue, for they had sorted leasure,
To take aduantage in my garden plot,
Vpon my sonne, my deare Horatio.
There mercilesse they butchered vp my boy,
In blacke darke night, to pale dim cruel death.
He shrikes, I heard, and yet me thinkes I heare,
His dismall out-crie eccho in the ayre:
With soonest speed I hasted to the noyse,
Where hanging on a tree I found my sonne,
Through girt with wounds and slaughtered as you see.
And I greeued I (thinke you) at this spectacle?
Speake Portagues, whose losse resembles mine,
If thou canst weepe vpon thy Balthazar?
Tis like I waild for my Horatio.
And you, my L. whose reconciled sonne,
Marcht in a net, and thought himselfe vnseene,
And rated me fot braine-sicke lunacie,
Which God amende, that mad Hieronimo,
How can you brooke our playes Catastrophe?
And heere behold this blodie hand-kercher,
Which at Horatioes death, I weeping dipt,
Within the riuer of his bleeding woundes:
It is propitious, see I haue reserued,
And neuer hath it left my bloody heart,
Soliciting remembrance of my vow,
With these, O these accursed murderers,
Which now performde, my heart is satisfied.
And to this end the Bashaw I became,
That might reuenge me on Lorenzoes life:
Who therefore was appointed to the part,
And was to represent the Knight of Rhodes,
That I might kill him more conueniently.
So, Vice-roy, was thus Balthazar thy sonne,
That Soliman which Bel-imperia,
In person of Perseda murdered:
Soly appointed to that tragicke part,
That she might slay him that offended her.
Poore Bel-imperia mist her part in this,
For though the storie saith she should haue died,
Yet I of kindnesse, and of care to her,
Did otherwise determine of her ende.
But loue of him, whom they did hate too much,
Did vrge her rosolution to be such.
And Princes, now behold Hieronimo,
Author, and actor in this Tragedie:
Bearing his latest fortune in his fist:
And will as resolute conclude his part,
As any of the actors gone before.
And Gentles, thus I end my play,
Vrge no more wordes, I haue no more to say.
He runs to hang himself.
Heere breake we off our sundry languages,
And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue.
Happely you thinke, but bootelesse be your thoughts:
That this is fabulously counterfeit
And that we doe as all Tragedians doe,
To die to day for (fashioning our Scene)
The death of Aiax, or some Romane Peere,
And in a minute starting vp againe,
Reuiue to please too morrowes audience.
No, Princes: know I am Hieronimo,
The hopelesse father of a haplesse sonne,
Whose tongue is tun'd to tell his latest tale,
Not to excuse grosse errours in the Play.
I see your lookes vrge instance of these wordes,
Behold the reason vrging me to this.
He shewes his dead sonne.
See heere my shew, looke on this spectacle:
Heere lay my hope, and heere my hope hath ende:
Heere lay my heart, and heere my heart was slaine:
Heere lay my treasure, heere my treasure lost:
Heere lay my blisse, and heere my blisse bereft:
But hope, heart, treasure, ioy and blisse:
All fled, faild, died, yea all decayde with this.
From forth these woundes came breath that gaue me life.
They murdered me that made these fatall markes:
Thecausee was loue, whence grew this mortall hate,
The hate Lorenzo, and yong Balthazar:
The loue my sonne to Bel-imperia.
But night the couerer of accursed crimes,
With pitchie silence husht the traitors harmes,
And lent them leaue, for they had sorted leasure,
To take aduantage in my garden plot,
Vpon my sonne, my deare Horatio.
There mercilesse they butchered vp my boy,
In blacke darke night, to pale dim cruel death.
He shrikes, I heard, and yet me thinkes I heare,
His dismall out-crie eccho in the ayre:
With soonest speed I hasted to the noyse,
Where hanging on a tree I found my sonne,
Through girt with wounds and slaughtered as you see.
And I greeued I (thinke you) at this spectacle?
Speake Portagues, whose losse resembles mine,
If thou canst weepe vpon thy Balthazar?
Tis like I waild for my Horatio.
And you, my L. whose reconciled sonne,
Marcht in a net, and thought himselfe vnseene,
And rated me fot braine-sicke lunacie,
Which God amende, that mad Hieronimo,
How can you brooke our playes Catastrophe?
And heere behold this blodie hand-kercher,
Which at Horatioes death, I weeping dipt,
Within the riuer of his bleeding woundes:
It is propitious, see I haue reserued,
And neuer hath it left my bloody heart,
Soliciting remembrance of my vow,
With these, O these accursed murderers,
Which now performde, my heart is satisfied.
And to this end the Bashaw I became,
That might reuenge me on Lorenzoes life:
Who therefore was appointed to the part,
And was to represent the Knight of Rhodes,
That I might kill him more conueniently.
So, Vice-roy, was thus Balthazar thy sonne,
That Soliman which Bel-imperia,
In person of Perseda murdered:
Soly appointed to that tragicke part,
That she might slay him that offended her.
Poore Bel-imperia mist her part in this,
For though the storie saith she should haue died,
Yet I of kindnesse, and of care to her,
Did otherwise determine of her ende.
But loue of him, whom they did hate too much,
Did vrge her rosolution to be such.
And Princes, now behold Hieronimo,
Author, and actor in this Tragedie:
Bearing his latest fortune in his fist:
And will as resolute conclude his part,
As any of the actors gone before.
And Gentles, thus I end my play,
Vrge no more wordes, I haue no more to say.
He runs to hang himself.
King. O hearken Vice-roy, hold Hieronimo.
Brother, my Nephew and thy sonne are slaine.
Brother, my Nephew and thy sonne are slaine.
Vice. We are betrayde, my Balthazar is slaine.
Breake ope the doores, run, saue Hieronimo.
They breake in, and hold Hieronimo.
Hieronimo, Doe but enforme the King of these euents,
Vpon mine honour thou shalt haue no harme.
Breake ope the doores, run, saue Hieronimo.
They breake in, and hold Hieronimo.
Hieronimo, Doe but enforme the King of these euents,
Vpon mine honour thou shalt haue no harme.
Hier. Vice-roy, I will not trust thee with my life,
Which I this day haue offered to my sonne:
Accursed wretch, why stay'st thou him that was resolud to die
Which I this day haue offered to my sonne:
Accursed wretch, why stay'st thou him that was resolud to die
King. Speake Traitour, damned bloody murderer speak,
For now I haue thee, I will make thee speake,
Why hast thou done this vndeseruing deed?
For now I haue thee, I will make thee speake,
Why hast thou done this vndeseruing deed?
Vice. Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?
Cast. Why hast thou butchered both my children thus?
Hier. But are you sure they are dead?
Cast. I, slaue, too sure.
Hier. What and yours too?
Vic. I, all are dead, not one of them suruiue.
Hier. Nay, then I care not, come, and we shall be friends,
Let vs lay our heades together,
See here's a goodly nowse will hold them all.
Let vs lay our heades together,
See here's a goodly nowse will hold them all.
Vice. O damned Deuill, how secure he is.
Hier. Secure, why doest thou wonder at it.
I tell thee Vice-roy, this day I haue seene reueng'd,
And in that sight am growne a prouder Monarch,
Than euer sat vnder the Crowne of Spaine:
Had I as many lyues as there be Starres,
As many heauens to go to, as those liues,
Ide giue them all, I, and my soule to boote,
But I would see thee ride in this red poole.
I tell thee Vice-roy, this day I haue seene reueng'd,
And in that sight am growne a prouder Monarch,
Than euer sat vnder the Crowne of Spaine:
Had I as many lyues as there be Starres,
As many heauens to go to, as those liues,
Ide giue them all, I, and my soule to boote,
But I would see thee ride in this red poole.
Cast. Speake, Who were thy confederates in this?
Vic. That was thy daughter Bel-imperia,
For by her hand my Balthazar was slaine:
I saw her stab him.
For by her hand my Balthazar was slaine:
I saw her stab him.
Hie. O good words: as deare to me was my Horatio,
As yours, or yours, or yours my L. to you.
My giltlesse sonne was by Lorenzo slaine,
And by Lorenzo, and that Balthazar,
Am I at last reuenged thorowly.
Vpon whose soules may heauens be yet reuenged,
With greater farre then these afflictions.
Me thinkes since I grew inward with reuenge,
I cannot looke with scorne enough on death.
As yours, or yours, or yours my L. to you.
My giltlesse sonne was by Lorenzo slaine,
And by Lorenzo, and that Balthazar,
Am I at last reuenged thorowly.
Vpon whose soules may heauens be yet reuenged,
With greater farre then these afflictions.
Me thinkes since I grew inward with reuenge,
I cannot looke with scorne enough on death.
King. What doest thou mocke vs slaue, bring torturs forth.
Hie. Doe, doe, doe, and meane time Ile torture you
You had a sonne (as I take it) and your sonne,
Should ha'e beene married to your daughter: ha, wast not so?
You had a sonne too, he was my Lieges Nephew.
He was proude and politicke, had he liued,
He might a come to weare the crowne of Spaine,
I thinke twas so: twas I that killed him,
Looke you this same hand, twas it that stab'd
His heart, Doe you see this hand?
For one Horatio, if you euer knew him
A youth, one that they hanged vp in his fathers garden:
One that did force your valiant sonne to yeelde,
While your more valiant sonne did take him prisoner:
You had a sonne (as I take it) and your sonne,
Should ha'e beene married to your daughter: ha, wast not so?
You had a sonne too, he was my Lieges Nephew.
He was proude and politicke, had he liued,
He might a come to weare the crowne of Spaine,
I thinke twas so: twas I that killed him,
Looke you this same hand, twas it that stab'd
His heart, Doe you see this hand?
For one Horatio, if you euer knew him
A youth, one that they hanged vp in his fathers garden:
One that did force your valiant sonne to yeelde,
While your more valiant sonne did take him prisoner:
Vis. Be deafe my sences, I can heare no more.
King. Fall heauen, and couer vs with thy sad ruines.
Cast. Rowle all the world within thy pitchy cloud.
Hie. Now doe I applaud what I haue acted.
Nunck mers cadæ manus.
Now to express the rupture of my part,
First take my tongue, and afterward my heart.
He bites out his tongue.
Nunck mers cadæ manus.
Now to express the rupture of my part,
First take my tongue, and afterward my heart.
He bites out his tongue.
King. O monsterous resolution of a wretch,
See Vice-roy, he hath bitten forth his tongue,
Rather then to reueale what we requirde.
See Vice-roy, he hath bitten forth his tongue,
Rather then to reueale what we requirde.
Cast. Yet can he write.
King. And if in this he satisfie vs not,
We will deuise the'xtreamest kind of death,
That euer was invented for a wretch.
He makes signes for a knife to mend his pen.
We will deuise the'xtreamest kind of death,
That euer was invented for a wretch.
He makes signes for a knife to mend his pen.
Cas. O, he would haue a knife to mend his pen.
Vice. Heere, and aduise thee that thou write the troth.
Looke to my brother, saue Hieronimo.
He with the knife stabds the Duke and himselfe,
Looke to my brother, saue Hieronimo.
He with the knife stabds the Duke and himselfe,
King. What age hath euer heard such monstrous deeds?
My brother and the whole succeeding hope,
That Spaine expected after my discease.
Go beare his bodie hence that we may mourne
The losse of our beloued brothers death,
That he may be in tomb'd what ere befall,
I am the next the neerest last of all.
My brother and the whole succeeding hope,
That Spaine expected after my discease.
Go beare his bodie hence that we may mourne
The losse of our beloued brothers death,
That he may be in tomb'd what ere befall,
I am the next the neerest last of all.
Vice. And thou Don Pedro, doe the like for vs,
Take vp our haples sonne vntimely slaine:
Set me with him, and he with wofull me,
Vpon the maine mast of a ship vnmand,
And let the winde and tide hale me along,
To Sillas barking and vntamed griefe:
Or to the lothsome poole of Acheron,
To weepe my want for my sweet Balthazar,
Exeunt.Spaine hath no refuge for a Portingale.
Take vp our haples sonne vntimely slaine:
Set me with him, and he with wofull me,
Vpon the maine mast of a ship vnmand,
And let the winde and tide hale me along,
To Sillas barking and vntamed griefe:
Or to the lothsome poole of Acheron,
To weepe my want for my sweet Balthazar,
Exeunt.Spaine hath no refuge for a Portingale.
¶ The trumpets sound a dead March, the King of Spaine
mourning after his brothers body, and the King of
Portingale bearing the body of his sonne.
mourning after his brothers body, and the King of
Portingale bearing the body of his sonne.
Enter Ghost and Reuenge.
Ghost.
I now my hopes haue ende in their effects,
When blood and sorrow finish my desires,
Horatio murdered in his fathers bower,
Vile Serberine, by Pedringano slain:
False Pedringano hangd by quaint deuice,
Faire Isabella, by her selfe misdone.
Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stab'd,
The Duke of Castile and his wicked sonne,
Both done to death by old Hieronimo.
My Bel-imperia falne as Dido fell,
And good Hieronimo slain by himselfe:
I, these were spectacles to please my soule.
Now will I begge at louely Proserpine,
That by the vertue of her Princely doome,
I may consort my friends in pleasing sort,
And on my fooes worke iust and sharpe reuenge.
Ile lead my friend Horatio through those fieldes,
Where neuer dying warres are still inurde.
Ile leade faire Isabella to that traine,
Where pittie weepes, but neuer feeleth paine.
Ile leade my Bel-imperia to those ioyes,
That vestall vergins, and faier Queenes possesse,
Ile leade Hieronimo where Orpheus playes,
Adding sweet pleasure to eternall dayes.
But say Reuenge, for thou must helpe or none,
Against the rest how shall my hate be showne?
I now my hopes haue ende in their effects,
When blood and sorrow finish my desires,
Horatio murdered in his fathers bower,
Vile Serberine, by Pedringano slain:
False Pedringano hangd by quaint deuice,
Faire Isabella, by her selfe misdone.
Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stab'd,
The Duke of Castile and his wicked sonne,
Both done to death by old Hieronimo.
My Bel-imperia falne as Dido fell,
And good Hieronimo slain by himselfe:
I, these were spectacles to please my soule.
Now will I begge at louely Proserpine,
That by the vertue of her Princely doome,
I may consort my friends in pleasing sort,
And on my fooes worke iust and sharpe reuenge.
Ile lead my friend Horatio through those fieldes,
Where neuer dying warres are still inurde.
Ile leade faire Isabella to that traine,
Where pittie weepes, but neuer feeleth paine.
Ile leade my Bel-imperia to those ioyes,
That vestall vergins, and faier Queenes possesse,
Ile leade Hieronimo where Orpheus playes,
Adding sweet pleasure to eternall dayes.
But say Reuenge, for thou must helpe or none,
Against the rest how shall my hate be showne?
Reuenge.
This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,
Where nought but furies, bugs and tortures dwell.
This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,
Where nought but furies, bugs and tortures dwell.
Ghost.
Then sweete Reuenge doe this at my request,
Let me be iudge, and doome them to vnrest,
Let loose poore Titius from the Vultures gripe,
And let Don Ciprian supply his roome.
place Don Lorenzo on Ixions wheele,
And let the Louers endles paines surcease:
Iuno forgets old wrath and grants him ease.
Hang Balthazar about Chinera necke
And let him there bewaile his bloodie loue,
Repinning at our ioyes that are aboue.
Let Sorberine goe roule the fatall stone,
And take from Sicipus his endlesse mone.
False Pedringano for his trecherie,
Let him be dragde through boiling Acheron,
And there liue dying still in endles flames,
Blaspheming Gods and all their holy names;
Then sweete Reuenge doe this at my request,
Let me be iudge, and doome them to vnrest,
Let loose poore Titius from the Vultures gripe,
And let Don Ciprian supply his roome.
place Don Lorenzo on Ixions wheele,
And let the Louers endles paines surcease:
Iuno forgets old wrath and grants him ease.
Hang Balthazar about Chinera necke
And let him there bewaile his bloodie loue,
Repinning at our ioyes that are aboue.
Let Sorberine goe roule the fatall stone,
And take from Sicipus his endlesse mone.
False Pedringano for his trecherie,
Let him be dragde through boiling Acheron,
And there liue dying still in endles flames,
Blaspheming Gods and all their holy names;
Reuenge.
Then haste we downe to meete thy friends and foes,
To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes.
For heere though death hath end their miserie,
Exeunt.Ile there begin their endles Tragedie.
Then haste we downe to meete thy friends and foes,
To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes.
For heere though death hath end their miserie,
Exeunt.Ile there begin their endles Tragedie.
FINIS.
Imprinted by W. W. for Thomas Pauier.
1602.