Act 4 — [Scene IV.][881]

King. Now, Viceroy, shall we see the tragedy Of Soliman, the Turkish emperor, Perform’d of pleasure by your son the prince, My nephew Don Lorenzo, and my niece.4 Vic. Who? Bel-imperia? King. Ay, and Hieronimo, our marshal, At whose request they deign to do ’t themselves. These be our pastimes in the court of Spain. Here, brother, you shall be the bookkeeper: This is the argument of that they show. He giveth him a book.

Bal. Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours, yield heavens the honour, And holy Mahomet, our sacred prophet!15 And be thou grac’d with every excellence That Soliman can give, or thou desire. But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is less Than in reserving this fair Christian nymph, Perseda, blissful lamp of excellence,20 Whose eyes compel, like powerful adamant, The warlike heart of Soliman to wait. King. See, Viceroy, that is Balthazar, your son, That represents the emperor Soliman: How well he acts his amorous passion!25 Vic. Ay, Bel-imperia hath taught him that. Cast. That’s because his mind runs all on Bel-imperia. Hier. Whatever joy earth yields, betide your majesty. Bal. Earth yields no joy without Perseda’s love. Hier. Let then Perseda on your grace attend.30 Bal. She shall not wait on me, but I on her: Drawn by the influence of her lights, I yield. But let my friend, the Rhodian knight, come forth. Erasto, dearer than my life to me, That he may see Perseda, my belov’d.35

King. Here comes Lorenzo: look upon the plot, And tell me, brother, what part plays he? Bel. Ah, my Erasto, welcome to Perseda. Lor. Thrice happy is Erasto that thou liv’st; Rhodes’ loss is nothing to Erasto’s joy;40 Sith his Perseda lives, his life survives. Bal. Ah, bashaw, here is love between Erasto And fair Perseda, sovereign of my soul. Hier. Remove Erasto, mighty Soliman, And then Perseda will be quickly won.45 Bal. Erasto is my friend; and while he lives, Perseda never will remove her love. Hier. Let not Erasto live to grieve great Soliman. Bal. Dear is Erasto in our princely eye. Hier. But if he be your rival, let him die.50 Bal. Why, let him die!—so love commandeth me. Yet grieve I that Erasto should so die. Hier. Erasto, Soliman saluleth thee, And lets thee wit by me his highness’ will, Which is, thou shouldst be thus employ’d. Stabs him. Bel. Ay me! Erasto! See, Soliman, Erasto’s slain!56 Bal. Yet liveth Soliman to comfort thee. Fair queen of beauty, let not favour die, But with a gracious eye behold his grief That with Perseda’s beauty is increas’d,60 If by Perseda his grief be not releas’d. Bel. Tyrant, desist soliciting vain suits; Relentless are mine ears to thy laments, As thy butcher is pitiless and base, Which seiz’d on my Erasto, harmless knight.65 Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command, And to thy power Perseda doth obey; But, were she able, thus she would revenge Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince: Stabs him. And on herself she would be thus reveng’d.70 Stabs herself. King. Well said!—Old marshal, this was bravely done! Hier. But Bel-imperia plays Perseda well! Vic. Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia, You would be better to my son than so.74 King. But now what follows for Hieronimo? Hier. Marry, this follows for Hieronimo: Here break we off our sundry languages, And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue. Haply you think—but bootless are your thoughts— That this is fabulously counterfeit,80 And that we do as all tragedians do,— To die to-day, for fashioning our scene, The death of Ajax or some Roman peer, And in a minute starting up again, Revive to please to-morrow’s audience.85 No, princes; know I am Hieronimo, The hopeless father of a hapless son, Whose tongue is tun’d to tell his latest tale, Not to excuse gross errors in the play.89 I see, your looks urge instance of these words; Behold the reason urging me to this! Shows his dead son. See here my show, look on this spectacle! Here lay my hope, and here my hope hath end; Here lay my heart, and here my heart was slain; Here lay my treasure, here my treasure lost;95 Here lay my bliss, and here my bliss bereft: But hope, heart, treasure, joy, and bliss, All fled, fail’d, died, yea, all decay’d with this. From forth these wounds came breath that gave me life; They murd’red me that made these fatal marks.100 The cause was love, whence grew this mortal hate; The hate, Lorenzo and young Balthazar; The love, my son to Bel-imperia. But night, the coverer of accursed crimes, With pitchy silence hush’d these traitors’ harms,105 And lent them leave, for they had sorted[883] leisure To take advantage in my garden-plot Upon my son, my dear Horatio. There merciless they butcher’d up my boy,109 In black, dark night, to pale, dim, cruel death. He shrieks: I heard—and yet, methinks, I hear— His dismal outcry echo in the air. With soonest speed I hasted to the noise, Where hanging on a tree I found my son, Through-girt[884] with wounds, and slaught’red as you see.115 And griev’d I, think you, at this spectacle? Speak, Portuguese, whose loss resembles mine: If thou canst weep upon thy Balthazar, ’T is like I wail’d for my Horatio. And you, my lord, whose reconciled son120 March’d in a net, and thought himself unseen, And rated me for brainsick lunacy, With “God amend that mad Hieronimo!”— How can you brook our play’s catastrophe? And here behold this bloody handkercher,125 Which at Horatio’s death I weeping dipp’d Within the river of his bleeding wounds: It as propitious, see, I have reserved, And never hath it left my bloody heart, Soliciting remembrance of my vow130 With these, O, these accursed murderers: Which now perform’d, my heart is satisfied. And to this end the bashaw I became That might revenge me on Lorenzo’s life, Who therefore was appointed to the part,135 And was to represent the knight of Rhodes, That I might kill him more conveniently. So, Viceroy, was this Balthazar, thy son, That Soliman which Bel-imperia, In person of Perseda, murdered;140 Solely appointed to that tragic part That she might slay him that offended her. Poor Bel-imperia miss’d her part in this: For though the story saith she should have died, Yet I of kindness, and of care to her,145 Did otherwise determine of her end; But love of him whom they did hate too much Did urge her resolution to be such. And, princes, now behold Hieronimo, Author and actor in this tragedy,150 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; Urge no more words: I have no more to say.155 He runs to hang himself. King. O hearken, Viceroy! Hold, Hieronimo! Brother, my nephew and thy son are slain! Vic. We are betray’d; my Balthazar is slain! Break ope the doors; run, save Hieronimo. They break in and hold Hieronimo. Hieronimo, do but inform the king of these events;160 Upon mine honour, thou shalt have no harm. Hier. Viceroy, I will not trust thee with my life, Which I this day have offered to my son. Accursed wretch!164 Why stay’st thou him that was resolv’d to die? King. Speak, traitor! damned, bloody murderer, speak! For now I have thee, I will make thee speak. Why hast thou done this undeserving deed? Vic. Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar? Cast. Why hast thou butchered both my children thus?170 Hier. O, good words! As dear to me was my Horatio As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you. My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain, And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar175 Am I at last revenged thoroughly, Upon whose souls may heavens be yet aveng’d With greater far than these afflictions. Cast. But who were thy confederates in this? Vic. That was thy daughter Bel-imperia;180 For by her hand my Balthazar was slain: I saw her stab him. King. Why speak’st thou not? Hier. What lesser liberty can kings afford Than harmless silence? Then afford it me. Sufficeth, I may not, nor I will not tell thee.185 King. Fetch forth the tortures: traitor as thou art, I’ll make thee tell. Hier. Indeed, Thou may’st torment me as his wretched son Hath done in murd’ring my Horatio; But never shalt thou force me to reveal190 The thing which I have vow’d inviolate. And therefore, in despite of all thy threats, Pleas’d with their deaths, and eas’d with their revenge, First take my tongue, and afterwards my heart. He bites out his tongue. [[885]Hier. But are you sure they are dead? Cast. Ay, slave,[886] too sure. Hier. What, and yours too?195 Vic. Ay, all are dead: not one of them survive. Hier. Nay, then I care not; come, and we shall be friends: Let us lay our heads together: See, here’s a goodly noose wilt hold them all.200 Vic. O damned devil, how secure[887] he is! Hier. Secure? Why, dost thou wonder at it? I tell thee, Viceroy, this day I have seen revenge, And in that sight am grown a prouder monarch, Than ever sat under the crown of Spain.205 Had I as many lives as there be stars, As many heavens to go to, as those lives, I’d give them all, ay, and my soul to boot, But I would see thee ride in this red pool. Cast. But who were thy confederates in this?210 Vic. That was thy daughter Bel-imperia; For by her hand my Balthazar was slain: I saw her stab him. Hier. O, good words! As dear to me was my Horatio,215 As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you. My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain, And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar Am I at last revenged thoroughly, Upon whose souls may heavens be yet avenged220 With greater far than these afflictions. Methinks, since I grew inward with revenge, I cannot look with scorn enough on death. King. What, dost thou mock us, slave?—Bring tortures forth.224 Hier. Do, do, do: and meantime I’ll torture you. You had a son, as I take it; and your son Should ha’ been married to your daughter: Ha, was it not so?—You had a son too, He was my liege’s nephew: he was proud And politic; had he liv’d, he might ha’ come230 To wear the crown of Spain, I think ’t was so:— ’T was I that kill’d him: look you, this same hand. ’T was it that stabb’d his heart—do ye see? this hand— For one Horatio, if you ever knew him: a youth, One that they hang’d up in his father’s garden:235 One that did force your valiant son to yield, While your more valiant son did take him prisoner. Vic. Be deaf, my senses: I can hear no more. King. Fall, heaven, and cover us with thy sad ruins.239 Cast. Roll all the world within thy pitchy cloud. Hier. Now do I applaud what I have acted. Nunc iners cadat[888] manus! Now to express the rupture of my part,— First take my tongue, and afterward my heart.] King. O monstrous resolution of a wretch!245 See, Viceroy, he hath bitten forth his tongue, Rather than to reveal what we requir’d. Cast. Yet can he write. King. And if in this he satisfy us not, We will devise th’ extremest kind of death250 That ever was invented for a wretch. Then he makes signs for a knife to mend his pen. Cast. O, he would have a knife to mend his pen. Vic. Here, and advise thee that thou write the troth.— Look to my brother! save Hieronimo! He with a knife stabs the Duke and himself. King. What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds?255 My brother, and the whole succeeding hope That Spain expected after my decease! Go, bear his body hence, that we may mourn The loss of our beloved brother’s death, That he may be entomb’d whate’er befall.260 I am the next, the nearest, last of all. Vic. And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for us: Take up our hapless son, untimely slain; Set me with him, and he with woeful me, Upon the main-mast of a ship unmann’d,265 And let the wind and tide haul me along To Scylla’s barking and untamed gulf, Or to the loathsome pool of Acheron, To weep my want for my sweet Balthazar: Spain hath no refuge for a Portingale.270 The trumpets sound a dead march; the King of Spain mourning after his brother’s body, and the King of Portingal bearing the body of his son.

Ghost. Ay, now my hopes have end in their effects, When blood and sorrow finish my desires: Horatio murdered in his father’s bower; Vild Serberine by Pedringano slain; False Pedringano hang’d by quaint device;5 Fair Isabella by herself misdone; Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabb’d; The Duke of Castile and his wicked son Both done to death by old Hieronimo; My Bel-imperia fall’n as Dido fell,10 And good Hieronimo slain by himself: Ay, these were spectacles to please my soul! Now will I beg at lovely Proserpine That, by the virtue of her princely doom, I may consort[889] my friends in pleasing sort,15 And on my foes work just and sharp revenge. I’ll lead my friend Horatio through those fields, Where never-dying wars are still inur’d;[890] I’ll lead fair Isabella to that train, Where pity weeps, but never feeleth pain;20 I’ll lead my Bel-imperia to those joys, That vestal virgins and fair queens possess; I’ll lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plays, Adding sweet pleasure to eternal days.24 But say, Revenge, for thou must help, or none, Against the rest how shall my hate be shown? Rev. This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell, Where none but Furies, bugs,[891] and tortures dwell. Ghost. Then, sweet Revenge, do this at my request: Let me be judge, and doom them to unrest.30 Let loose poor Tityus from the vulture’s gripe, And let Don Cyprian supply his room; Place Don Lorenzo on Ixion’s wheel, And let the lover’s endless pains surcease34 (Juno forgets old wrath, and grants him ease); Hang Balthazar about Chimaera’s neck, And let him there bewail his bloody love, Repining at our joys that are above; Let Serberine go roll the fatal stone, And take from Sisyphus his endless moan;40 False Pedringano, for his treachery, Let him be dragg’d through boiling Acheron, And there live, dying still in endless flames, Blaspheming gods and all their holy names. Rev. Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes:45 To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes; For here though death hath end their misery, I’ll there begin their endless tragedy. Exeunt.