Balthazar. And I shall study to deserve this grace.
King. But tell me, for their holding makes me doubt,
To which of these twain art thou prisoner?
Lorenzo. To me, my liege.
Horatio. To me, my sovereign.
Lorenzo. This hand first took his courser by the reins.
Horatio. But first my lance did put him from his horse.
Lorenzo. I seized his weapon and enjoyed it first.
Horatio. But first I forced him lay his weapons down.
160 King. let go his arm upon our privilege.
Let him go.
Say worthy prince, to whether didst thou yield?
Balthazar. To him in courtesy, to this perforce;
He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes;
He promised life, this other threatened death;
He won my love, this other conquered me;
And truth to say, I yield myself to both.
Hieronimo. But that I know your grace for just and wise,
And might seem partial in this difference,
Enforced by nature and by law of arms,
170 My tongue should plead for young Horatio’s right.
He hunted well that was a lion’s death.
Not he that in a garment wore his skin:
So hares may pull dead lions by the beard.
King. Content thee marshal, thou shalt have no wrong,
And for thy sake thy son shall want no right.
Will both abide the censure of my doom?
Lorenzo. I crave no better than your grace awards.
Horatio. Nor I, although I sit beside my right.
King. Then by my judgement thus your strife shall end,
180 You both deserve and both shall have reward.
Nephew, thou took’st his weapon and his horse,
His weapons and his horse are thy reward.
Horatio, thou didst force him first to yield.
His ransom therefore is thy valour’s fee:
Appoint the sum as you shall both agree.
But nephew, thou shalt have the prince in guard,
For thine estate befitteth such a guest.
Horatio’s house were small for all his train,
Yet in regard thy substance passeth his,
190 And that just guerdon may befall desert,
To him we yield the armour of the prince.
How likes Don Balthazar of this device?
Balthazar. Right well my liege, if this proviso were,
That Don Horatio bear us company,
Whom I admire and love for chivalry.
King. Horatio, leave him not that loves thee so.
Now let us hence to see our soldiers paid,
And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest.
Exeunt.
[Act 1
Scene 3]
Enter Viceroy, Alexandro, Villuppo.
Viceroy. Is our ambassador dispatched for Spain?
Alexandro. Two days, my liege, are past since his depart.
Viceroy. And tribute payment gone along with him?
Alexandro. Ay, my good lord.
Viceroy. Then rest we here a while in our unrest,
And feed our sorrows with some inward sighs,
For deepest cares break never into tears.
But wherefore sit I in a regal throne?
This better fits a wretch’s endless moan.
10 Yet this is higher than my fortunes reach,
And therefore better than my state deserves.
Falls to the ground.
Ay, ay, this earth, image of melancholy,
Seeks him whom fates adjudge to misery:
Here let me lie, now am I at the lowest,
Qui jacet in terra, non habet unde cadat.
In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo,
Nil superest ut jam possit obesse magis.
Yes, Fortune may bereave me of my crown:
Here take it now; let Fortune do her worst,
20 She will not rob me of this sable weed.
O no, she envies none but pleasant things,
Such is the folly of despiteful chance.
Fortune is blind and sees not my deserts,
So is she deaf and hears not my laments;
And could she hear, yet is she wilful mad,
And therefore will not pity my distress.
Suppose that she could pity me, what then?
What help can be expected at her hands,
Whose foot standing on a rolling stone,
30 And mind more mutable than fickle winds?
Why wail I then where’s hope of no redress?
O yes, complaining makes my grief seem less.
My late ambition hath distained my faith,
My breach of faith occasioned bloody wars,
Those bloody wars have spent my treasure,
And with my treasure my people’s blood,
And with their blood, my joy and best beloved,
My best beloved, my sweet and only son.
O wherefore went I not to war myself?
40 The cause was mine, I might have died for both:
My years were mellow, his but young and green,
My death were natural, but his was forced.
Alexandro. No doubt my liege, but still the prince survives.
Viceroy. Survives? Ay where?
Alexandro. In Spain, a prisoner by mischance of war.
Viceroy. Then have they slain him for his father’s fault.
Alexandro. That were a breach to common law of arms.
Viceroy. They reck no laws that meditate revenge.
Alexandro. His ransom’s worth will stay from foul revenge.
50 Viceroy. No, if he lived, the news would soon be here.
Alexandro. Nay, evil news fly faster still than good.
Viceroy. Tell me no more of news, for he is dead.
Villuppo. My sovereign, pardon the author of ill news,
And I’ll bewray the fortune of thy son.
Viceroy. Speak on, I’ll guerdon thee whate’er it be,
Mine ear is ready to receive ill news,
My heart grows hard ’gainst mischief’s battery.
Stand up I say and tell thy tale at large.
Villuppo. Then hear that truth which these mine eyes have seen.
60 When both the armies were in battle joined,
Don Balthazar, amidst the thickest troops,
To win renown did wondrous feats of arms:
Amongst the rest I saw him hand to hand
In single fight with their lord general.
Till Alexandro that here counterfeits
Under the colour of a duteous friend,
Discharged his pistol at the prince’s back,
As though he would have slain their general.
But therewithal Don Balthazar fell down:
70 And when he fell then we began to fly,
But had he lived the day had sure been ours.
Alexandro. O wicked forgery! O traitorous miscreant!
Viceroy. Hold thou thy peace! But now Villuppo say,
Where then became the carcass of my son?
Villuppo. I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.
Viceroy. Ay, ay, my nightly dreams have told me this:
Thou false, unkind, unthankful, traitorous beast,
Wherein had Balthazar offended thee,
That thou shouldst thus betray him to our foes?
80 Was’t Spanish gold that bleared so thine eyes,
That thou could’st see no part of our deserts?
Perchance because thou art Terceira’s lord,
Thou hadst some hope to wear this diadem,
If first my son and then myself were slain:
But thy ambitious thought shall break thy neck.
Ay, this was it that made thee spill his blood
Take the crown and put it on again.
But I’ll now wear it till thy blood be spilt.
&nb
sp; Alexandro. Vouchsafe, dread sovereign, to hear me speak.
Viceroy. Away with him, his sight is second hell.
[Exit Alexandro.]
90 Keep him till we determine of his death;
If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live.
Villuppo, follow us for thy reward. Exit Viceroy.
Villuppo. Thus have I with an envious, forged tale
Deceived the king, betrayed mine enemy,
And hope for guerdon of my villainy. Exit.
[Act 1
Scene 4]
Enter Horatio and Bel-imperia.
Bel-imperia. Signior Horatio, this is the place and hour,
Wherein I must entreat thee to relate
The circumstances of Don Andrea’s death,
Who, living, was my garland’s sweetest flower,
And in his death hath buried my delights.
Horatio. For love of him and service to yourself,
I nill refuse this heavy doleful charge,
Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me.
When both our armies were enjoined in fight,
10 Your worthy chevalier amidst the thick’st,
For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest,
Was at the last by young Don Balthazar
Encountered hand to hand: their fight was long,
Their hearts were great, their clamours menacing,
Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous.
But wrathful Nemesis that wicked power,
Envying at Andrea’s praise and worth,
Cut short his life to end his praise and worth.
She, she herself disguised in armour’s mask,
20 (As Pallas was before proud Pergamus)
Brought in a fresh supply of halberdiers,
Which pauncht his horse and dinged him to the ground.
Then young Don Balthazar with ruthless rage,
Taking advantage of his foe’s distress,
Did finish what his halberdiers begun,
And left not till Andrea’s life was done.
Then, though too late, incensed with just remorse,
I with my band set forth against the prince,
And brought him prisoner from his halberdiers.
30 Bel-imperia. Would thou had slain him that so slew my love.
But then was Don Andrea’s carcass lost?
Horatio. No, that was it for which I chiefly strove,
Nor stepped I back till I recovered him.
I took him up and wound him in mine arms,
And welding him unto my private tent,
There laid him down and dewed him with my tears,
And sighed and sorrowed as became a friend.
But neither friendly sorrow, sighs nor tears,
Could win pale death from his usurped right.
40 Yet this I did, and less I could not do:
I saw him honoured with due funeral.
This scarf I plucked from off his lifeless arm,
And wear it in remembrance of my friend.
Bel-imperia. I know the scarf, would he had kept it still.
For had he lived he would have kept it still,
And worn it for his Bel-imperia’s sake:
For ’twas my favour at his last depart.
But now wear thou it both for him and me,
For after him thou hast deserved it best.
50 But for thy kindness in his life and death,
Be sure while Bel-imperia’s life endures,
She will be Don Horatio’s thankful friend.
Horatio. And, madam, Don Horatio will not slack,
Humbly to serve fair Bel-imperia.
But now if your good liking stand thereto,
I’ll crave your pardon to go seek the prince,
For so the duke your father gave me charge. Exit.
Bel-imperia. Ay, go Horatio, leave me here alone.
For solitude best fits my cheerless mood.
60 Yet what avails to wail Andrea’s death,
From whence Horatio proves my second love?
Had he not loved Andrea as he did,
He could not sit in Bel-imperia’s thoughts.
But how can love find harbour in my breast,
Till I revenge the death of my beloved?
Yes, second love shall further my revenge.
I’ll love Horatio, my Andrea’s friend,
The more to spite the prince that wrought his end.
And where Don Balthazar that slew my love,
70 Himself now pleads for favour at my hands,
He shall in rigour of my just disdain,
Reap long repentance for his murderous deed:
For what was’t else but murderous cowardice,
So many to oppress one valiant knight.
Without respect of honour in the fight?
And here he comes that murdered my delight.
Enter lorenzo and Balthazar.
Lorenzo. Sister, what means this melancholy walk?
Bel-imperia. That for a while I wish no company.
Lorenzo. But here the prince is come to visit you.
80 Bel-imperia. That argues that he lives in liberty.
Balthazar. No madam, but in pleasing servitude.
Bel-imperia. Your prison then belike is your conceit.
Balthazar. Ay, by conceit my freedom is enthralled.
Bel-imperia. Then with conceit enlarge yourself again.
Balthazar. What if conceit have laid my heart to gage?
Bel-imperia. Pray that you borrowed and recover it.
Balthazar. I die if it return from whence it lies.
Bel-imperia. A heartless man, and live? A miracle!
Balthazar. Ay, lady, love can work such miracles.
90 Lorenzo. Tush, tush, my lord, let go these ambages,
And in plain terms acquaint her with your love.
Bel-imperia. What boots complaint, when there’s no remedy?
Balthazar. Yes, to your gracious self must I complain,
In whose fair answer lies my remedy,
On whose perfection all my thoughts attend,
On whose aspect mine eyes find beauty’s bower,
In whose translucent breast my heart is lodged.
Bel-imperia. Alas my lord, these are but words of course,
And but devise to drive me from this place.
She in going in lets fall her glove, which Horatio coming out takes up.
100 Horatio. Madam: your glove.
Bel-imperia. Thanks good Horatio, take it for thy pains.
Balthazar. Signior Horatio stooped in happy time.
Horatio. I reaped more grace than I deserved or hoped.
Lorenzo. My lord, be not dismayed for what is past,
You know that women oft are humorous.
These clouds will overblow with little wind.
Let me alone, I’ll scatter them myself.
Meanwhile let us devise to spend the time
In some delightful sports and revelling.
110 Horatio. The king, my lords, is coming hither straight,
To feast the Portingale ambassador.
Things were in readiness before I came.
Balthazar. Then here it fits us to attend the king,
To welcome hither our ambassador,
And learn my father and my country’s health.
Enter the banquet, trumpets, the King and Ambassador.
King. See lord ambassador, how Spain entreats
Their prisoner Balthazar, thy viceroy’s son:
We pleasure more in kindness than in wars.
Ambassador. Sad is our king, and Portingale laments,
120 Supposing that Don Balthazar is slain.
Balthazar. So am I slain by beauty’s tyranny.
You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slain.
I frolic with the duke of Castile’s son,
Rapt every hour in pleasures of the court,
And graced with favours of his majesty.
King. Put off your greetings till our feast be done.
Now, come and sit with us and taste our cheer.
Sit to the banquet.
Sit down, young prince, you are our second guest;
Brother, sit down, and nephew take your place,
130 Signior Horatio, wait thou upon our cup,
For well thou hast deserved to be honoured.
Now lordings, fall to: Spain is Portugal,
And Portugal is Spain; we both are friends,
Tribute is paid, and we enjoy our right.
But where is old Hieronimo our marshal?
He promised us in honour of our guest,
To grace our banquet with some pompous jest.
Enter Hieronimo with a drum, three knights, each his scutcheon, then he fetches three kings, they take their crowns and them captive.
Hieronimo, this masque contents mine eye,
Although I sound not well the mystery.
140 Hieronimo. The first armed knight that hung his scutcheon up,
He takes the scutcheon and gives it to the King.
Was English Robert, earl of Gloucester,
Who when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,
Arrived with five and twenty thousand men,
In Portingale, and by success of war,
Enforced the king, then but a Saracen,
To bear the yoke of the English monarchy.
King. My lord of Portingale, by this you see
That which may comfort both your king and you,
And make your late comfort seem the less.
150 But say Hieronimo, what was the next?
Hieronimo. The second knight that hung his scutcheon up,
He doth as he did before.
Was Edmond, earl of Kent in Albion,
When English Richard wore the diadem.
He came likewise and razed lisbon’s walls,
And took the king of Portingale in fight:
For which, and other such like service done,
He after was created duke of York.
King. This is another special argument,
That Portingale may deign to bear our yoke,
160 When it by little England hath been yoked.
But now Hieronimo, what were the last?
Hieronimo. The third and last not least in our account,
Doing as before.
Was as the rest a valiant Englishman:
Brave John of Gaunt, the duke of lancaster,
As by his scutcheon plainly may appear.
He with a puissant army came to Spain,
And took our king of Castile prisoner.
Ambassador. This is an argument for our viceroy
That Spain may not insult for her success,
170 Since English warriors likewise conquered Spain,
And made them bow their knees to Albion.
Five Revenge Tragedies: The Spanish Tragedy, Hamlet, Antonio's Revenge, The Tragedy of Hoffman, The Revenger's Tragedy (Penguin Classics) Page 4
