50 So shalt thou yield, and yet have conquered me.
Bel-imperia. Who’s there Pedringano? We are betrayed!
Enter Lorenzo, Balthazar, Serberine, Pedringano, disguised.
Lorenzo. My lord, away with her, take her aside,
O sir forbear, your valour is already tried.
Quickly: dispatch, my masters.
They hang him in the arbour.
Horatio. What, will you murder me?
Lorenzo. Ay, thus and thus, these are the fruits of love.
They stab him.
Bel-imperia. O save his life and let me die for him,
O save him, brother, save him Balthazar:
I loved Horatio but he loved not me.
60 Balthazar. But Balthazar loves Bel-imperia.
Lorenzo. Although his life were still ambitious proud,
Yet is he at the highest now he is dead.
Bel-imperia. Murder, murder! Help, Hieronimo, help!
Lorenzo. Come, stop her mouth: away with her. Exeunt.
[Act 2
Scene 5]
Enter Hieronimo in his shirt, &c.
Hieronimo. What outcries pluck me from my naked bed,
And chill my throbbing heart with trembling fear,
Which never danger yet could daunt before?
What calls Hieronimo? Speak, here I am:
I did not slumber, therefore ’twas no dream,
No, no, it was some woman cried for help,
And here within this garden did she cry,
And in this garden must I rescue her.
But stay, what murderous spectacle is this?
10 A man hanged up and all the murderers gone,
And in my bower to lay the guilt on me.
This place was made for pleasure not for death.
He cuts him down.
Those garments that he wears I oft have seen,
Alas, it is Horatio, my sweet son!
O no, but he that whilom was my son.
O was it thou that call’st me from my bed?
O speak, if any spark of life remain!
I am thy father, who hath slain my son?
What savage monster, not of human kind
20 Hath here been glutted with thy harmless blood,
And left thy bloody corpse dishonoured here,
For me amidst this dark and dreadful shades,
To drown thee with an ocean of my tears?
O heavens, why made you night to cover sin?
By day this deed of darkness had not been.
O earth, why didst thou not in time devour,
The vile profaner of this sacred bower?
O poor Horatio, what hadst thou misdone?
To lose thy life ere life was new begun.
30 O wicked butcher, whatsoe’er thou wert,
How could thou strangle virtue and desert?
Ay me, most wretched, that have lost my joy,
In losing my Horatio my sweet boy.
Enter Isabella.
Isabella. My husband’s absence makes my heart to throb.
Hieronimo!
Hieronimo. Here Isabella, help me to lament,
For sighs are stopped, and all my tears are spent.
Isabella. What world of grief: my son Horatio?
O where’s the author of this endless woe?
40 Hieronimo. To know the author were some ease of grief,
For in revenge my heart would find relief.
Isabella. Then is he gone? And is my son gone too?
O gush out tears, fountains and floods of tears!
Blow sighs and raise an everlasting storm,
For outrage fits our cursed wretchedness.
Hieronimo. Sweet lovely rose, ill-plucked before thy time,
Fair worthy son, not conquered but betrayed:
I’ll kiss thee now, for words with tears are stained.
Isabella. And I’ll close up the glasses of his sight,
50 For once these eyes were only my delight.
Hieronimo. See’st thou this handkercher besmeared with blood?
It shall not from me till I take revenge.
Seest thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh?
I’ll not entomb them till I have revenged.
Then will I joy amidst my discontent,
Till then my sorrow never shall be spent.
Isabella. The heavens are just, murder cannot be hid;
Time is the author both of truth and right
And time will bring this treachery to light.
60 Hieronimo. Meanwhile good Isabella cease thy plaints,
Or at the least dissemble them awhile.
So shall we sooner find the practice out,
And learn by whom all this was brought about.
Come Isabel now let us take him up.
They take him up.
And bear him in from out this cursed place,
I’ll say his dirge, singing fits not this case.
O aliquis mihi quas pulchrum ver educat herbas
Hieronimo sets his breast unto his sword.
Misceat, et nostro detur, medicina dolori;
Aut, si qui faciunt animis oblivia, succos,
70 Praebeat; ipse metam magnum quaecunque per orbem,
Gramina Sol pulchras effert in luminis oras;
Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni,
Quicquid et herbarum vi caeca nenia nectit.
Omnia perpetiar, lethum quoque, dum semel omnis,
Noster in extincto moriatur pectore sensus
Ergo tuos oculos nunquum mea vita, videbo,
Et tua perpetuus sepelivet lumina somnus?
Emoriar tecum: sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras.
At tamen absistam properato cedere letho,
80 Ne mortem vindicta tuam tum nulla sequatur.
Here he throws it from him and bears the body away.
[Act 2
Scene 6]
Ghost. Brought’st thou me hither to increase my pain?
I looked that Balthazar should have been slain:
But ’tis my friend Horatio that is slain,
And they abuse fair Bel-imperia
On whom I doted more than all the world,
Because she loved me more than all the world.
Revenge. Thou talkest of harvest when the corn is green,
The end is crown of every work well done;
The sickle comes not till the corn be ripe.
10 Be still, and ere I lead thee from this place,
I’ll show thee Balthazar in heavy case.
Act 3
Scene 1
Enter Viceroy of Portingale, Nobles, Villuppo.
Viceroy. Infortunate condition of kings,
Seated amidst so many helpless doubts!
First we are placed upon extremest height,
And oft supplanted with exceeding heat,
But ever subject to the wheel of chance.
And at our highest, never joy we so,
As we both doubt and dread our overthrow.
So striveth not the waves with sundry winds,
As Fortune toileth in the affairs of kings.
10 That would be feared, yet fear to be beloved,
Sith fear or love to kings is flattery.
For instance, lordings, look upon your king,
By hate deprived of his dearest son,
The only hope of our successive line.
[1] Nobleman. I had not thought that Alexandro’s heart
Hath been envenomed with such extreme hate:
But now I see that words have several works,
And there’s no credit in that countenance.
Villuppo. No, for my lord, had you beheld the train
20 That feigned love had coloured in his looks,
When he in camp consorted Balthazar:
Far more inconstant had you thought the sun,
That hourly coasts the centre of the earth,
Than Alexandro’s purpose to the prince.
Viceroy. No more Villuppo, thou hast said enough,
And with thy words thou slayest our wounded thoughts.
Nor shall I longer dally with the world,
Procrastinating Alexandro’s death:
Go some of you and fetch the traitor forth.
30 That as he is condemned he may die.
Enter Alexandro with a Nobleman and halberds.
2 Nobleman. In such extremes will naught but patience serve.
Alexandro. But in extremes, what patience shall I use?
Not discontents it me to leave the world
With whom there nothing can prevail but wrong.
2 Nobleman. Yet hope the best.
Alexandro. ’Tis heaven is my hope,
As for the earth it is too much infect
To yield me hope of any of her mould.
Viceroy. Why linger ye? Bring forth that daring fiend,
And let him die for his accursed deed.
40 Alexandro. Not that I fear the extremity of death,
For nobles cannot stoop to servile fear
Do I, O king, thus discontented live.
But this, O this, torments my labouring soul.
That thus I die suspected of a sin.
Whereof, as heavens have known my secret thoughts,
So am I free from this suggestion.
Viceroy. No more I say, to the tortures! when!
Bind him and burn his body in those flames.
They bind him to the stake.
That shall prefigure those unquenched fires
50 Of Phlegethon prepared for his soul.
Alexandro. My guiltless death will be avenged on thee,
On thee, Villuppo, that hath maliced thus,
Or for thy meed hast falsely me accused.
Villuppo. Nay Alexandro if thou menace me,
I’ll lend a hand to send thee to the lake,
Where those thy words shall perish with thy works,
Injurious traitor, monstrous homicide.
Enter Ambassador.
Ambassador. Stay hold a while and here, with pardon of his majesty,
Lay hands upon Villuppo.
60 Viceroy. Ambassador, what news hath urged this sudden entrance?
Ambassador. Know sovereign lord, that Balthazar doth live!
Viceroy. What sayest thou? Liveth Balthazar our son?
Ambassador. Your highness’ son Lord Balthazar doth live,
And well entreated in the court of Spain,
Humbly commends him to your majesty.
These eyes beheld, and these my followers,
With these the letters of the king’s commends,
Gives him letters.
Are happy witnesses of his highness’ health.
The King looks on the letters and proceeds.
Viceroy. ‘Thy son doth live, thy tribute is received,
70 Thy peace is made, and we are satisfied:
The rest resolve upon as things proposed,
For both our honours and thy benefit.’
Ambassador. These are his highness’ further articles.
He gives him more letters.
Viceroy. Accursed wretch to intimate these ills
Against the life and reputation
Of noble Alexandro. Come my lord, unbind him,
Let him unbind thee that is bound to death,
To make a quittal for thy discontent.
They unbind him.
Alexandro. Dread lord, in kindness you could do no less
80 Upon report of such a damned fact.
But thus we see our innocence hath saved
The hopeless life which thou, Villuppo, sought,
By thy suggestions to have massacred.
Viceroy. Say, false Villuppo? wherefore didst thou thus
Falsely betray Lord Alexandro’s life?
Him whom thou knowest, that no unkindness else
But even the slaughter of our dearest son,
Could once have moved us to have misconceived.
Alexandro. Say, treacherous Villuppo, tell the king,
90 Or wherein hath Alexandro used thee ill?
Villuppo. Rent with remembrance of so foul a deed,
My guilty soul submits me to thy doom:
For not for Alexandro’s injuries,
But for reward and hope to be preferred:
Thus have I shamelessly hazarded his life.
Viceroy. Which, villain, shall be ransomed with thy death,
And not so mean a torment as we here
Devised for him, who thou saidst slew our son:
But with the bitterest torments and extremes,
100 That may be yet invented for thine end.
Alexandro seems to entreat.
Entreat me not, go take the traitor hence.
Exit Villuppo.
And Alexandro let us honour thee,
With public notice of thy loyalty.
To end those things articulated here,
By our great lord the mighty king of Spain,
We with our council will deliberate:
Come, Alexandro, keep us company. Exeunt.
[Act 3
Scene 2]
Enter Hieronimo.
Hieronimo. Oh eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears;
Oh life, no life, but lively form of death;
Oh world, no world, but mass of public wrongs,
Confused and filled with murder and misdeeds;
Oh sacred heavens! if this unhallowed deed,
If this inhuman and barbarous attempt,
If this incomparable murder, thus
Of mine but now no more my son,
Shall unrevealed and unrevenged pass,
10 How should we term your dealings to be just,
If you unjustly deal with those that in your justice trust?
That night, sad secretary to my moans,
With direful visions wake my vexed soul,
And with the wounds of my distressful son,
Solicit me for notice of his death.
The ugly fiends do sally forth of hell,
And frame my steps to unfrequented paths,
And fear my heart with fierce inflamed thoughts.
The cloudy day my discontents records,
20 Early begins to register my dreams,
And drive me forth to seek the murderer.
Eyes, life, world, heavens, hell, night and day,
See, search, show, send, some man
Some mean, that may –
A letter falleth.
What’s here? A letter, tush, it is not so,
A letter written to Hieronimo? Red ink.
‘Bel-imperia: For want of ink receive this bloody writ,
Me hath my hapless brother hid from thee,
Revenge thyself on Balthazar and him,
30 For these were they that murdered thy son.
Hieronimo, revenge Horatio’s death,
And better fare than Bel-imperia doth.’
What means this unexpected miracle?
My son slain by Lorenzo and the prince:
What cause had they Horatio to malign?
Or what might move thee Bel-imperia,
To accuse thy brother, had he been the mean?
Hieronimo beware, thou art betrayed,
And to entrap thy life this train is laid.
40 Advise thee therefore, be not credulous:
This is devised to endanger thee,
That thou by this Lorenzo shouldst accuse,
And he for thy dishonour done, should draw
Thy life in question, and thy name in hate.
Dear was the life of my beloved son,
And of his death behoves me be revenged:
Then hazard not thine own, Hieronimo,
But live t’effect thy resolution.
I therefore will by circumstances try,
50 What I can gather to confirm this writ,
And harkening near the duke of Castile’s house,
&n
bsp; Close if I can with Bel-imperia,
To listen more, but nothing to bewray.
Enter Pedringano.
Now Pedringano.
Pedringano. Now Hieronimo.
Hieronimo. Where’s thy lady?
Pedringano. I know not, here’s my lord.
Enter Lorenzo.
Lorenzo. How now, who’s this, Hieronimo?
Hieronimo. My lord.
60 Pedringano. He asketh for my lady Bel-imperia.
Lorenzo. What to do, Hieronimo? The duke my father hath
Upon some disgrace a while removed her hence,
But if it be aught I may inform her of,
Tell me Hieronimo and I’ll let her know it.
Hieronimo. Nay, nay my lord, I thank you, it shall not need.
I had a suit unto her, but too late,
And her disgrace makes me unfortunate.
Lorenzo. Why so Hieronimo? Use me?
Hieronimo. Oh no, my lord, I dare not, it must not be.
70 I humbly thank your lordship.
Lorenzo. Why then, farewell.
Hieronimo. My grief no heart, my thoughts no tongue can tell.
Exit.
Lorenzo. Come hither Pedringano, see’st thou this?
Pedringano. My lord, I see it and suspect it too.
Lorenzo. This is that damned villain Serberine,
That hath I fear revealed Horatio’s death.
Pedringano. My lord, he could not, ’twas so lately done,
And since he hath not left my company.
Lorenzo. Admit he have not, his condition’s such,
80 As fear or flattering words may make him false.
I know his humour, and therewith repent,
That ere I used him in this enterprise.
But Pedringano to prevent the worst,
And ’cause I know thee secret as my soul,
Here for thy further satisfaction take thou this.
Gives him more gold.
And harken to me, thus it is devised:
This night thou must, and prithee so resolve,
Meet Serberine at St Luigi’s park,
Thou knowest ’tis here hard by behind the house.
90 There take thy stand, and see thou strike him sure.
For die he must, if we do mean to live.
Pedringano. But how shall Serberine be there my lord?
Lorenzo. Let me alone, I’ll send to him to meet
The prince and me, where thou must do this deed.
Pedringano. It shall be done, my lord, it shall be done,
And I’ll go arm myself to meet him there.
Lorenzo. When things shall alter, as I hope they will,
Then shalt thou mount for this: thou knowest my mind.
Exit Pedringano.
Five Revenge Tragedies: The Spanish Tragedy, Hamlet, Antonio's Revenge, The Tragedy of Hoffman, The Revenger's Tragedy (Penguin Classics) Page 6
