King. Believe me nephew, we are sorry for’t.
This is the love that fathers bear their sons.
90 But gentle brother, go give to him this gold,
The prince’s ransom, let him have his due,
For what he hath Horatio shall not want.
Haply Hieronimo hath need thereof.
Lorenzo. But if he be thus helplessly distract,
’Tis requisite his office be resigned,
And given to one of more discretion.
King. We shall increase his melancholy so.
’Tis best that we see further in it first:
Till when, ourself will not exempt the place.
100 And brother, now bring in the ambassador,
That he may be a witness of the match
’Twixt Balthazar and Bel-imperia.
And that we may prefix a certain time
Wherein the marriage shall be solemnized,
That we may have thy lord the viceroy here.
Ambassador. Therein your highness highly shall content
His majesty, that longs to hear from hence.
King. On then, and hear you, lord ambassador. Exeunt.
[Act 3
Scene 13]
Enter Hieronimo with a book in his hand.
Hieronimo. Vindicta mihi.
Ay, heaven will be revenged of every ill,
Nor will they suffer murder unrepaid.
Then stay, Hieronimo, attend their will,
For mortal men may not appoint their time.
Per scelus semper tutum est sceleribus iter.
Strike and strike home, where wrong is offered thee,
For evils unto ills conductors be.
And death’s the worst of resolution.
10 For he that thinks with patience to contend
To quiet life, his life shall easily end.
Fata si miseros juvant, habes salutem:
Fata si vitam negant, habes sepulchrum.
If destiny thy miseries do ease,
Then hast thou health, and happy shalt thou be;
If destiny deny thee life, Hieronimo,
Yet shalt thou be assured of a tomb.
If neither, yet let this thy comfort be,
Heaven covereth him that hath no burial,
20 And to conclude, I will revenge his death.
But how? not as the vulgar wits of men,
With open, but inevitable ills;
As by a secret, yet a certain mean,
Which under kindship will be cloaked best.
Wise men will take their opportunity,
Closely and safely fitting things to time:
But in extremes, advantage hath no time,
And therefore all times fit not for revenge:
Thus therefore will I rest me in unrest,
30 Dissembling quiet in unquietness,
Not seeming that I know their villainies:
That my simplicity may make them think,
That ignorantly I will let all slip
For ignorance I wot, and well they know,
Remedium malorum iners est.
Nor aught avails it me to menace them,
Who as a wintry storm upon a plain,
Will bear me down with their nobility.
No, no, Hieronimo, thou must enjoin
40 Thine eyes to observation, and thy tongue
To milder speeches than thy spirit affords;
Thy heart to patience, and thy hands to rest,
Thy cap to courtesy, and thy knee to bow,
Till to revenge thou know when, where, and how.
How now, what noise, what coil is that you keep?
A noise within.
Enter a servant.
Servant. Here are a sort of poor petitioners
That are importunate, and it shall please you sir,
That you should plead their cases to the king.
Hieronimo. That I should plead their several actions –
50 Why, let them enter, and let me see them.
Enter three citizens and an old man.
1 [Citizen]. So I tell you this for learning and for law,
There’s not any advocate in Spain.
That can prevail, or will take half the pain,
That he will in pursuit of equity.
Hieronimo. Come near, you men that thus importune me.
Now must I bear a face of gravity,
For thus I used before my marshalship,
To plead in causes as corrigedor.
Come on sirs, what’s the matter?
60 2 [Citizen]. Sir, an action.
Hieronimo. Of battery?
1 [Citizen]. Mine of debt.
Hieronimo. Give place.
2 [Citizen]. No sir, mine’s an action of the case.
3 [Citizen]. Mine an ejectione firmae by a lease.
Hieronimo. Content you sirs, are you determined,
That I should plead your several actions?
1 [Citizen]. Ay sir, and here’s my declaration,
2 [Citizen]. And here is my bond.
70 3 [Citizen]. And here is my lease.
They give him papers.
Hieronimo. But wherefore stands yon silly man so mute,
With mournful eyes and hands to heaven upreared?
Come hither father, let me know thy cause.
Senex. O worthy sir, my cause but slightly known.
May move the hearts of warlike Myrmidons,
And melt the Corsic rocks with ruthful tears.
Hieronimo. Say father, tell me what’s thy suit?
Senex. No sir, could my woes
Give way unto my most distressful words,
80 Then should I not in paper as you see,
With ink bewray what blood began in me.
Hieronimo. What’s here? the humble supplication
Of Don Bazulto for his murdered son.
Senex. Ay sir.
Hieronimo. No sir, it was my murdered son, oh my son.
My son, oh my son Horatio.
But mine, or thine, Bazulto be content.
Here, take my handkerchief and wipe thine eyes,
Whiles wretched I, in thy mishaps may see,
90 The lively portrait of my dying self.
He draweth out a bloody napkin.
O no, not this, Horatio this was thine,
And when I dyed it in thy dearest blood,
This was a token ’twixt my soul and me,
That of thy death revenged I should be.
But here, take this, and this, what, my purse?
Ay, this and that, and all of them are thine,
For all as one are our extremities.
1 [Citizen]. O, see the kindness of Hieronimo.
2 [Citizen]. This gentleness shows him a gentleman.
100 Hieronimo. See, see, o see thy shame Hieronimo,
See here a loving father to his son.
Behold the sorrows and the sad laments,
That he delivereth for his son’s decease.
If love’s effects so strives in lesser things,
If love enforce such moods in meaner wits,
If love express such power in poor estates –
Hieronimo, when as a raging sea
Tossed with the wind and tide o’erturnest then
The upper billows, course of waves to keep,
110 Whilst lesser waters labour in the deep;
Then shamest thou not, Hieronimo, to neglect,
The sweet revenge of thy Horatio?
Though on this earth justice will not be found,
I’ll down to hell and in this passion,
Knock at the dismal gates of Pluto’s court,
Getting by force as once Alcides did,
A troop of Furies and tormenting hags,
To torture Don lorenzo and the rest.
Yet lest the triple-headed porter should
120 Deny my passage to the slimy strond,
The Thracian poet thou shalt counterfeit:
Come on, old father, be my Orpheus,
And if thou canst no notes upon the harp,
Then sound the burden of thy sore heart’s grief,
Till we do gain that Proserpine may grant
Revenge on them that murdered my son.
Then will I rent and tear them thus and thus,
Shivering their limbs in pieces with my teeth.
Tear the papers.
1 [Citizen]. O sir, my declaration!
Exit Hieronimo and they after.
130 2 [Citizen]. Save my bond!
Enter Hieronimo.
Save my bond!
3 [Citizen]. Alas my lease! it cost me ten pound,
And you my lord have torn the same.
Hieronimo. That cannot be, I gave it never a wound,
Show me one drop of blood fall from the same.
How is it possible I should slay it then?
Tush no, run after, catch me if you can.
Exeunt all but the old man.
Bazulto remains until Hieronimo enters again, who staring him in the face speaks.
Hieronimo. And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth
To ask for justice in this upper earth?
140 To tell thy father thou art unrevenged,
To wring more tears from Isabella’s eyes
Whose lights are dimmed with overlong laments?
Go back my son, complain to Aeacus,
For here’s no justice: gentle boy, be gone.
For justice is exiled from the earth.
Hieronimo will bear thee company.
Thy mother cries on righteous Rhadamanth
For just revenge against the murderers.
Senex. Alas my lord, whence springs this troubled speech?
150 Hieronimo. But let me look on my Horatio:
Sweet boy, how art thou changed in death’s black shade?
Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth?
But suffered thy fair crimson-coloured spring,
With withered winter to be blasted thus?
Horatio, thou art older than thy father.
Ah ruthless fate, that favour thus transforms.
Senex. Ah, my good lord, I am not your young son.
Hieronimo. What, not my son? thou then a Fury art,
Sent from the empty kingdom of black night,
160 To summon me to make appearance
Before grim Minos and just Rhadamanth,
To plague Hieronimo that is remiss,
And seeks not vengeance for Horatio’s death.
Senex. I am a grieved man and not a ghost,
That came for justice for my murdered son.
Hieronimo. Ay, now I know thee, now thou nam’st my son,
Thou art the lively image of my grief,
Within thy face my sorrows I may see.
Thy eyes are gummed with tears, thy cheeks are wan,
170 Thy forehead troubled, and thy muttering lips
Murmur sad words abruptly broken off;
By force of windy sighs thy spirit breathes,
And all this sorrow riseth for thy son:
And selfsame sorrow feel I for my son.
Come in old man, thou shalt to Isabel,
Lean on my arm, I thee, thou me shalt stay,
And thou, and I, and she will sing a song:
Three parts in one, but all of discords framed,
Talk not of cords, but let us now be gone,
180 For with a cord Horatio was slain. Exeunt.
[Act 3
Scene 14]
Enter King of Spain, the Duke, Viceroy and lorenzo, Balthazar, Don Pedro, and Bel-imperia.
King. Go brother, it is the duke of Castile’s cause, salute the viceroy in our name.
Castile. I go.
Viceroy. Go forth, Don Pedro for thy nephew’s sake,
And greet the duke of Castile.
Pedro. It shall be so.
King. And now to meet these Portuguese,
For as we now are, so sometimes were these,
Kings and commanders of the western Indies.
10 Welcome, brave viceroy to the court of Spain,
And welcome all his honourable train.
’Tis not unknown to us, for why you come,
Or have so kingly crossed the seas:
Sufficeth it in this we note the troth
And more than common love you lend to us.
So is it that mine honourable niece,
For it beseems us now that it be known,
Already is betrothed to Balthazar:
And by appointment and our condescent,
20 Tomorrow are they to be married.
To this intent, we entertain thyself,
Thy followers, their pleasure, and our peace:
Speak men of Portingale, shall it be so?
If ay, say so: if not say flatly no.
Viceroy. Renowned king, I come not as thou think’st,
With doubtful followers, unresolved men,
But such as have upon thine articles,
Confirmed thy motion and contented me.
Know, sovereign, I come to solemnize
30 The marriage of thy beloved niece,
Fair Bel-imperia with my Balthazar.
With thee my son, whom sith I live to see,
Here take my crown, I give it her and thee,
And let me live a solitary life,
In ceaseless prayers,
To think how strangely heaven hath thee preserved.
King. See, brother, see how nature strives in him,
Come, worthy viceroy, and accompany
Thy friend, with thine extremities:
40 A place more private fits this princely mood.
Viceroy. Or here or where your highness thinks it good.
Exeunt all but Castile and lorenzo.
Castile. Nay, stay lorenzo, let me talk with you.
Seest thou this entertainment of these kings?
Lorenzo. I do my lord, and joy to see the same.
Castile. And knowest thou why this meeting is?
Lorenzo. For her my lord, whom Balthazar doth love,
And to confirm their promised marriage.
Castile. She is thy sister?
Lorenzo. Who, Bel-imperia? Ay, my gracious lord,
50 And this is the day, that I have longed so happily to see.
Castile. Thou wouldst be loath that any fault of thine,
Should intercept her in her happiness.
Lorenzo. Heavens will not let lorenzo err so much.
Castile. Why then lorenzo, listen to my words:
It is suspected and reported too,
That thou, lorenzo, wronged Hieronimo,
And in his suits towards his majesty,
Still keep’st him back and seeks to cross his suit.
Lorenzo. That I, my lord?
60 Castile. I tell thee son, myself I have heard it said,
When to my sorrow I have been ashamed
To answer for thee, though thou art my son,
Lorenzo, knowest thou not the common love,
And kindness that Hieronimo hath won
By his deserts within the court of Spain?
Or seest thou not the king my brother’s care,
In his behalf, and to procure his health?
Lorenzo, should’st thou thwart his passions,
And he exclaim against thee to the king,
70 What honour wer’t in this assembly,
Or what a scandal wer’t among the kings,
To hear Hieronimo exclaim on thee?
Tell me, and look thou tell me truly too,
Whence grows the ground of this report in court?
Lorenzo. My lord, it lies not within power
To stop the vulgar, liberal of their tongues:
A small advantage makes a water breach,
And no man lives that long contenteth all.
Castile. Myself have seen thee busy to keep back
80 Him and his supplications from the king.
Lorenzo. Yourself, my lord, hath seen his passions,
That ill-beseemed the presence of a king,
And, for I pitied him in his distress,
I held him thence with kind and courteous words,
As free from malice to Hieronimo,
As to my soul, my lord.
Castile. Hieronimo, my son, mistakes thee then.
Lorenzo. My gracious father, believe me so he doth,
But what’s a silly man distract in mind,
90 To think upon the murder of his son.
Alas, how easy is it for him to err?
But for his satisfaction and the world’s,
’Twere good my lord that Hieronimo and I
Were reconciled if he misconstrue me.
Castile. lorenzo thou hast said, it shall be so,
Go one of you and call Hieronimo.
Enter Balthazar and Bel-imperia.
Balthazar. Come Bel-imperia, Balthazar’s content,
My sorrow’s ease and sovereign of my bliss:
Sith heaven hath ordained thee to be mine,
100 Disperse those clouds and melancholy looks,
And clear them up with those thy sun-bright eyes,
Wherein my hope and heaven’s fair beauty lies.
Bel-imperia. My looks, my lord, are fitting for my love,
Which new begun, can show brighter yet.
Balthazar. New-kindled flames should burn as morning sun.
Bel-imperia. But not too fast, lest heat and all be done.
I see my lord my father.
Balthazar. Truce my love, I will go salute him.
Castile. Welcome Balthazar, welcome brave prince,
110 The pledge of Castile’s peace:
And welcome Bel-imperia, how now girl?
Why comest thou sadly to salute us thus?
Content thyself, for I am satisfied,
It is not now as when Andrea lived,
We have forgotten and forgiven that,
And thou art graced with a happier love.
But Balthazar, here comes Hieronimo,
I’ll have a word with him.
Enter Hieronimo and a servant.
Hieronimo. And where’s the duke?
120 Servant. Yonder.
Hieronimo. Even so: what new device have they devised, trow?
Poco palabras, mild as the lamb,
Is’t I will be revenged? no, I am not the man.
Castile. Welcome Hieronimo.
Lorenzo. Welcome Hieronimo.
Balthazar. Welcome Hieronimo.
Hieronimo. My lords, I thank you for Horatio.
Castile. Hieronimo, the reason that I sent
To speak with you, is this –
130 Hieronimo. What, so short?
Then I’ll be gone, I thank you for’t.
Castile. Nay, stay Hieronimo! go call him, son.
Lorenzo. Hieronimo, my father craves a word with you.
Five Revenge Tragedies: The Spanish Tragedy, Hamlet, Antonio's Revenge, The Tragedy of Hoffman, The Revenger's Tragedy (Penguin Classics) Page 9
