A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 05

ACT I.

Enter the Ghost of Andrea, and with him Revenge.

Ghost.

When this eternal substance of my soul
Did live imprison'd in my wanton[7] flesh,
Each in their function serving other's need,
I was a courtier in the Spanish court:
My name was Don Andrea; my descent,
Though not ignoble, yet inferior far
To gracious fortunes of my tender youth:
For there in prime and pride[8] of all my years,
By duteous service and deserving love,
In secret I possess'd a worthy dame,
Which hight sweet Bell'-Imperia by name.
But, in the harvest of my summer[9] joys,
Death's winter nipp'd the blossoms of my bliss,
Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me;
For in the late conflict with Portingal,
My valour drew me into danger's mouth,
Till life to death made passage through my wounds.
When I was slain, my soul descended straight
To pass the flowing stream of Acheron;
But churlish Charon, only boatman there,
Said that, my rites of burial not perform'd,
I might not sit amongst his passengers.
Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis' lap,
And slak'd[10] his smoking chariot in her flood,
By Don Horatio, our knight marshal's son,
My funerals and obsequies were done:
Then was the ferryman of hell content
To pass me over to the slimy strand,
That leads to fell Avernus' ugly waves;
There, pleasing Cerberus with honey'd speech,
I pass'd the perils of the foremost porch.
Not far from hence, amidst ten thousand souls,
Sat Minos, Æacus, and Rhadamant;
To whom no sooner 'gan I make approach,
To crave a passport for my wand'ring ghost,
But Minos, in graven leaves of lottery,
Drew forth the manner of my life and death.
This knight, quoth he, both liv'd and died in love;
And for his love try'd fortune of the wars;
And by war's fortune lost both love and life.
Why then, said Æacus, convey him hence,
To walk with lovers in our fields of love,
And spend the course of everlasting time
Under green myrtle-trees and cypress shades.
No, no, said Rhadamant, it were not well,
With loving souls to place a martialist:
He died in war, and must to martial fields,
Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain,
And Achilles' myrmidons do scour the plain.
Then Minos, mildest censor[11] of the three,
Made this device to end the difference:
Send him, quoth he, to our infernal king,
To doom him as best seems his majesty.
To this effect my passport straight was drawn,
In keeping on my way to Pluto's court,
Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night,[12]
I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell,
Or pens can write, or mortal hearts can think.
Three ways there were: that on the right-hand side
Was ready way unto the 'foresaid fields,[13]
Where lovers live and bloody martialists;
But either sort contain'd within his bounds.
The left-hand path, declining fearfully,
Was ready downfal[14] to the deepest hell,
Where bloody furies shake their whips of steel,
And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel;
Where usurers are chok'd with melting gold,
And wantons are embrac'd with ugly snakes;
And murderers groan[15] with never-killing wounds,
And perjur'd wights scalded in boiling lead,
And all foul sins with torments overwhelm'd.
'Twixt these two ways I trod the middle path,
Which brought me to the fair Elysian green;
In midst whereof there stands a stately tower,
The walls of brass, the gates of adamant:
Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine,
I show'd my passport, humbled on my knee;
Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile,[16]
And begg'd that only she might give my doom:
Pluto was pleas'd, and seal'd it with a kiss.
Forthwith, Revenge, she rounded thee in th' ear,[17]
And bad thee lead me through the gates of horn,[18]
Where dreams have passage in the silent night.
No sooner had she spoke, but we were here—
I wot not how—in twinkling of an eye.

Revenge.

Then know, Andrea, that thou art arriv'd
Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,
Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingal,
Depriv'd of life by Bell'-Imperia.
Here sit we down to see the mystery,
And serve for Chorus in this tragedy.

Enter Spanish King, General, Castile, and Hieronimo.

King.

Now say, lord General, how fares our camp?

General.

All well, my sovereign liege, except some few
That are deceas'd by fortune of the war.

King.

But what portends[19] thy cheerful countenance,
And posting to our presence thus in haste?
Speak, man, hath fortune given us victory?

General.

Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.

King.

Our Portingals will pay us tribute then?

General.

Tribute and wonted homage therewithal.

King.

Then bless'd be heav'n, and guider of the heavens,
From whose fair influence such justice flows.

Castile.

O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat Æther,
Et conjuratÆ curvato poplite gentes
Succumbunt: recti soror eat victoria juris.

King.

Thanks to my loving brother of Castile,—
But, General, unfold in brief discourse
Your form of battle and your war's success:
That, adding all the pleasure of thy news
Unto the height of former happiness,
With deeper wage and greater dignity
We may[20] reward thy blissful chivalry.

General.

Where Spain and Portingal do jointly knit
Their frontiers, leaning on each other's bound,[21]
There met our armies in their proud array;
Both furnish'd well, both full of hope and fear,
Both menacing alike with daring shows,
Both vaunting sundry colours of device,
Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums, and fifes,
Both raising dreadful clamours to the sky,[22]
That valleys, hills, and rivers made rebound,
And heav'n itself was frighted with the sound.
Our battles both were pitch'd in squadron form,
Each corner strongly fenc'd with wings of shot;
But ere we join'd, and came to push of pike,
I brought a squadron of our readiest shot
From out our rearward, to begin the fight:
They brought another wing t' encounter us:
Meanwhile, our ordnance play'd on either side,
And captains strove to have their valours[23] try'd.
Don Pedro, their chief horsemen's colonel,
Did with his cornet[24] bravely make attempt
To break the order of our battle ranks;
But Don Rogero, worthy man of war,
March'd forth against him with our musketeers,
And stopp'd the malice of his fell approach.
While they maintain hot skirmish to and fro,
Both battles join, and fall to handy-blows;[25]
Their violent shot resembling th' ocean's rage,
When, roaring loud and with a swelling tide,
It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks,
And gapes to swallow neighbour-bounding lands.
Now while[26] Bellona rageth here and there,
Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail,
And shiver'd lances dark[27] the troubled air.

Pede pes et cuspide cuspis;
Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro.

On every side drop[28] captains to the ground,
And soldiers, some ill-maim'd,[29] some slain outright:
Here falls a body, sunder'd from his head,
There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass,
Mingled with weapons, and unbowell'd[30] steeds,
That scattering overspread the purple plain.
In all this turmoil, three long hours and more,
The victory to neither part inclin'd;
Till Don Andrea, with his brave lanciers,
In their[31] main battle made so great a breach,
That (half dismay'd) the multitude retir'd:
But Balthazar, the Portingal's young prince,
Brought rescue, and encourag'd them to stay.
Here-hence the fight was eagerly renew'd,
And in that conflict was Andrea slain:
Brave man at arms, but weak to Balthazar.
Yet while the prince, insulting over him,
Breath'd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproach,
Friendship and hardy valour join'd in one,
Prick'd[32] forth Horatio, our knight marshal's son,
To challenge forth that prince to single fight:
Not long between these twain the fight endur'd,
But straight the prince was beaten from his horse,
And forc'd to yield him prisoner to his foe.
When he was taken, all the rest they fled,
And our carbines pursu'd them to the death;
Till, Phoebus waving to the western deep,
Our trumpeters were charg'd to sound retreat.

King.

Thanks, good lord General, for these good news;
And for some argument of more to come,
Take this, and wear it for thy sovereign's sake.

[Gives him his chain.

But tell me now, hast thou confirm'd a peace?

General.

No peace, my liege, but peace conditional,
That if with homage tribute be well paid,[33]
The fury of your[34] forces will be stay'd:
And to this[35] peace their viceroy hath subscrib'd,

[Gives the King a paper.

And made a solemn vow, that during life
His[36] tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.

King.

These words, these deeds, become thy person well.
But now, knight marshal, frolic with thy[37] king,
For 'tis thy son that wins this[38] battle's prize.

Hieronimo.

Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege,
And soon decay, unless he serve my liege.

King.

Nor thou, nor he, shall die without reward.

[A tucket[39] afar off.

What means this warning of the trumpet's sound?

General.

This tells me, that your grace's men of war,
Such as war's fortune hath reserv'd from death,
Come marching on towards your royal seat,
To show themselves before your majesty,
For so I gave in[40] charge at my depart;
Whereby by demonstration shall appear,
That all, except three hundred or few more,
Are safe return'd, and by their foes enrich'd.

The army enters.[41] Balthazar, between Lorenzo and Horatio, captive.

King.

A gladsome sight! I long to see them here.

[They enter and pass by.

Was that the warlike prince of Portingal,
That by our nephew was in triumph led?

General.

It was, my liege, the prince of Portingal.

King.

But what was he, that on the other side
Held him by th' arm, as partner of the prize?

Hieronimo.

That was my son, my gracious sovereign;
Of whom, though from his tender infancy
My loving thoughts did never hope but well,
He never pleas'd his father's eyes till now,
Nor fill'd my heart with over-cloying joys.

King.

Go, let them march once more about these walls,
That, staying them, we may confer and talk
With our brave prisoner and his double guard.
Hieronimo, it greatly pleaseth us
That in our victory thou have a share,
By virtue of thy worthy son's exploit.

[Enter again.

Bring hither the young prince of Portingal:
The rest march on; but, ere they be dismiss'd,
We will bestow on every soldier two ducats,
And on every leader ten, that they may know
Our largess welcomes them.

[Exeunt all but Bal., Lor., and Hor.

Welcome, Don Balthazar: welcome, nephew;
And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too.
Young prince, although thy father's hard misdeeds,
In keeping back the tribute that he owes,
Deserve but evil measure at our hands,
Yet shalt thou know that Spain is honourable.

Balthazar.

The trespass, that my father made in peace,
Is now controll'd by fortune of the wars;
And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so:
His men are slain, a weak'ning to his[42] realm;
His colours seiz'd, a blot unto his name;
His son distress'd, a cor'sive to his heart:
These punishments may clear his late offence.

King.

Ay, Balthazar, if he observe[43] this truce,
Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars:
Meanwhile live thou, though[44] not in liberty,
Yet free[45] from bearing any servile yoke;
For in our hearing thy deserts were great,
And in our sight thyself art gracious.

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.[46]

Horatio.

To me, my sovereign.

Lorenzo.

This hand first took his[47] courser by the reins.

Horatio.

But first my lance did put him from his horse.

Lorenzo.

I seiz'd his weapon, and enjoy'd it first.

Horatio.

But first I forc'd him lay his weapons down.

King.

Let go his arm, upon our privilege—

[They let him go.

Say,[48] 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 promis'd life, this other threaten'd death;
He won my love, this other conquer'd 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,
Enforc'd by nature and by law of arms,
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.[49]

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 judgment, thus your strife shall end:
You both deserve, and both shall have reward:
Nephew, thou took'st his weapons 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 best fitteth such a guest.
Horatio's house were small for all his train;
Yet in regard thy substance passeth his,
And that just guerdon[50] 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.

Enter Viceroy,[51] Alexandro, and Villuppo.

Viceroy.

Alexandro.

Two days, my liege, are pass'd since his depart.

Viceroy.

And tribute-payment gone along with him?

Alexandro.

Ay, my good lord.

Viceroy.

Then rest we here awhile in our unrest,
And feed our sorrows with some inward sighs;
For deepest cares break never into tears.
But wherefore sit I in a[52] regal throne?
This[53] better fits a wretch's endless moan.

[Falls to the ground.

Yet this is higher than my fortunes reach,
And therefore better than my state deserves.
Ay, ay, this earth, image of melancholy,
Seeks him, whom fates adjudge[54] to misery.
Here let me lie, now am I[55] at the lowest.

Qui jacet in terra, non habet unde cadat.
In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo:
Nil[56] superest ut jam, possit obesse magis.

Yes, fortune may bereave me of my crown:
Here, take it now; let fortune do her worst,
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 is standing on a rolling stone,
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 distain'd my faith;
My breach of faith occasion'd bloody wars;
Those[57] bloody wars have spent my treasure;
And with my treasure my people's blood;
And with their blood, my joy and best belov'd,
My best belov'd, my sweet and only son.
O, wherefore went I not to war myself?
The cause was mine; I might have died for both:
My years were mellow, his but[58] 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?[59]

Alexandro.

In Spain, a prisoner by mischance of war.

Viceroy.

Then they have 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.

Viceroy.

No; if he liv'd, the news would soon be here.

Alexandro.

Nay, evil news fly[60] 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 grown hard 'gainst mischief's battery.
Stand up, I say, and tell thy tale at large.

Villuppo.

Then hear that[61] truth, which these mine eyes have seen:
When both the armies were in battle join'd,
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,
Discharg'd his pistol at the prince's back,
As though he would have slain their general:
But therewithal Don Balthazar fell down;
And when he fell, then we began to fly:
But, had he liv'd, the day had sure been ours.

Alexandro.

O wicked forgery! O trait'rous miscreant!

Viceroy.

Hold thou thy peace! but now, Villuppo, say,
Where then became the carcase 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, trait'rous beast,
Wherein had Balthazar offended thee,
That thou shouldst thus betray him to our foes?
Was't Spanish gold that bleared so thine eyes,
That thou couldst see no part of our deserts?
Perchance, because thou art Tercera's lord,
Thou hadst[62] some hope to wear this diadem,
If first my son and then myself, were slain;
But thy ambitious thought[63] shall break thy neck:
Ay, this was it that made thee spill his blood,

[He takes the crown, and puts it on again.

But I'll now[64] wear it, till thy blood be spilt.

Alexandro.

Vouchsafe, dread[65] sovereign, to hear me speak.

Viceroy.

Away with him; his sight is second hell:
Keep him till we determine of his death.
If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live.
Villuppo, follow us for thy reward.

[Exit Vice.

Villuppo.

Thus have I with an envious forged tale
Deceiv'd the king, betray'd mine enemy,
And hope for guerdon of my villainy.

[Exit.

Enter Horatio and Bell'-Imperia.

Bell'-Imperia.

Signior Horatio, this is the place and hour,
Wherein I must entreat thee to relate
The circumstance of Don Andrea's death,
Who (living) was my garland's sweetest[66] flower,
And in his death hath buried my delights.

Horatio.

For love of him and service to yourself,
I nill refuse this heavy doleful[67] charge;
Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me.
When both our armies were enjoin'd in[68] fight,
Your worthy chevalier amidst the thickest,
For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest,
Was at the last by young Don Balthazar
Encounter'd 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, disguis'd in armour's mask
(As Pallas was before proud Pergamus),
Brought in a[69] fresh supply of halberdiers,
Which paunch'd his horse, and ding'd[70] 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, incens'd with just remorse,
I with my band set forth against the prince,
And brought him prisoner from his halberdiers.

Bell'-Imperia.

'Would thou hadst slain him, that so[71] slew my love!
But then was Don Andrea's carcase lost?

Horatio.

No, that was it for which I chiefly strove,
Nor stepp'd I back, till I recover'd him:
I took him up, and wound him in mine arms;
And welding[72] him unto my private tent,
There laid him down, and dew'd him with my tears,
And sigh'd and sorrow'd as became a friend:
But neither friendly sorrow,[73] sighs, nor tears,
Could win pale death from his usurped right.
Yet this I did, and less I could not do;
I saw him honour'd with due funeral:
This scarf I pluck'd from off[74] his lifeless arm,
And wear it in remembrance of my friend.

Bell'-Imperia.

I know the scarf: 'would he had kept it still;
For had he liv'd, he would have kept it still,
And worn it for his Bell'-Imperia's sake:
For 'twas my favour at his last depart.
But now wear thou[75] it, both for him and me;
For after him thou hast deserv'd it best:
But for thy kindness in his life and death,
Be sure, while Bell'-Imperia's life endures,
She will be Don Horatio's thankful friend.

Horatio.

And, madam, Don Horatio will not slack
Humbly to serve fair Bell'-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.

Bell'-Imperia.

Ay, go, Horatio, leave me here alone;
For solitude best fits my cheerless mood.

[Exit Horatio.

Yet what avails to wail Andrea's death,
From whence Horatio proves my second love?
Had he not lov'd Andrea as he did,
He could not sit in Bell'-Imperia's thoughts.
But how can love find harbour in my breast,
Till I revenge the death of my belov'd?
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,
Himself now pleads for favour at my hands,
He shall, in rigour of my just disdain,
Reap long repentance for[76] his murd'rous deed;
For what was't else but murd'rous cowardice,
So many to oppress one valiant knight,
Without respect of honour in the fight?
And here he comes, that murder'd my delight.

Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.

Lorenzo.

Sister, what means this melancholy walk?

Bell'-Imperia.

That for a while I wish no company.

Lorenzo.

But here the prince is come to visit you.

Bell'-Imperia.

That argues, that he lives in[77] liberty.

Balthazar.

No, madam, but in pleasing servitude.

Bell'-Imperia.

Your prison then, belike, is your conceit.

Balthazar.

Ay, by conceit my freedom is inthrall'd,

Bell'-Imperia.

Then with conceit enlarge yourself again.

Balthazar.

What, if conceit have laid my heart to gage?

Bell'-Imperia.

Pay that you borrow'd, and recover it.

Balthazar.

I die, if it return from whence it lies.

Bell'-Imperia.

A heartless man, and lives?[78] A miracle!

Balthazar.

Ay, lady, love can work such miracles.

Lorenzo.

Tush, tush! my lord, let go these ambages,[79]
And in plain terms acquaint her with your love.

[Aside.

Bell'-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 lodg'd.

Bell'-Imperia.

Alas, my lord, these are but words of course,
And but device[80] to drive me from this place.

[She, in going in, lets fall her glove, which Horatio, coming out, takes up.

Horatio.

Madam, your glove.

Bell'-Imperia.

Thanks, good Horatio; take it for thy pains.

Balthazar.

Signior Horatio stoop'd in happy time!

Horatio.

I reap'd more grace than I deserv'd or hop'd.

Lorenzo.

My lord, be not dismay'd for what is pass'd;
You know that women oft are humorous:[81]
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[82] sports and revelling.[83]

Horatio.

The king, my lords,[84] is coming hither straight,
To feast the Portingal 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 Portingal laments,
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,
Wrapp'd every hour in pleasures of the court,
And grac'd 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.
Signior Horatio, wait thou upon our cup,
For well thou hast deserved to be honour'd.
Now, lordings, fall to; Spain is Portingal,
And Portingal is Spain; we both are friends;
Tribute is paid, and we enjoy our right.
But where is old Hieronimo, our marshal?
He promis'd us, in honour of our guest,
To grace our banquet with some pompous jest.[85]

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.

Hieronimo.

The first arm'd 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,
Arriv'd with five and[86] twenty thousand men
In Portingal, and by success of war,
Enforc'd the king, then but a Saracen,
To bear the yoke of th' English monarchy.

King.

My lord of Portingal, by this you see,
That which may comfort both your king and you,
And make your late discomfort seem the less.
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 walls,
And took the King of Portingal in fight;
For which and other suchlike service done
He after was created Duke of York.

King.

This is another special argument,
That Portingal may deign to bear our yoke,
When it by little England hath been yok'd.
But now, Hieronimo, what were the last?

Hieronimo.

The third and last, not least, in our account,

[Doing as he did 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,
Since English warriors likewise conquer'd Spain,
And made them bow their knees to Albion.

King.

Hieronimo, I drink to thee for this device,
Which hath pleas'd both th' ambassador and me:
Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou love the king.—

[Takes the cup of Horatio.

My lord, I fear we sit but overlong,
Unless our dainties were more delicate:
But welcome are you to the best we have.
Now let us in, that you[87] may be despatch'd;
I think our council is already set.[Exeunt omnes.

Enter Andrea's Ghost, with Revenge.

Andrea.

Come we for this from depth of underground,
To see him feast that gave me my death's wound?
These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soul;
Nothing but league, and love, and banqueting?

Revenge.

Be still, Andrea; ere we go from hence,
I'll turn their friendship into fell despite;
Their love to mortal hate, their day to-night;
Their hope into despair, their peace to war;
Their joys to pain, their bliss to misery.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Its great popularity, no doubt, was one cause. Prynne, in his "Histriomastix," fol. 556, has a curious passage, which in all probability refers to the "Spanish Tragedy." He is quoting the authority of the "English Gentlewoman," by R. Brathwaite, who, it is stated in the margin, was present at the occurrence: "To these two former precedents (says Prynne) I shall annex the parallel example of a late English Gentlewoman of good ranke who, daily bestowing the expense of her best hours upon the stage, and at last falling into a dangerous sickness of which she died, her friends in her extremity sent for a minister to comfort, counsel, and prepare her for her ende; who, coming to instruct her, and advising her to repent, and call upon God for mercy, she made him no reply at all, but cried out, 'Hieronimo, Hieronimo! O, let me see Hieronimo acted' (calling out for a play, instead of crying unto God for mercy), and so closed her dying eyes."—Collier.

[2] ["Apology for Actors," 1612, repr. 1841, p. 45.]

[3] This fact depends merely upon the evidence of Decker, which is denied by Mr Gifford. At the same time, it is a point of little importance; for, were it true, it could form no imputation against Ben Jonson. Mr Gifford also (Jonson's "Works," i. xvii.) notices the adicions made by Jonson to "Jeronimo." This fact rests upon the following quotations from Henslowe's "Diary," edit. 1845, pp. 201, 223:—

"Lent unto Mr Alleyn, the 25 of September, 1601, to lend unto Bengemen Johnson, upon his writing of his adicions in Geronymo, the some of xxxx^s."

"Lent unto Bengemy Johnson, at the apoyntment of E. Alleyn and Wm. Byrde, the 24 of June, 1602, in earneste of a boocke called Richard Crockbacke, and for new adicyons for Jeronymo, the some of xli."

Unquestionably these additions[4] bear marks of a hand greatly superior to that of Kyd, though Mr Hawkins says "they were foisted in by the players." They are mentioned on the title-page of the edition of 1602 of the "Spanish Tragedy". Henslowe confounds "Jeronimo" and the "Spanish Tragedy," and it does not appear that any additions were made to the former.

In the last edition of Dodsley, a curious ballad on the subject was given as an illustration. It is entitled "The Spanish Tragedy, containing the Lamentable Murder of Horatio and Bellimperia: With the pitiful Death of Old Hieronimo. To the tune of Queen Dido. Printed at London for H. Gosson," with a woodcut.

[4] First printed in the 4to of 1602.

[5] [Old copies, Portingal.]

[6] [He is called Balthezar in the "First Part of Jeronimo."]

[7] Wonted, edits. 1618, '23, '33.

[8] There in the pride and prime, ditto.

[9] Summer's, 1623, '33.

[10] Slackt, 1618.

[11] Censurer, 1618, '23, '33.

[12] Shapes of ever-blooming night, 1618. Shades of ever-blooming night, 1623, '33.

[13] Field, 1618, '23, '33.

[14] Fall down, ditto.

[15] Murderers greeve, 1618. Murderers greene, 1623, '33.

[16] —— smile. I begg'd, 1618, '23, '33.

[17] Whispered. So in Gascoigne's "Fable of Ferdinando Jeronimi" (Works, by Hazlitt, i. 422): "After his due reverence, hee layde his hande on hir temples, and privily rounding hir in hir eare;" and in Lyly's "Euphues," 1579, we have, "rounding Philautus in his eare." See also Steevens's note on King John, ii. 2.

[18] Of Hor, second edit.; of Horror, 1618, '23, '33. For the gates of horn, see Virgil, B. vi., Sunt geminÆ somni portÆ, &c.

[19] Pretends, 1618, '23, 33. [And perhaps rightly, as pretend was frequently used in the sense of intend, purpose.]

[20] Will, 1633.

[21] Bounds, 1623, '33.

[22] Skies, 1633.

[23] Valour, 1618, '23, '33.

[24] Coronet, ditto.

[25] This play, though not mentioned in the "Key to the Rehearsal," seems to have been one of those ridiculed by the Duke of Buckingham in that witty performance. See act v.—

"The army, wrangling for the gold you gave,
First fell to words, and then to handy-blows."

[26] When, 1618, '23, '33.

[27] Dark'd, ditto

[28] Dropt, ditto.

[29] And soldiers lie maim'd, ditto.

[30] Unbowed, ditto.

[31] His, 1618.

[32] Pickt, 1618.

[33] Tribute may be paid, 1618, '23, '33.

[34] Our, ditto.

[35] That, ditto.

[36] This, ditto.

[37] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[38] That, 1618, '23.

[39] Trumpet, 1618, '23, '33. [A tucket is a flourish on a trumpet; but it is not perfectly clear that the word was not understood in the sense of a trumpet itself. See a note in the "First Part of Jeronimo," vol. iv., p. 380.]

[40] Gave them charge, 1618, '23, '33.

[41] Meets, 1618, '23, '33.

[42] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[43] Observes, ditto.

[44] As though, 1618.

[45] Free, omitted ditto.

[46] Lord, 1618, '23, '33.

[47] The, ditto.

[48] So, ditto.

[49] So in Shakespeare's "King John," iii. 1—

"You are the hare, of whom the proverb goes,
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard."

[50] [Reward. It seemed idle to reprint the long note in the last edition of Dodsley, illustrating the meaning of a word with which every schoolboy is acquainted.]

[51] Called King of Portugal or Portingal in the "First Part of Jeronimo." The scene here changes to Portugal.—Collier.

[52] This, 1618, '23, '33.

[53] It, 1618.

[54] Adjudged, 1618, '23, '33.

[55] I am, 1633.

[56] Nihil, 1633.

[57] These, 1623, '33.

[58] Put his, ditto.

[59] But where? 1618, '23, '33.

[60] Will fly, 1618, '23, '33.

[61] The, 1618, '23, '33.

[62] Hast, 1623, '33.

[63] Thoughts, 1618, '28, '33.

[64] Now Ile, ditto.

[65] Deare, ditto.

[66] Chiefest, 1623, '33.

[67] Ile not refuse this doleful heavy, 1618, '23, '33.

[68] To, ditto.

[69] A omitted, 1618, '23.

[70] i.e., Threw him on the ground with force, as in the "Second Part of Antonio and Mellida," iv. 3—

"Distraught and raving, from a turret's top,
He threw his body in the swolne sea,
And as he headlong topsie-turvie ding'd downe,
He still cry'd Mellida."

Again, in Nash's "Lenten Stuffe," 1599: "For besides the loud bellowing ... which hath dung me in a manner down," &c. And in Marston's "Satires"—

"Is ding'd to hell, and vulture eats his heart."

[71] So, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[72] Carrying or bearing. So in Churchyard's "Challenge," 1593, p. 116—

"What cunning heads and hands can catch in hold,
That covetous mindes doth seek to weld alone."

[73] Sorrowes, 1618, '23, '33.

[74] This scarf pluckt off from, ditto.

[75] Thou, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[76] Of, 1618, '23, 33.

[77] At, ditto.

[78] [Live, Allde's edition.]

[79] So in "Wily Beguil'd," 1606—

"By Jesus, I cannot play the dissembler,
And wooe my love with courtly ambages."

[80] Devis'd,1618, '23, '33.

[81] That is, act from caprice. So in Ben Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," induction: "When you come to plays, be humorous, look with a good starch'd face, and ruffle your brow like a new boot; laugh at nothing but your own jests, or else as the noblemen laugh." Again, in Decker's "Satiromastix," 1602—

"All our understanding faculties
Sit there in their high court of parliament,
Enacting laws to sway this humorous world,
This little isle of man."

And in the "Second Part of King Henry IV.," iv. 4, we have—

"Being incens'd, he's flint,
As humorous as winter" ——

See also Mr Steevens's note on the last passage.

[82] Delightsome, 1618, '12, '33.

[83] Revellinge, ditto.

[84] Lord, ditto.

[85] To jest is to play a part in a masque. See Dr Farmer's note on "King Richard II.," i. 3—

"As gentle and as jocund as to jest
Go I to fight."

[86] Five and, omitted, 1623, '33.

[87] We, 1618, '23, '33.

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