W. CAREW HAZLITT. (continued 5)
Reading edition
Chorus.
1.
Lo, here the end that fortune sends at last To him, whom first she heav’d to highest hap! The flattering look, wherewith he long was led; The smiling fates, that oft had fed his fame, The many wars and conquests which he gain’d, Are dash’d at once: one day infers that foil, Whereof so many years of yore were free.
2.
O willing world to magnify man’s state! O most unwilling to maintain the same! Of all misfortunes and unhappy fates Th’ unhappiest seems to have been happy once.[282] ’Twas Arthur sole, that never found his joys Disturb’d with woe, nor woes reliev’d with joy. In prosperous state all heavenly pow’rs aspir’d; Now, made a wretch, not one that spares his spoil!
3.
Yea, fortune’s self in this afflicted case Exacts a pain for long-continued pomp. She urgeth now the bliss of wonted weal, And bears him down with weight of former fame. His praises past be present shame. O fickle trust, Whiles fortune chops and changeth every chance, What certain bliss can we enjoy alive, Unless, whiles yet our bliss endures, we die?
4.
Yea, since before his last and utmost gasp, None can be deem’d a happy man or bless’d, Who dares commit himself to prosperous fates, Whose death prepar’d attends not hard at hand: That sithence death must once determine all, His life may sooner fly, than fortune flit.
THE SECOND SCENE.
Gorlois.
Gorlois. Now, Gorlois, ’suage thyself. Pride hath his pay, Murther his price, adult’ry his desert, Treason his meed, disloyalty his doom, Wrong hath his wreak, and guilt his guerdon bears! Not one abuse erst offered by thy foes, But, since most sternly punish’d, is now purg’d. Where thou didst fall, ev’n on the self-same soil, Pendragon, Arthur, Mordred, and their stock Found all their foils: not one hath ’scaped revenge; Their line from first to last quite razed out! Now rest content, and work no further plagues: Let future age be free from Gorlois’ ghost: Let Britain henceforth bathe in endless weal. Let Virgo come from heaven, the glorious star, The Zodiac’s joy, the planets’ chief delight, The hope of all the year, the ease of skies, The air’s relief, the comfort of the earth! That virtuous Virgo, born for Britain’s bliss; That peerless branch of Brute; that sweet remain Of Priam’s state; that hope of springing Troy, Which, time to come and many ages hence, Shall of all wars compound eternal peace. Let her reduce the golden age again, Religion, ease, and wealth of former world. Yea, let that Virgo come, and Saturn’s reign,[283] And years, oft ten times told, expir’d in peace. A rule that else no realm shall ever find, A rule most rare, unheard, unseen, unread; The sole example that the world affords. That (Britain), that renowm, yea, that is thine. B’ it so: my wrath is wrought. Ye furies black And ugly shapes, that howl in holes beneath: Thou Orcus dark, and deep Avernus nook, With duskish dens out-gnawn in gulfs below, Receive your ghastly charge, Duke Gorlois’ ghost! Make room! I gladly, thus reveng’d, return! And though your pain surpass, I greet them tho! He hates each other heaven, that haunteth hell. [Descendit.
EPILOGUS.
See here by this the tickle trust of time: The false affiance of each mortal force; The wavering weight of fates: the fickle trace, That fortune trips; the many mocks of life; The cheerless change, the easeless brunts and broils, That man abides, the restless race he runs. But most of all, see here the peerless pains: The lasting pangs, the stintless griefs, the tears: The sighs, the groans, the fears, the hopes, the hates: The thoughts and cares, that kingly pomp imparts. What follies, then, bewitch th’ ambitious minds, That thirst for sceptre’s pomp, the well of woes! Whereof (alas!) should wretched man be proud, Whose first conception is but sin, whose birth But pain, whose life but toil, and needs must die? See here the store of great Pendragon’s brood, The t’one quite dead, the t’other hastening on; As men, the son but green, the sire but ripe, Yet both forestall’d, ere half their race were run! As kings, the mightiest monarchs of this age, Yet both suppressed and vanquished by themselves. Such is the brittle breath of mortal man, Whiles human nature works her daily wracks: Such be the crazed crests of glorious crowns, Whiles worldly powers like sudden puffs do pass. And yet for one that goes, another comes; Some born, some dead: so still the store endures. So that both fates and common care provide, That men must needs be born, and some must rule. Wherefore, ye peers and lordings, lift aloft, And whosoe’er in thrones that judge your thralls, Let not your sovereignty heave you too high, Nor their subjection press them down too low. It is not pride that can augment your power, Nor lowly looks that long can keep them safe. The fates have found a way whereby, ere long, The proud must leave their hope, the meek their fear. Whoe’er received such favour from above, That could assure one day unto himself? Him whom the morning found both stout and strong, The evening left all grovelling on the ground. This breath and heat, wherewith man’s life is fed, Is but a flash or flame, that shines a while, And once extinct is, as it ne’er had been. Corruption hourly frets the body’s frame; Youth tends to age, and age to death by kind. Short is the race, prefixed is the end; Swift is the time, wherein man’s life doth run: But by his deeds t’extend renowm and fame, That only virtue works, which never fades.
FINIS.
Thomas Hughes.
Sat citò, si sat benè: utcunque, Quoad non dat spes, dat optio.
Hereafter follow such speeches as were penned by others, and pronounced instead of some of the former speeches penned by Thomas Hughes.
A speech penned by William Fulbecke, gentleman, one of the society of Gray’s Inn, and pronounced instead of Gorlois his first speech penned by Thomas Hughes, and set down in the first Scene of the first Act.
Alecto, thou that hast excluded me From fields Elysian, where the guiltless souls Avoid the scourge of Rhadamanthus ire, Let it be lawful (sith I am removed From blessed islands to this cursed shore, This loathed earth, where Arthur’s table stands, With ordure foul of Harpies’ fierce distained) The fates and hidden secrets to disclose Of black Cocytus and of Acheron, The floods of death, the lakes of burning souls, Where hellish frogs do prophesy revenge; Where Tartar sprites with careful heed attend The dismal summons of Alecto’s mouth. Myself by precept of Proserpina Commanded was in presence to appear Before the synod of the damned sprites. In fearful mood I did perform their hest, And, at my entrance in, th’ enchanted snakes, Which wrap themselves about the furies’ necks, Did hiss for joy: and from the dreadful bench[284] The supreme fury thus assign’d her charge. Gorlois, quoth she, thou thither must ascend, Whence, through the rancour of malicious foes, Wearied with wounds thou didst descend to us. Make Britain now the mark of thy revenge: On ruthless Britons and Pendragon’s race Disburse the treasure of thy hellish plagues. Let blood contend with blood, father with son, Subject with prince, and let confusion reign. She therewithal enjoin’d the dusky clouds, Which with their darkness turn’d the earth to hell, Convert to blood, and pour down streams of blood. Cornwall shall groan, and Arthur’s soul shall sigh: Before the conscience of Guenevera The map of hell shall hang, and fiends shall rage; And Gorlois’ ghost exacting punishment With dreams, with horrors, and with deadly trance, Shall gripe their hearts: the vision of his corse Shall be to them, as was the terror vile Of flaming whips to Agamemnon’s son. And when the trumpet calls them from their rest, Aurora shall with wat’ry cheeks behold Their slaughtered bodies prostrate to her beams: And on the banks of Camela shall lie The bones of Arthur and of Arthur’s knights, Whose fleet is now triumphing on the seas, But shall be welcom’d with a tragedy. Thy native soil shall be thy fatal gulf, Arthur: thy place of birth thy place of death. Mordred shall be the hammer of my hate To beat the bones of Cornish lords to dust. Ye ravening birds under Celœno’s power, I do adjure you, in Alecto’s name, Follow the sword of Mordred where he goes; Follow the sword of Mordred for your food. Aspiring Mordred, thou must also die, And on the altar of Proserpina Thy vital blood unto my ghost shall fume. Heaven, earth, and hell concur to plague the man, That is the plague of heaven, earth, and hell! Thou bidd’st, Alecto: I pursue my charge. Let thy Cerastæ whistle in mine ears, And let the bells of Pluto ring revenge!
One other speech penned by the same gentleman, and pronounced instead of Gorlois his last speech penned by Thomas Hughes, and set down in the second Scene of the fifth and last Act.
Death hath his conquest, hell hath had his wish, Gorlois his vow, Alecto her desire; Sin hath his pay, and blood is quit with blood: Revenge in triumph bears the struggling hearts! Now, Gorlois, pierce the craggy rocks of hell, Through chinks whereof infernal sprites do glance, Return this answer to the furies’ court: That Cornwall trembles with the thought of war, And Tamar’s flood with drooping pace doth flow, For fear of touching Camel’s bloody stream. Britain, remember; write it on thy walls, Which neither time nor tyranny may raze, That rebels, traitors, and conspirators, The seminary of lewd Catiline, The bastard covey of Italian birds, Shall feel the flames of ever-flaming fire, Which are not quenched with a sea of tears. And since in thee some glorious star must shine, When many years and ages are expir’d, Whose beams shall clear the mist of miscontent, And make the damp of Pluto’s pit retire, Gorlois will never fray the Britons more: For Britain then becomes an angel’s land. Both devils and sprites must yield to angels’ power, Unto the goddess of the angels’ land. Vaunt, Britain, vaunt of her renowmed reign, Whose face deters the hags of hell from thee, Whose virtues hold the plagues of heaven from thee; Whose presence makes the earth fruitful to thee; And with foresight of her thrice-happy days, Britain, I leave thee to an endless praise.
Besides these speeches there was also penned a Chorus for the first act, and another for the second act, by Master Francis Flower, which were pronounced accordingly. The dumb shows were partly devised by Master Christopher Yelverton, Master Francis Bacon, Master John Lancaster and others, partly by the said Master Flower, who with Master Penruddock and the said Master Lancaster, directed these proceedings at Court.
“Whether to dround or stifll up his breath, On sorcing blood to dye with dint of knife.”
“For where no hope is left, is left no fear.” —Par. Reg. III. 206.
“The first art in a kingdom is to scorn The envy of the realm. He cannot rule That fears to be envi’d. What can divorce Envy from sovereignty? Must my deserts!”
Pejor est bello timor ipse belli— Seneca, Thyestes, A. III. Chor.
“Worse is then warre it selfe the feare of fyght.”
“Illi mors gravis incubat, Qui notus nimis omnibus, Ignotus moritur sibi.” —Sen. Thyestes, act ii. Chor.
“They fall and foulter like the mellow fruit.”
“The grief that does not speak, Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.” —Macbeth, act iv., sc. 3.
“Nessun maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria.” —Inferno, c. v.
“E perchè rimembrare il ben perduto Fa piu meschino lo stato presente.” —Ricciardetto, c. xi., st. 81.
THE FIRST PART
OF
JERONIMO.
EDITION.
The First Part of Ieronimo. With the Warres of Portugall, and the Life and Death of Don Andræa. Printed at London, for Thomas Pauyer, and are to be solde at his shop, at the entrance into the Exchange. 1605. 4to. Black letter.
[PREFACE TO THE FORMER EDITION.][285]
From Heywood’s[286] “Apology for Actors,” it appears that Thomas Kyd was the author of the “Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again.” But whether he likewise wrote this “First Part of Jeronimo” does not appear.
This “First Part of Jeronimo” is so scarce that many have doubted whether it ever existed; and Mr Coxeter and the author of the “Playhouse Dictionary” were of opinion, that what is called the “Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again,” was only the old play altered and new-named. Ben Jonson has a passage in the induction to “Cynthia’s Revels,” 1600, that seems to
They were, however, two distinct plays, as appears from this copy of the first part, which is printed from one in the valuable collection of David Garrick, Esq.
From another passage in the induction to “Cynthia’s Revels,” acted in 1600, it may be conjectured, that “Jeronimo” first appeared on the stage about the year 1588.[287] “They say (says one of the children of the Queen’s Chapel) the ghosts of some three or four plays, departed a dozen years since, have been seen walking on your stage here.”
THE FIRST PART OF JERONIMO.
[Sound a Signet,[288] and pass over the Stage. Enter at one door the King of Spain, Duke of Castile, Duke Medina, Lorenzo, and Rogero; at another door, Andrea, Horatio, and Jeronimo. Jeronimo kneels down, and the King creates him Marshal of Spain; Lorenzo puts on his Spurs,[289] and Andrea his sword. The King goes along with Jeronimo to his House; after a long Signet is sounded, enter all the Nobles, with covered dishes, to the Banquet. Exeunt omnes. That done, enter all again as before.]
Spain. Frolic, Jeronimo! thou art now confirmed Marshal of Spain by all the dues And customary rights unto thy office. Jer. My knee sings thanks unto your highness’ bounty.— Come hither, boy Horatio; fold thy joints; Kneel by thy father’s loins, and thank my liege, By honouring me, thy mother, and thyself, With this high staff of office. Hor. O my liege, I have a heart thrice stronger than my years, And that shall answer gratefully for me. Let not my youthful blush impair my valour: If ever you have foes, or red field-scars, I’ll empty all my veins to serve your wars; I’ll bleed for you; and more, what speech affords, I’ll speak in drops, when I do fail in words. Jer. Well spoke, my boy; and on thy father’s side.— My liege, how like you Don Horatio’s spirit? What! doth it promise fair? Spain. Ay, And no doubt his merit will purchase more. Knight Marshal, rise, and still rise Higher and greater in thy sovereign’s eyes. Jer. O fortunate hour! bless’d minute! happy day! Able to ravish even my sense away! Now I remember too—O sweet remembrance!— This day my years strike fifty, and in Rome They call the fifty year the year of jubilee, The merry year, the peaceful year, [the] jocund year, A year of joy, of pleasure and delight; This shall be my year of jubilee, for ’tis my fifty. Age ushers honour; ’tis no shame; confess: Beard, thou art fifty full, not a hair less.
Enter an Embassador.
Spain. How now? what news for[290] Spain? tribute returned? Emb. Tribute in words, my liege, but not in coin. Spain. Ha! dare he still procrastinate with Spain? Not tribute paid! not three years paid! ’Tis not at his coin, But his slack homage, that we most repine. Jer. My liege, if my opinion might stand firm Within your highness’ thoughts—— Spain. Marshal, Our kingdom calls thee father; therefore speak free. Thy counsel I’ll embrace, as I do thee. Jer. I thank your highness. Then, my gracious liege, I hold it meet, by way of embassage, To demand his mind, and the neglect of tribute. But, my liege, Here must be kind words, which doth oft besiege The ears of rough-hewn tyrants more than blows; O, a politic speech beguiles the ears of foes. Marry, my liege, mistake me not, I pray; If friendly phrases, honey’d speech, bewitching accent, Well-tuned melody, and all sweet gifts Of nature, cannot avail or win him to it, Then let him raise his gall up to his tongue, And be as bitter as physicians’ drugs, Stretch his mouth wider with big swoll’n phrases. O, here’s a lad of mettle, stout Don Andrea, Mettle to the crown, Would shake the king’s high court three handfuls down. Spain. And well picked out, Knight Marshal; speech well-strung; I’d rather choose Horatio, were he not so young. Hor. I humbly thank your highness, In placing me next unto his royal bosom. Spain. How stand ye, lords, to this election? Omnes. Right pleasing, our dread sovereign. Med. Only, with pardon, mighty sovereign—— Cast. I should have chosen Don Lorenzo. Med. I, Don Rogero. Rog. O no; not me, my lords, I am war’s champion, and my fees are swords. Pray, king, pray, peers, let it be Don Andrea; He is a worthy limb, Loves wars and soldiers; therefore I love him. Jer. And I love him and thee, valiant Rogero. Noble spirits, gallant bloods; You are no wise, insinuating lords, You ha’ no tricks, you ha’ none of all their sleights. Lor. So, so, Andrea must be sent embassador; Lorenzo is not thought upon: good! I’ll wake the court, or startle out some blood. Spain. How stand you, lords, to this election? Omnes. Right pleasing, our dread sovereign. Spain. Then, Don Andrea—— And. My approved liege. Spain. We make thee our lord high embassador. And. Your highness circles me with honour’s bounds; I shall discharge the weight of your command With best respect: if friendly-tempered phrase Cannot affect the virtue of your charge, I will be hard like thunder, and as rough As northern tempests, or the vexed bowels Of too insulting waves, who at one blow Five merchants’ wealths into the deep doth throw. I’ll threaten crimson wars—— Rog. Aye, aye, that’s good; Let them keep coin, pay tribute with their blood. Spain. Farewell, then, Don Andrea; to thy charge. Lords, let us in; joy shall be now our guest: Let’s in to celebrate our second feast. [Exeunt omnes, manet Lorenzo solus.
Lor. Andrea’s gone embassador; Lorenzo is not dreamt on in this age. Hard fate, When villains sit not in the highest state! Ambition’s plumes, that flourished in our court, Severe authority has dashed with justice; And policy and pride walk like two exiles, Giving attendance, that were once attended; And we rejected, that were once high-honoured. I hate Andrea; ’cause he aims at honour, When my purest thoughts work in a pitchy vale, Which are as different as heaven and hell. One peers for day, the other gapes for night. That yawning beldam, with her jetty skin— ’Tis she I hug as mine effeminate bride, For such complexions best appease my pride. I have a lad in pickle of this stamp, A melancholy, discontented courtier, Whose famished jaws look like the chap of death; Upon whose eyebrows hangs damnation; Whose hands are washed in rape and murders bold: Him with a golden bait will I allure (For courtiers will do anything for gold), To be Andrea’s death at his return. He loves my sister, that shall cost his life; So she a husband, he shall lose a wife. O sweet, sweet policy, I hug thee! good; Andrea’s Hymen’s-draught shall be in blood. [Exit.
Enter Horatio at one door, Andrea at another.
Hor. Whither in such haste, my second self? And. I’faith, my dear bosom, to take solemn leave Of a most weeping creature. Hor. That’s a woman.
Enter Bell’-Imperia.
And. That’s Bell’-Imperia. Hor. See, see, she meets you here: And what is it to love, and be lov’d dear! Bel. I have heard of your honour, gentle breast, I do not like it now so well, methinks. And. What! not to have honour bestowed on me? Bel. O, yes; but not a wandering honour, dear; I could afford well, diddest thou stay here. Could honour melt itself into thy veins, And thou the fountain, I could wish it so, If thou wouldst remain here with me, and not go. And. ’Tis but to Portugal. Hor. But to demand the tribute, lady. Bel. Tribute! alas, that Spain cannot of peace Forbear a little coin, the Indies being so near. And yet this is not all: I know you are too hot, Too full of spleen for an embassador, And will lean much to honour. And. Pish![291] Bel. Nay, hear me, dear! I know you will be rough And violent; and Portugal hath a tempestuous son, Stamp’d with the mark of fury, and you too. And. Sweet Bell’-Imperia! Bel. You’ll[292] meet like thunder, each imperious Over other’s spleen; you have both proud spirits, And both will strive to aspire. When Two vexed clouds justle, they strike out fire: And you, I fear me, war, which peace forefend. O dear Andrea, pray, let’s have no wars! First let them pay the soldiers that were maimed In the last battle, ere more wretches fall, Or walk on stilts to timeless funeral. And. Respective dear! O my life’s happiness! The joy of all my being! do not shape Frightful conceit beyond the intent of act! I know thy love is vigilant o’er my blood, And fears ill-fate which heaven hath yet withstood. But be of comfort; sweet Horatio knows I go to knit friends, not to kindle foes. Hor. True, madam Bell’-Imperia, that’s his task: The phrase he useth must be gently styled, The king hath warned him to be smooth and mild. Bel. But will you, indeed, Andrea? And. By this. Bel. By this lip-blushing kiss. Hor. O, you swear sweetly. Bel. I’ll keep your oath for you, till you return, Then I’ll be sure you shall not be forsworn.
Enter Pedringano.
And. Ho, Pedringano! Ped. Signior? And. Are all things aboard? Ped. They are, my good lord. And. Then. Bell’-Imperia, I take leave; Horatio Be, in my absence, my dear self, chaste self.— What! playing the woman, Bell’-Imperia? Nay, then you love me not; or, at the least, You drown my honours in those flowing waters. Believe it, Bell’-Imperia, ’tis as common To weep at parting, as to be a woman. Love me more valiant; play not this moist prize; Be woman in all parts save in thy eyes. And so I leave thee. Bel. Farewell, my lord: Be mindful of my love and of your word. And. ’Tis fixed upon my heart; adieu, soul’s friend! Hor. All honour on Andrea’s steps attend. Bel. Yet he is in sight, and yet but now he’s vanished. [Exit Andrea. Hor. Nay, lady, if you stoop so much to passion, I’ll call him back again. Bel. O good Horatio, no; it is for honour. Pr’y-thee, let him go. Hor. Then, madam, be composed, as you were wont, To music and delight; the time being comic, will Seem short and pleasant, till his return From Portugal. And, madam, in this circle Let your heart move; Honoured promotion is the sap of love. [Exeunt.
Enter Lorenzo and Lazarotto, a discontented Courtier.
Lor. Come, my soul’s spaniel, my life’s jetty substance, What’s thy name? Laz. My name ’s an honest name, a courtier’s name: ’Tis Lazarotto. Lor. What, Lazarotto! Laz. Or rather rotting in this lazy age That yields me no employments: I have mischief Within my breast, more than my bulk[293] can hold: I want a midwife to deliver it. Lor. I’ll be the he-one then, and rid thee soon Of this dull, leaden, and tormenting elf. Thou know’st the love betwixt Bell’-Imperia and Andrea’s bosom? Laz. Aye, I do. Lor. How might I cross it, my sweet mischief? Honey-damnation, how? Laz. Well: As many ways as there are paths to hell, And that’s enou’, i’ faith. From usurer’s door— There goes one path: from friars that nurse whores— There goes another path: from brokers’ stalls, From rich that die and build no hospitals— Two other paths: from farmers that crack barns With stuffing corn, yet starve the needy swarms— Another path: from drinking-schools one— From dicing-houses—but from the court, none, none. Lor. Here is a slave just of the stamp I wish; Whose ink-soul’s blacker than his name, Though it stand printed with a raven’s quill. [Aside. But, Lazarotto, cross my sister’s love, And I’ll rain showers of ducats in thy palm. Laz. O duckets, dainty ducks; forgive me, duckets, I’ll fetch you duck enough for gold; and chink Makes the punk wanton and the bawd to wink. Lor. Discharge, discharge, good Lazarotto, How we may cross my sister’s loving hopes. Laz. Nay, now I’ll tell you. Lor. Thou knowest Andrea’s gone embassador. Laz. The better; there is opportunity: Now list to me.
Enter Jeronimo and Horatio, and overhear their talk.
Alcario, the Duke Medina’s son, Doats on your sister Bell’-Imperia: Him in her private gallery you shall place To court her; let his protestations be Fashioned with rich jewels,[294] for in love Great gifts and gold have the best tongue to move. Let him not spare an oath without a jewel To bind it fast: O, I know women’s hearts, What stuff they are made of, my lord: gifts and giving Will melt the chastest-seeming female living. Lor. Indeed Andrea is but poor, though honourable; His bounty among soldiers soaks him dry, And their o’er-great gifts may bewitch her eye. Jer. Here’s no fine villainy, no damned brother! [Aside. Lor. But say she should deny his gifts, be all Composed of hate, as my mind gives me that She will: what then? Laz. Then thus: at his return To Spain, I’ll murder Don Andrea. Lor. Dar’st thou, spirit? Laz. What dares not he do, that ne’er hopes t’inherit? Hor. He dares be damn’d like thee. [Aside. Laz. Dare I? Ha, ha! I have no hope of everlasting height, My soul’s a Moor, you know, salvation’s white. What dare I not enact then? Tush, he dies; I will make way to Bell’-Imperia’s eyes. Lor. To weep, I fear, but not to tender love. Laz. Why, is she not a woman? she must weep Awhile, as widows use, till their first sleep; Who in the morrow following will be sold To new, before the first are throughly cold. So Bell’-Imperia; for this is common; The more she weeps, the more she plays the woman. Lor. Come then, howe’er it hap, Andrea shall be cross’d. Laz. Let me alone, I’ll turn him to a ghost. [Exeunt Lorenzo and Lazarotto. Manent Jeronimo and Horatio.[295] Jer. Farewell, true brace of villains; Come hither, boy Horatio, didst thou hear them? Hor. O my true-breasted father, my ears Have suck’d in poison, deadly poison: Murder Andrea! O inhuman practice! Had not your reverend years been present here, I should have poniarded the villain’s bowels, And shoved his soul out to damnation. Murder Andrea! honest lord! impious villains! Jer. I like thy true heart, boy; thou lov’st thy friend: It is the greatest argument and sign, That I begot thee, for it shows thou ’rt mine. Hor. O father, ’tis a charitable deed To prevent those that would make virtue bleed! I’ll despatch letters to Don Andrea; Unfold their hellish practice, damn’d intent, Against the virtuous rivers of his life. Murder Andrea!
Enter Isabella.
Jer. Peace: who comes here? news, news, Isabella. Isa. What news, Jeronimo? Jer. Strange news: Lorenzo is become an honest man. Isa. Is this your wondrous news? Jer. Is it not wondrous To have honesty in hell? go, tell it abroad now; But see you put no new additions to it, As thus—shall I tell you, gossip? Lorenzo is Become an honest man:—beware, beware; for honesty, Spoken in derision, points out knavery. O, then, take heed; that jest would not be trim, He’s a great man, therefore we must not knave him. In, gentle soul; I’ll not be long away, As short my body, short shall be my stay.[296] [Exit Isabella. Hor. Murder Andrea! what blood-sucking slave Could choke bright honour in a scabbard grave! Jer. What, harping still upon Andrea’s death? Have courage, boy: I shall prevent their plots, And make them both stand like two politic sots. Hor. Lorenzo has a reach as far as hell To hook the devil from his flaming cell: O sprightly father, he’ll outreach you then; Knaves longer reaches have than honest men. Jer. But, boy, fear not, I will outstretch them all, My mind’s a giant, though my bulk be small.[297] [Exeunt.
Enter the King of Portugal, Balthezar, Alexandro, Don Vollupo, and others: a Peal of Ordnance; within, a great shout of People.
King. What is the meaning of this loud report? Alex. An embassy, my lord, is new arrived from Spain. King. Son Balthezar, we pray, do you go meet him, And do him all the honour that belongs him. Bal. Father, my best endeavour shall obey you: Welcome, worthy lord, Spain’s choice embassador, Brave, stout Andrea; for so I guess thee.
Enter Andrea.
And. Portugal’s heir, I thank thee, Thou seems no less than what thou art, a prince And an heroic spirit: Portugal’s king, I kiss my hand, and tender on thy throne My master’s love, peace and affection. King. And we receive them and thee, worthy Andrea; Thy master’s high-prized love unto our heart, Is welcome to his friend, thou to our court. And. Thanks, Portugal. My lords, I had in charge, At my depart from Spain, this embassage, To put your breast in mind of tribute due Unto our master’s kingdom, these three years Detained and kept back; and I am sent to know Whether neglect or will detains it so. King. Thus much return unto thy king, Andrea; We have with best advice thought of our state, And find it much dishonoured by base homage: I not deny, but tribute hath been due To Spain by our forefathers’ base captivity, Yet cannot rase out their successors’ merit. ’Tis said, we shall not answer at next birth Our fathers’ faults in heaven; why then on earth? Which proves and shows, that which they lost By base captivity, We may redeem with honoured valiancy. We borrow nought: our kingdom is our own: He’s a base king that pays rent for his throne. And. Is this thy answer, Portugal? Bal. Ay, Spain; A royal answer too, which I’ll maintain. Omnes. And all the peers of Portugal the like. And. Then thus all Spain, which but three minutes ago Was thy full friend, is now returned thy foe. Bal. An excellent foe; we shall have scuffling good. And. Thou shalt pay tribute, Portugal, with blood. Bal. Tribute for tribute, then, and foes for foes. And. I bid you sudden wars. Bal. I, sudden blows, and that’s as good as wars. Don, I’ll not bate An inch of courage nor a hair of fate: Pay tribute I with strokes. And. Aye, with strokes you shall; Alas, that Spain should correct Portugal! Bal. Correct! O, in that one word such torments do I feel, That I could lash thy ribs with valiant steel. And. Prince Balthezar, shall’s meet? Bal. Meet, Don Andrea? yes, in the battle’s bowels; Here is my gage, a never-failing pawn; ’Twill keep his day, his hour, nay minute, ’twill. And. Then thine and this, possess one quality. Bal. O, let them kiss! Did I not understand thee noble, valiant, And worthy my sword’s society with thee, For all Spain’s wealth, I’d not grasp hands. Meet Don Andrea? I tell thee, noble spirit, I’d wade up to the knees in blood, I’d make A bridge of Spanish carcases, to single thee Out of the gasping army. And. Woot thou, prince? Why even for that I love [thee.] Bal. Tut, love me, man, when we have drunk Hot blood together; wounds will tie An everlasting settled amity, And so shall thine. And. And thine. Bal. What! give no place? And. To whom? Bal. To me. And. To thee? Why should my face, that’s placed above my mind, Fall under it? Bal. I’ll make thee yield. And. Aye, when you get me down; But I stand even yet—jump crown to crown. Bal. Dar’st thou? And. I dare. Bal. I am all vex’d. And. I care not. Bal. I shall forget the law. And. Do, do. Bal. Shall I? And. Spare not. Bal. But thou wilt yield first. And. No. Bal. O, I hug thee for’t! The valiant’st spirit e’er trod the Spanish court: Here let the rising of our hot blood set. Alex. My liege, two nobler spirits never met. Bal. Until we meet in purple, when our swords Shall—— And. Agreed, right valiant prince:— Then, Portugal, this is thy resolute answer? King. So, return, it’s so: we have bethought us, What tribute is; how poor that monarch shows, Who for his throne a yearly pension owes: And what our predecessors lost to Spain, We have fresh spirits that can renew’t again. And. Then I unclasp the purple leaves of war: Many a new wound must gasp through an old scar. So, Portugal, I leave thee. King. Ourself in person Will see thee safe aboard: come, son, come, lords, Instead of tribute we must pay our swords. Bal. Remember, Don Andrea, that we meet. And. Up hither sailing in a crimson fleet. [Exeunt.
Enter Lorenzo and Alcario.
Lor. Do you affect my sister? Alca. Affect! above affection, for Her breast is my life’s treasure; O, entire Is the condition of my hot desire! Lor. Then this must be your plot. You know Andrea’s gone embassador, On whom my sister Bell’-Imperia Casts her affection? You are in stature like him, speech alike, And had you but his vestment on your back, There’s no one living but would swear ’twere he: Therefore sly policy must be your guide. I have a suit just of Andrea’s colours, Proportioned in all parts:—nay, ’twas his own— This suit within my closet shall you wear, And so disguis’d woo, sue, and then at last— Alca. What? Lor. Obtain thy love. Alca. This falls out rare; in this disguise I may both Wed, bed, and board her. Lor. You may, you may: Besides, within these few days he’ll return. Alca. Till this be acted, I in passion burn. Lor. All falls out for the purpose: all hits jump;[298] The date of his embassage, nigh expired, Gives strength unto our plot. Alca. True, true; all to the purpose. Lor. Moreover, I will buzz Andrea’s landing Which, once but crept into the vulgar mouths, Is hurried here and there, and sworn for troth: Think, ’tis your love makes me create this guise, And willing hope to see your virtue rise. Alca. Lorenzo’s bounty I do more enfold Than the great’st mine of India’s brightest gold. Lor. Come, let us in; the next time you shall show All Don Andrea, not Alcario. [Exeunt.
Enter Jeronimo trussing of his points; Horatio with pen and ink.
Jer. Come, pull the table this way: so, ’tis well. Come write, Horatio, write; This speedy letter must away to-night.
[Horatio folds the paper the contrary way.
What! fold paper that way to a nobleman? To Don Andrea, Spain’s embassador! Fie! I am ashamed to see it: hast thou worn Gowns in the university, toss’d[299] logic, suck’d Philosophy, ate cues, drunk cees,[300] and cannot give A letter the right courtier’s crest? O, there’s a kind of state In everything, save in a cuckold’s pate! Fie, fie, Horatio! what, is your pen foul? Hor. No, father, cleaner than Lorenzo’s soul; That’s dipp’d in ink made of an envious gall, Else had my pen no cause to write at all. Jer. Signior Andrea, say. Hor. Signior Andrea—— Jer. ’Tis a villainous age this. Hor. ’Tis a villainous age this—— Jer. That a nobleman should be a knave as Well as an ostler. Hor. That a nobleman should be a knave as Well as an ostler—— Jer. Or a serjeant. Hor. Or a serjeant—— Jer. Or a broker. Hor. Or a broker—— Jer. Yet I speak not this of Lorenzo, For he’s an honest lord. Hor. ’S foot, father, I’ll not write him honest lord. Jer. Take up thy pen, or I’ll take up thee. Hor. What! write him honest lord? I’ll not agree. Jer. You’ll take it up, sir? Hor. Well, well. Jer. What went before? thou hast put me out: beshrew Thy impudence or insolence! Hor. Lorenzo’s an honest lord—— Jer. Well, sir; and has hired one to murder you. Hor. O, I cry you mercy, father, meant you so? Jer. Art thou a scholar, Don Horatio, And canst not aim at figurative speech? Hor. I pray you, pardon me; ’twas but youth’s Hasty error. Jer. Come, read then. Hor. And has hired one to murder you—— Jer. He means to send you to heaven, when You return from Portugal. Hor. From Portugal—— Jer. Yet he’s an honest duke’s son. Hor. Yet he’s an—— Jer. But not the honest son of a duke. Hor. But not the honest—— Jer. O that villainy should be found in the great chamber! Hor. O that villainy—— Jer. And honesty in the bottom of a cellar. Hor. And honesty—— Jer. If you’ll be murdered, you may. Hor. If you’ll be—— Jer. If you be not, thank God and Jeronimo. Hor. If you be not—— Jer. If you be, thank the devil and Lorenzo. Hor. If you be, thank——- Jer. Thus hoping you will not be murdered, and you can choose. Hor. Thus hoping you will——- Jer. Especially being warned beforehand. Hor. Especially—— Jer. I take my leave, boy; Horatio, write leave Bending in the hams like an old courtier:— Thy assured friend, say, ’gainst Lorenzo and The devil,—little Jeronimo Marshal. Hor. Jeronimo Marshal. Jer. So, now read it o’er. Hor. Signior Andrea, ’tis a villainous age this, That a nobleman should be a knave as well As an ostler, or a serjeant, or a broker; yet I speak not this of Lorenzo: he’s an Honest lord, and has hired one to murder you, When you return from Portugal: yet He’s an honest duke’s son, but not the Honest son of a duke. O that villainy Should be found in the great chamber, and honesty In the bottom of the cellar! Jer. True, boy: there’s a moral in that; as much To say, knavery in the court, and honesty in a Cheese-house. Hor. If you’ll be murdered, you may: if you be Not, thank God and Jeronimo: if you be, Thank the devil and Lorenzo. Thus hoping You will not be murdered, and you can choose; Especially being warned beforehand, I take my leave. Jer. Horatio, hast thou written leave, bending in the Hams enough, like a gentleman-usher? ’Sfoot, No, Horatio; thou hast made him straddle too much Like a Frenchman: for shame, put his legs closer, Though it be painful. Hor. So, ’tis done, ’tis done.— Thy assured friend ’gainst Lorenzo and the devil; Little Jeronimo Marshal.
Enter Lorenzo and Isabella.
Isa. Yonder he is, my lord; pray you speak to him. Jer. Wax, wax, Horatio: I had need wax too, Our foes will stride else over me and you. Isa. He’s writing a love-letter to some Spanish lady, And now he calls for wax to seal it. Lor. God save you, good knight Marshal. Jer. Who’s this? my lord Lorenzo? welcome, welcome; You’re the last man I thought on, save the devil: Much doth your presence grace our homely roof. Lor. O Jeronimo, Your wife condemns you of an uncourtesy And over-passing wrong; and, more, she names Love-letters which you send to Spanish dames. Jer. Do you accuse me so, kind Isabella? Isa. Unkind Jeronimo! Lor. And, for my instance, this in your hand is one. Jer. In sooth, my lord, there is no written name Of any lady, nor[301] no Spanish dame. Lor. If it were not so, you would not be afeard To read or show the waxed letter: Pray you, let me behold it. Jer. I pray you pardon me. I must confess, my lord, it treats of love, Love to Andrea, ay, even to his very bosom. Lor. What news, my lord, hear you from Portugal? Jer. Who, I? before your grace it must not be; The badger feeds not, till the lion’s served: Nor fits it news so soon kiss subjects’ ears,[302] As the fair cheek of high authority. Jeronimo lives much absent from the court, And, being absent there, lives from report. Lor. Farewell, Jeronimo. Isa. Welcome, my lord Lorenzo. [Exeunt Lorenzo and Isabella. Jer. Boy, Thy mother’s jealous of my love to her. Hor. O, she play’d us a wise part; now ten to one He had not overheard the letter read, Just as he enter’d. Jer. Though it had happen’d evil, He should have heard his name yoked with the devil. Here, seal the letter with a loving knot: Send it with speed; Horatio, linger not; That Don Andrea may prevent his death, And know his enemy by his envious breath. [Exeunt.
Enter Lorenzo, and Alcario disguised like Andrea.
Lor. Now, by the honour of Castile’s true house, You are as like Andrea, part for part, As he is like himself: did I not know you, By my cross I swear, I could not think you but Andrea’s self, so legg’d, so faced, so speech’d, So all in all; methinks I should salute Your quick return and speedy haste from Portugal: Welcome, fair lord, worthy ambassador, Brave Don Andrea! O, I laugh to see How we shall jest at her mistaking thee! Alc. What, have you given it out Andrea is return’d? Lor. ’Tis all about the court in every ear, And my invention brought to me for news Last night at supper; and which the more to cover, I took a bowl, and quaff’d a health to him, When it would scarce go down for extreme laughter, To think how soon report had scatter’d it. Alc. But is the villain Lazarotto Acquainted with our drift? Lor. Not for Spain’s wealth; Though he be secret, yet suspects the worst, For confidence confounds the stratagem. The fewer in a plot of jealousy Build a foundation surest, when multitudes Make it confused, ere it come to head. Be secret then; trust not the open air, For air is breath, and breath-blown words raise care— This is the gallery, where she most frequents. Alc. Within this walk have I beheld her dally With my shape’s substance. O immortal powers! Lend your assistance; clap a silver tongue Within this palate that, when I approach Within the presence of this demi-goddess, I may possess an adamantic power, And so bewitch her with my honey’d speech, Have every syllable a music-stop, That, when I pause, the melody may move, And hem persuasion ’tween her snowy paps, That her heart hearing may relent and yield! Lor. Break off, my lord: see where she makes approach.
Enter Bell’-Imperia.
Alc. Then fall into your former vein of terms. Lor. Welcome, my lord, welcome, brave Don Andrea, Spain’s best of spirit! what news From Portugal? tribute or war? But see, my sister Bell’-Imperia comes: I will defer it to some other time, For company hinders love’s conference. [Exit Lorenzo.
Bel. Welcome, my life’s self-form, dear Don Andrea. Alc. My words iterated give thee as much: Welcome, my self of self. Bel. What news, Andrea? treats it peace or war? Alc. At first they cried all war, as men resolved To lose both life and honour at one cast: At which I thunder’d words all clad in proof, Which struck amazement to their palled speech, And tribute presently was yielded up. But, madam Bell’-Imperia, leave we this, And talk of former suits and quests of love.
They whisper. Enter Lazarotto.
Laz. ’Tis all about the court Andrea’s come: Would I might greet him! and I wonder much, My lord Lorenzo is so slack in murder, Not to afford me notice all this while. Gold, I am true; I had my hire, and thou shalt have thy due: Was’t possible to miss him so? soft! soft! This gallery leads to Bell’-Imperia’s lodging; There he is, sure, or will be, sure. I’ll stay: The evening too begins to slubber day:[303] Sweet, opportuneful season; here I’ll lean, Like a court-hound, that licks fat trenchers clean. [Aside. Bel. But has the king partook your embassy? Alc. That till to-morrow shall be now deferr’d. Bel. Nay, then you love me not: Let that be first despatch’d; till when receive this token. [She kisses him. Exit Bell’-Imperia. Alc. I to the king with this unfaithful heart! It must not be: I play too false a part. Laz. Up, Lazarotto; yonder comes thy prize; Now lives Andrea, now Andrea dies. [Lazarotto kills him. Alc. That villain Lazarotto has kill’d me, Instead of Andrea.
Enter Andrea and Rogero, and Others.
Rog. Welcome home, lord embassador. Alc. O, O, O. And. Whose groan was that? what frightful villain’s this, His sword unsheathed? whom hast thou murdered, slave? Laz. Why, Don, Don Andrea. And. No, counterfeiting villain. He says, my lord, that he hath murdered me. Laz. Aye, Don Andrea, or else Don the devil. And. Lay hands on him; some rear up The bleeding body to the light. Rog. My lord, I think ’tis you: were you not here, A man might swear ’twere you. And. His garments, ha! like mine, his face made like! An ominous horror all my veins doth strike. Sure, this portends my death; this misery Aims at some fatal pointed tragedy.
Enter Jeronimo and Horatio.
Jer. Son Horatio, see Andrea slain! Hor. Andrea slain! then, weapon, cling[304] my breast. And. Live, truest friend, for ever lov’d and bless’d. Hor. Lives Don Andrea? And. Aye, but slain in thought, To see so strange a likeness forged and wrought. Lords, cannot you yet descry, Who is the owner of this red melting body? Rog. My lord, it is Alcario, duke Medina’s son; I know him by this mole upon his breast. Laz. Alcario slain! hast thou beguiled me, sword? Arm, hast thou slain thy bountiful kind lord? Why then rot off and drop upon the ground, Strow all the galleries with gobbets round.
Enter Lorenzo.
Lor. Who names Alcario slain? it is Alcario! O cursed deed! Couldst thou not see, but make the wrong man bleed? Laz. ’Sfoot, ’twas your fault, my lord; you brought no word. Lor. Peace; no words: I’ll get thy pardon: Why, mum, then.
Enter Bell’-Imperia.
Bel. Who names Andrea slain? O, ’tis Andrea! O, I swoon, I die: Lor. Look to my sister Bell’-Imperia! And. Raise up, my dear love, Bell’-Imperia! O, be of comfort, sweet: call in thy spirits; Andrea lives: O, let not death beguile thee! Bel. Are you Andrea? And. Do not forget; That was Alcario, my shape’s counterfeit. Lor. Why speaks not this accurs’d, damn’d villain? Laz. O good words, my lords; for those are courtiers’ vails: The king must hear; why should I make two tales? For to be found in two, before the king I will resolve you all this strange strange thing: I hit, yet miss’d; ’twas I mistook my part. Hor. Aye, villain; for thou aim’st at this true heart. Jer. Horatio, ’twas well, as fortune stands, This letter came not to Andrea’s hands. Hor. ’Twas happiness indeed. Bel. Was it not you, Andrea, questioned me ’Bout love? And. No, Bell’-Imperia. Belike, ’twas false Andrea; for the first Object mine eyes met was that most accurst, Which, I much fear me, by all signs portends Most doubtful wars and dangerous pointed ends To light upon my blood. Bel. Angels of heaven, forefend it! And. Some take up the body; others take charge Of that accursed villain. Lor. My lord, leave that to me; I’ll look to him. Jer. Mark, mark, Horatio: a villain guard a villain. And. The king may think my news is a bad guest, When the first object is a bleeding breast. [Exeunt.
Enter King of Spain, Castile, Medina, Rogero, and Others; a Dead March within.
King. My lords, What heavy sounds are these?—nearer and nearer! ha! Andrea the forerunner of these news? Nay, then I fear Spain’s inevitable ill. Ha! Andrea, speak! what news from Portugal? What, is [the] tribute paid? Or peace or wars? And. Wars, my dread liege. King. Why then That bleeding object doth presage what shall Hereafter follow. What’s he that lies there slain, Or hurt, or both? Speak. And. My liege, Alcario, duke Medina’s son; And by that slave this purple act was done. Med. Who names Alcario slain? ah me, ’tis he: Art thou that villain? Laz. How didst thou know my name? I see an excellent villain hath his fame, As well as a great courtier. Med. Speak, villain: wherefore didst thou this accursed deed? Laz. Because I was an ass, a villainous ass; For had I hit it right, Andrea had lain there; He walk’d upright: this ominous mistake, This damned error, Breedeth in my soul an everlasting terror. King. Say, slave, how came this accurs’d evil? Laz. Faith, by myself, my short sword, and the devil. To tell you all without a tedious tongue, I’ll cut them down, my words shall not hang[305] long. That hapless bleeding lord Alcario, Which this hand slew, pox on’t, was a huge doater On Bell’-Imperia’s beauty, who replied In scorn, and his hot suit denied; For her affections were all firmly planted In Don Andrea’s bosom; yet, unwise, He still pursued it with blind lover’s eyes. Then hired he me with gold—O fate, thou elf! To kill Andrea, which here killed himself; For, not content to stay the time of murder, He took Andrea’s shape unknown to me, And in all parts disguised, as there you see, Intending, as it seemed by that sly shift, To steal away her troth; short tale to tell, I took him for Andrea—down he fell. King. O impious deed, To make the heir of honour melt and bleed! Bear him away to execution. Laz. Nay, lord Lorenzo, where’s the pardon? ’sfoot, I’ll peach else. [Aside. Lor. Peace, Lazarotto, I’ll get it of the king. [Aside. Laz. Do it quickly then, or I’ll spread villainy. [Aside. Lor. My lord, he is the most notorious rogue, That ever breath’d, [In his ear. King. Away with him. Lor. Your highness may do well to bar his speech, ’Tis able to infect a virtuous ear. King. Away with him, I will not hear him speak. Laz. My lord Lorenzo is a—— [They stop his mouth, and bear him in. Jer. Is not this a monstrous courtier? Hor. He is the court-toad, father. King. Tribute denied us? ha! And. It is, my liege, and that with no mean words: He will redeem his honour lost with swords. King. So daring! ha! so peremptory! Can you remember the words he spake? And. Word for word, my gracious sovereign, And these they were—thus much—return to Spain: Say, that our settled judgment hath advised us What tribute is, how poor that monarch shows Who for his throne a yearly pension owes; And what our predecessors lost to Spain, We have fresh spirits that can renew it again. King. Ha! so peremptory, daring, stout! And. Then, my liege, According to your gracious dread command, I bad defiance with a vengeful hand. Spain. He entertained it? And. Aye, and returned it with menacing brows; Prince Balthezar his son Grew violent, and wish’d the fight begun.
Enter Lorenzo.
Lor. So, so, I have sent my slave to hell; Though he blab there, the devils will not tell.
A Tucket within.[306]
Spain. How now! what means this trumpet’s sound?
Enter a Messenger.
Mes. My liege, the Portugals Are up in arms, glittering in steel. Spain. Where’s our lord general, Lorenzo, stout Andrea, With whom I rank sprightly Horatio? What! for shame, shall the Portugals Trample the fields before you? Gen. No, my liege, there’s time enough To let out blood enough: tribute shall flow Out of their bowels, and be tendered so. Spain. Farewell, brave lords; my wishes are bequeath’d, A nobler rank of spirits never breath’d. [Exeunt King and Nobles.
Jer. O my sweet boy, heaven shield thee still from care! O, be as fortunate as thou art fair! Hor. And heaven bless you, my father, in this fight, That I may see your grey head crown’d in white! [Exeunt.
Enter Andrea and Bell’-Imperia.
Bel. You came but now, [and] must you part again? You told me that your spirit Should put on peace; but, see, war follows war. And. Nay, sweet love, cease; To be denied our honour: why, ’twere base To breathe and live; and war[307] in such a case Is even as necessary as our blood. Swords are in season then when right’s withstood: Deny us tribute, that so many years We have in peace told out? why, it would raise Spleen in the host of angels! ’twere enough To make our tranquil saints of angry stuff. Bel. You have o’erwrought the chiding of my breast; And by that argument you firmly prove Honour to soar above the pitch of love. Lend me thy loving and thy warlike arm, On which I knit this soft and silken charm, Tied with an amorous knot: O, may it prove Enchanted armour, being charm’d by love; That when it mounts up to thy warlike crest, It may put by the sword, and so be blest. And. O, what divinity proceeds from love! What happier fortune than myself can move!— Hark! the drum beckons me; sweet dear, fare well! This scarf shall be my charm ’gainst foes and hell. Bel. O, let me kiss thee first. And. The drum again! Bel. Hath that more power than I? And. Do’t quickly then: farewell! [Exit Andrea. Bel. Farewell! O cruel part! Andrea’s bosom bears away my heart. [Exit Bell’-Imperia.
Enter Balthezar, Alexandro, Vollupo, Don Pedro, with Soldiers, Drum, and Colours.
Bal. Come, valiant spirits, you peers of Portugal, That owe your lives, your faiths, and services, To set you free from base captivity. O, let our fathers’ scandal ne’er be seen As a base blush upon our free-born cheeks; Let all the tribute that proud Spain received Of those all captive Portugals deceased, Turn into chafe, and choke their insolence. Methinks, no moiety, not one little thought Of them whose servile acts live in their graves, But should raise spleens big as a cannon-bullet Within your bosoms: O, for honour, Your country’s reputation, your lives’ freedom, Indeed your all, that may be termed revenge, Now let your bloods be liberal as the sea; And all those wounds that you receiv[’d] of Spain, Let theirs be equal to quit yours again. Speak, Portugals! are you resolved as I, To live like captives, or as free-born die? Vol. Prince Balthezar, as you say, so say we; To die with honour, scorn captivity. Alex. Why, spoke like true Portugals indeed; I am assured of your forwardness. Now, Spain, sit firm, I’ll make thy towers shake, And all that gold thou hadst from Portugal, Which makes thy court melt in luxuriousness, I vow to have it treble at thy hands. Hark, Portugals! I hear their Spanish drum: March on, and meet them; this must be the day, That all they have received they back must pay. [The Portugals march about.
Enter Jeronimo, Andrea, Horatio, Lorenzo, Lord General, Rogero, and Attendants, with Drum and Colours.
Jer. What, are you braving us before we come! We’ll be as shrill as you: strike ’larum, drum. [They sound a flourish on both sides. Bal. Thou inch of Spain! Thou man, from thy hose downward scarce so much! Thou very little longer than thy beard! Speak not such big words; they’ll throw thee down, Little Jeronimo! words greater than thyself! It must not [be]. Jer. And thou long thing of Portugal, why not? Thou, that art full as tall As an English gallows, upper beam and all, Devourer of apparel, thou huge swallower, My hose will scarce make thee a standing collar. What! have I almost quited you? And. Have done, impatient marshal. Bal. Spanish combatants, What! do you set a little pigmy marshal To question with a prince? And. No, prince Balthezar; I have desired him peace, that we might war: What! is the tribute-money tendered yet? Bal. Tribute? ha, ha! What else: Wherefore meet our drums, But to tender and receive the sums Of many a bleeding heart which, ere sun fall, Shall pay dear tribute, even their lives and all. And. Prince Balthezar, I know your valiant spirit; I know your courage to be tried and good, And yet, O prince, be not confirmed in blood: Not that I taste of fear or cowardice, But of religion, piety, and love To many bosoms, that yet firmly move Without disturbed spleens. O, in thy heart Weigh the dear drops of many a purple part, That must be acted on the field’s green stage, Before the evening dews quench the sun’s rage. Let tribute be appeased and so stayed, And let not wonted fealty be denayed To our desertful kingdom. Portugals, Keep your forefathers’ oaths; that virtue craves; Let them not lie foresworn now in their graves, To make their ashes perjured and unjust, For heaven can be revenged on their dust. They swore to Spain, both for themselves and you; And will posterity prove their sires untrue? This should not be ’mong men of virtuous sp’rit: Pay tribute thou, and receive peace and writ. Bal. O virtuous coward! Hor. O ignoble spirit! To term him coward for his virtuous merit! And. Coward! nay, then, relentless rib of steel, What virtue cannot, thou shalt make him feel. Lor. Proud Alexandro, thou art mine. Alex. Agreed. Rog. And thou, Vollupo, mine. Vol. I’ll make thee bleed. Hor. And thou, Don Pedro, mine. Don Ped. I care not whose; or thine, or thine, or all at once. Bal. I bind thee, Don Andrea, by thy honour, Thy valiancy, and all that thou hold’st great, To meet me single in the battle’s heat; Where I’ll set down, in characters on thy flesh, Four precious lines, spoke by our father’s mouth, When first thou cam’st embassador; these they are: ’Tis said we shall not answer, at next birth, Our fathers’ faults in heaven, why then on earth? Which proves and shows, That what they lost by base captivity, We may redeem with wonted valiancy: And to this crimson end our colours spread; Our courages are new-born, our valours bred Therefore, Andrea, as thou tenderest fame, Wars, reputation, and a soldier’s name, Meet me. And. I will. Bal. Single me out. And. I shall. Alex. Do you the like. Lor. And you all, and we. And. Can we be foes, and all so well agreed? Bal. Why, man, in war there’s bleeding amity; And he this day gives me the deepest wound, I’ll call him brother. And. Then, prince, call me so; To gain that name, I’ll give the deepest blow. Jer. Nay. then, if brotherhood by strokes come due, I hope, boy, thou wilt gain a brother too. Hor. Father, doubt it not. And. Lord general, Breathe, like your name, a general defiance ’Gainst Portugal. Gen. Defiance to the Portugals! Bal. The like Breathe our lord general against the Spaniards. Gen. Defiance to the Spaniards! And. Now cease, words: I long to hear the music of clashed swords. Bal. Why, thou shalt hear it presently. [They offer to fight. And. Quickly then. Bal. Why now. Gen. O stay, my lords, This will but breed a mutiny in the camp. Bal. I am all fire, Andrea. And. Art thou? good: Why, then, I’ll quench thee, prince, with thine own blood. Bal. Adieu! And. Adieu! Bal. Let’s meet. And. ’Tis meet we did. [Exeunt Portugals. Lor. Alexandro. Alex. Lorenzo. Rog. Vollupo. Vol. Rogero. Hor. Don Pedro. Don Ped. Horatio. Jer. Aye, aye, Don Pedro, my boy shall meet thee. Come, valiant spirits of Spain; Valiant Andrea, fortunate Lorenzo, Worthy Rogero, sprightly Horatio; O, let me dwell a little on that name! Be all as fortunate as heaven’s bless’d host, But, blame me not, I’d have Horatio most; Ride all conquerors, when the fight is done, Especially ride thee home so, my son. So now kiss and embrace. Come, come, I am war’s tutor: strike alarum, drum. [Exeunt. [After a long alarum, the Portugals and Spaniards meet. The Portugals are put to the worst.
Enter Jeronimo solus.
Jer. O valiant boy! struck with a giant’s arm; His sword so falls upon the Portugals, As he[308] would slice them out like oranges, And squeeze their bloods out; O abundant joy! Never had father a more happier boy. [Exit Jeronimo.
Enter Balthezar and a Soldier.
Bal. Can you not find Don Andrea forth? O, for a voice shriller than all the trumpets, To pierce Andrea’s ears through the hot army! Go, search again; bring him, or ne’er return. [Exit Soldier. Valiant Andrea, by thy worthy blood, Thy honoured faith, which thou pawn’st to mine, By all that thou hold’st dear upon this earth, Sweat now to find me in the height of blood! Now death doth heap his goods up all at once, And crams his storehouse to the top with blood; Might I now and Andrea in one fight Make up thy wardrobe richer by a knight!
Enter Rogero.
Rog. Ha, Vollupo! Bal. No; but a better. Rog. Pox on ’t. Bal. Pies on ’t! What luck is this? But, sir, you part not so; Whate’er you be, I’ll have a bout with you. Rog. Content; this is joy mixed with spite, To miss a lord, and meet a prince in fight. Bal. Come, meet me, sir. Rog. Just half-way; I’ll meet it with my sword. [They fight. Balthezar beats in Rogero.
Enter Andrea with a Captain.
And. Where might I find this valorous Balthezar, This fierce, courageous prince; a noble worthy, Made of the ribs of Mars and fortitude? He promised to meet fair, and single me Out o’ the misty battle. Did you search The left wing for him? speak. Capt. We did, my lord. And. And could he not be found? Capt. Not in that wing, my lord. And. Why, this would vex the resolution Of a suffering spleen! Prince Balthezar! Portugal’s valiant heir! The glory of our foe, the heart of courage, The very soul of true nobility, I call thee by thy right name, answer me! Go, captain, pass the left wing squadron; hie! Mingle yourself again amidst the army; Pray, sweat to find him out.— [Exit Captain. This place I’ll keep; Now wounds are wide, and blood is very deep. ’Tis now about the heavy tread[309] of battle, Soldiers drop down as thick, as if death mowed them; As scythe-men trim the long-haired ruffian fields, So fast they fall, so fast to fate life yields.
Enter Balthezar.
Bal. I have sweat much, and cannot find him—Andrea! And. Prince Balthezar! O lucky minute! Bal. O long-wished-for hour! Are you remembered, Don, Of a daring message and a proud attempt? You braved me, Don, within my father’s court! And. I think I did. Bal. This sword shall lash you for it. And. Alas! War knows I am too proud a scholar grown Now to be lashed with steel; had I not known My strength and courage, it had been easy then To have me borne upon the backs of men. But now I’m sorry, prince, you come too late; That were proud steel, i’ faith, that should do that. Bal. I can hold no longer! Come, let’s see which of our strengths is stronger. And. Mine, for a wager. Bal. Thine! what wager, say? And. I hold three wounds to one. Bal. Content, I lay; but you shall keep stakes then. And. Nay, I’ll trust you. For you’re a prince; I know you’ll pay your due. Bal. I’ll pay you soundly. And. Prince, you might have paid Tribute as well, then battles had been stay’d. Bal. Here’s tribute for you. And. I’ll receive it of you, And give you acquittance with a wound or two. [They fight. Balthezar hath Andrea down.
Enter Jeronimo and Horatio. Horatio beats away Balthezar.
And. Thou art a wondrous friend, a happy spirit; I owe thee now my life. Couldst thou inherit Within my bosom, all I have is thine, For by this act I hold thy arm divine. Hor. Are you not wounded? let me search and see. And. No, my dear self! for I was blest by thee. Else his unpitying sword had cleft my heart, Had not Horatio played some angel’s part. Come, happy mortal, let me rank by thee, Then am I sure no star will threaten me. Hor. Let’s to the battle once more; we may meet This haughty prince, and wound him at our feet. [Exeunt.
Enter Rogero and Alexandro in their Shirts, with Poleaxes.[310]
Rog. Art thou true valiant? hast thou no coat of proof Girt to thy loins? art thou true loyal? Alex. Why, look; Witness the naked truth upon my breast. Come, let’s meet, let’s meet, And break our haughty skulls down to our feet. [They fight. Alexandro beats in Rogero.
Enter Lorenzo and Don Pedro at one Door, and Alexandro and Rogero at another Door. Lorenzo kills Don Pedro, and Alexandro kills Rogero. Enter at one Door Andrea, at another Door Balthezar.
And. O me ill-sted! valiant Rogero slain! Bal. O my sad fates! Don Pedro weltering in his gore! O, could I meet Andrea, now my blood’s A-tiptoe, this hand and sword should melt him: Valiant Don Pedro! And. Worthy Rogero, sure ’twas multitudes, That made thee stoop to death; one Portugal Could ne’er o’erwhelm thee in such crimson streams, And no mean blood shall quit it, Balthezar, Prince Balthezar! Bal. Andrea, we meet in blood now. And. Aye, in valiant blood of Don Rogero’s shedding, And each drop is worth a thousand Portugals. Bal. I’ll top thy head for that ambitious word. And. You cannot, prince: see a revengeful sword Waves o’er my head. Bal. Another over mine; Let them both meet, in crimson tinctures shine. [They fight; and Andrea hath Balthezar down.
Enter Portugals, and relieve Balthezar, and kill Andrea.
And. O, I am slain! help me, Horatio! My foes are base, and slay me cowardly. Farewell, dear, dearest Bell’-Imperia! Yet herein joy is mingled with sad breath: I keep her favour longer than my breath. [He dies. Sound alarum. Andrea slain, and Prince Balthezar vaunting on him.
Enter Jeronimo, Horatio, and Lord General.
Hor. My other soul, my bosom, my heart’s friend, O my Andrea, slain! I[’ll] have the price of him In princely blood. Prince Balthezar, my sword shall strike true strains, And fetch Andrea’s ransom forth thy veins.— Lord General, drive them hence, while I make war. Bal. Hath war made thee so impudent and young? My sword shall give correction to thy tongue. Jer. Correct thy rascals, prince; thou correct him! Lug with him, boy: honours in blood best swim. [They fight, and breathe afresh. Bal. So young and valorous! This arm ne’er met So strong a courage in so green a set. Hor. If thou be’st valiant, cease these idle words, And let revenge hang on our glittering swords, With this proud prince, the haughty Balthezar. [Horatio has Prince Balthezar down; then enter Lorenzo and seizes his weapon.
Hor. Hand off, Lorenzo; touch not my prisoner. Lor. He’s my prisoner; I seized his weapons first. Hor. O base renown! ’Tis easy to seize those whom force laid down.[311] Lor. My lance first threw him from his warlike steed. Jer. Thy lance, Lorenzo! now, by my beard, you lie. Hor. Well, my lord, To you a while I tender my whole prisoner. Lor. Horatio, You tender me part of mine own, you know. Hor. Well, peace; with my blood dispense, Until my liege shall end the difference. Jer. Lorenzo, thou dost boast of base renown; Why, I could whip all these, were their hose down. Hor. Speak, prince, to whether dost thou yield? Bal. The vanquished yields to both, to you [the] first. Hor. O abject prince! what, dost thou yield to two? Jer. Content thee, boy; thou shalt sustain no wrong. I’ll to the king before, and let him know The sum of victory and his overthrow. [Exit Jeronimo.
Lor. Andrea slain! thanks to the stars above. I’ll choose my sister out her second love. [Exeunt Lorenzo and Balthezar. Hor. Come, noble rib of honour, valiant carcase! I loved thee so entirely, when thou breathedst, That I could die, were’t but to bleed with thee, And wish me wounds even for society. Heaven and this arm once say’d thee from thy foe, When his all-wrathful sword did basely point At the rich circle of thy labouring heart, Thou grovelling under indignation Of sword and ruth. O, then stepp’d heaven and I Between the stroke, but now alack must die. Since so the powers above have writ it down In marble leaves, that death is mortal crown, Come then, my friend, in purple I will bear Thee to my private tent, and then prepare An[312] honour’d funeral for thy melting corse. [He takes his scarf and ties it about his arm. This scarf I’ll wear in memory of our souls And of our mutual loves; here, here, I’ll wind it; And full as often as I think on thee, I’ll kiss this little ensign, this soft banner, Smear’d with foes’ blood, all for the master’s honour. Alas! I pity Bell’-Imperia’s eyes, Just at this instant, her heart sinks and dies. [Exit Horatio carrying Andrea on his back.
Enter Jeronimo solus.
Jer. My boy adds treble comfort to my age; His share is greatest in the victory. The Portugals are slain, and put to flight By Spaniards’ force, most by Horatio’s might. I’ll to the Spanish tents to see my son, Give him my blessing, and then all is done.
Enter two dragging of ensigns; then the funeral of Andrea: next Horatio and Lorenzo, leading Prince Balthezar captive; then the Lord General, with others, mourning. A great cry within, Charon, a boat, a boat! Then enter Charon and the ghost of Andrea.
Hor. O my lords, See, Don Andrea’s ghost salutes me! see, embraces me! Lor. It is your love that shapes this apprehension. Hor. Do you not see him plainly, lords? Now he would kiss my cheek: O my pale friend, Wert thou anything but a ghost, I could love thee. See, he points at his own hearse—mark all— As if he did rejoice at funeral. And. Revenge, give tongue[313] freedom to paint her part, To thank Horatio, and commend his heart. Revenge. No, you’ll blab secrets then? And. By Charon’s boat, I will not. Revenge. Nay, you shall not; therefore pass; Secrets in hell are lock’d with doors of brass: Use action if you will, but not in voice, Your friend conceives in signs how you rejoice. Hor. See, see, he points to have us[314] forward on: I pr’ythee, rest; it shall be done, sweet Don. O, now he’s vanished. [Sound Trumpets, and a peal of Ordnance. And. I am a happy ghost; Revenge, my passage now cannot be cross’d. Come, Charon; come, hell’s sculler, waft me o’er Your sable streams, which look like molten pitch; My funeral rites are made, my hearse hung rich. [Exeunt Ghost and Revenge. A great noise within. Within. Charon, a boat! Charon, Charon! Charon. Who calls so loud on Charon? Indeed ’tis such a time, the truth to tell, I never want a fare to pass to hell. [Exeunt.
Sound a Flourish. Enter marching Horatio and Lorenzo, leading Prince Balthezar; Lord General, Villuppo, and Cassimero, with followers.
Hor. These honoured rites and worthy duties spent Upon the funeral of Andrea’s dust— Those once his valiant ashes: march we now Homeward with victory to crown Spain’s brow. Gen. The day is ours, and joy yields happy treasure; Set on to Spain in most triumphant measure. [Exeunt.
Enter Jeronimo solus.
Jer. Fore God! I have just miss’d them.—Ha! Soft, Jeronimo! thou hast more friends To take thy leave of; look well about thee, Embrace them, and take friendly leave. My arms are of the shortest; Let your loves piece them out. You’re welcome all, as I am a gentleman: For my son’s sake, grant me a man at least— At least I am. So good-night, kind gentles,[315] For I hope there’s never a Jew among you all; And so I leave you. [Exit.
“‘Why. Nero thought it no disparagement, And kings and emperors have tane delight To make experience of their wits in playes.’
“My maintenance, rascals! My bulk, my exhibition!”
“Win her with gifts, if she respects not words; Dumb jewels often in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman’s mind;”
“Your offers must Be full of bounty; velvets to furnish a gown, silks For petticoats and foreparts, shag for lining; Forget not some pretty jewel to fasten, after Some little compliment! If she deny this courtesy, Double your bounties; be not wanting in abundance: Fulness of gifts, link’d with a pleasing tongue, Will win an anchorite.”
“Where every seeming good’s A certain evil; where not to be even jump As they are here were to be strangers, and Such things to be mere monsters.”
“Myself the while will draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump where he may Cassio find.”
“Then let the trumpets sound The tucket-sonance, and the note to mount.”
END OF VOL. IV.