Thomas Kyd - The Spanish Tragedy ACT 1. SCENE 3. lyrics

Spain: the palace Enter HORATIO and BEL-IMPERIA. BEL. Signior Horatio, this is the place and houre Wherein I must intreat thee to relate The circumstance of Don Andreas d**h, Who liuing was my garlands sweetest flower, And in his d**h hath buried my delights. HOR. For loue of him and seruice to yourself, [Ile not] refuse this heauy dolefull charge; Yet teares and sighes, I feare, will hinder me. When both our armies were enioynd in fight, Your worthie chiualier admist the thikst, For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest, Was at the last by yong Don Balthazar Encountered hand-to-hand. Their fight was long, Their harts were great, their clamours menacing, Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous; But wrathfull Nemesis, that wicked power, Enuying at Andreas praise and worth, Cut short his life to end his praise and woorth. She, she her-selfe, disguisde in armours maske, As Pallas was before proud Pergamus, Brought in a fresh supply of halberdiers, Which pauncht his horse and dingd him to the ground. Then yong Don Balthazar, with ruthles rage, Taking aduantage of his foes distresse, Did finish what his halberdiers begun; And left not till Andreas life was done. Then, though too late, incenst with iust remorce, I with my band set foorth against the prince, And brought him prisoner from his halba[r]diers. BEL. Would thou hadst slaine him that so slew my loue! But then was Don Andreas carka**e lost? HOR. No; that was it for which I cheefely stroue, Nor stept I back till I recouerd him. I tooke him vp, and wound him in mine armes, And, welding him vnto my priuate tent, There laid him downe and dewd him with my teares, And sighed and sorrowed as became a freend. But neither freendly sorrow, sighes and teares Could win pale d**h from his vsurped right. Yet this I did, and lesse I could not doe: I saw him honoured with due funerall. This scarfe I pluckt from off his liueles arme, And wear it in remembrance of my freend. BEL. I know the scarfe: would he had kept it still! For, had he liued, he would haue kept it still, And worne it for his Bel-imperias sake; For twas my fauour at his last depart. But now weare thou it both for him and me; For, after him, thou hast deserued it best. But, for thy kindnes in his life and d**h, Be sure, while Bel-imperias life endures, She will be Don Horatios thankfull freend. HOR. And, madame, Don Horatio will not slacke Humbly to serue faire Bel-imperia. But now, if your good liking stand thereto, Ile craue your pardon to goe seeke the prince; For so the duke, your father, gaue me charge. Exit. BEL. I, goe, Horatio; leaue me heere alone, For solitude best fits my cheereles mood.— Yet what auailes to waile Andreas d**h, From whence Horatio proues my second loue? Had he not loued Andrea as he did, He could not sit in Bel-imperias thoughts. But how can loue finde harbour in my brest, Till I reuenge the d**h of my beloued? Yes, second loue shall further my reuenge: Ile loue Horatio, my Andreas freend, The more to spight the prince that wrought his end; And, where Don Balthazar, that slew my loue, He shall, in rigour of my iust disdaine, Reape long repentance for his murderous deed,— For what wast els but murderous cowardise, So many to oppresse one valiant knight, Without respect of honour in the fight? And heere he comes that murdred my delight. Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR. LOR. Sister, what meanes this melanchollie walke? BEL. That for a-while I wish no company. LOR. But heere the prince is come to visite you. BEL. That argues that he liues in libertie. BAL. No madam, but in pleasing seruitude. BEL. Your prison then, belike, is your conceit. BAL. I, by conceite my freedome is enthralde. BEL. Then with conceite enlarge your-selfe againe. BAL. What if conceite haue laid my hart to gage? BEL. Pay that you borrowed, and recouer it. BAL. I die if it returne from whence it lyes. BEL. A hartles man, and liue? A miracle! BAL. I, lady, loue can work such miracles. LOR. Tush, tush, my lord! let goe these ambages, And in plaine tearmes acquaint her with your loue. BEL. What bootes complaint, when thers no remedy? BAL. Yes, to your gracios selfe must I complaine, In whose faire answere lyes my remedy, On whose perfection all my thoughts attend, On whose aspect mine eyes finde beauties bowre, In whose translucent brest my hart is lodgde. BEL. Alas, my lord! there but words of course, And but deuise to driue me from this place. She, going in, lets fall her gloue, which HORATIO, comming out, takes vp. HOR. Madame, your gloue. BEL. Thanks, good Horatio; take it for thy paines. [BEL-IMPERIA exits.] BAL. Signior Horatio stoopt in happie time! HOR. I reapt more grace that I deseru'd or hop'd. LOR. My lord, be not dismaid for what is past; You know that women oft are humerous: These clouds will ouerblow with little winde; Let me alone, Ill scatter them my-selfe. Meane-while let vs deuise to spend the time In some delightfull sports and reuelling. HOR. The king, my lords, is comming hither straight To feast the Portingall emba**adour; Things were in readiness before I came. BAL. Then heere it fits vs to attend the king, To welcome hither our emba**adour, And learne my father and my countries health. Enter the banquet, TRUMPETS, the KING, and EMBASSADOUR. KING. See, lord emba**ador, how Spaine intreats Their prisoner Balthazar, thy viceroyes sonne: We pleasure more in kindenes than in warres. EMBASS. Sad is our king, and Portingale laments, Supposing that Don Balthazar is slaine. BAL. [aside] So am I, slaine by beauties tirannie!— You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slaine: I frolike with the Duke of Castilles sonne, Wrapt euery houre in pleasures of the court, And graste with fauours of his Maiestie. KING. Put off your greetings till our feast be done; Now come and sit with vs, and taste our cheere. Sit to the banquet. Sit downe, young prince, you are our second guest; Brother, sit downe; and nephew, take your placel Signior Horatio, waite thou vpon our cup, For well thou hast deserued to be honored. Now, lordings, fall too: Spaine is Portugall, And Portugall is Spaine; we both are freends; Tribute is paid, and we enioy our right. But where is olde Hieronimo, our marhsall? He promised vs, in honor of our guest, To grace our banquet with some pompous iest. Enter HIERONIMO with a DRUM, three KNIGHTS, each with scutchin; then he fethces three KINGS; they take their crownes and them captiue. Hieronimo, this makes contents mine eie, Although I sound well not the misterie. HIERO. The first arm'd knight that hung his scutchin vp He takes the scutchin ahd giues it to the KING. Was English Robert, Earle of Glocester, Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion, Arriued with fiue and twenty thousand men In Portingale, and, by successe of warre, Enforced the king, then but a Sarasin, To beare the yoake of the English monarchie. KING. My lord of Portingale, by this you see That which may comfort both your king and you, And make your late discomfort seeme the lesse. But say, Hieronimo: what was the next? HIERO. The second knight that hung his scutchin vp He doth as he did before. Was Edmond, Earle of Kent in Albion. When English Richard wore the diadem, He came likewise and razed Lisbon walles, And tooke the king of Portingale in fight,— For which, and other suche seruice done, He after was created Duke of Yorke. KING. This is another speciall argument That Portingale may daine to beare our yoake, When it by little England hath beene yoakt. But now, Hieronimo, what were the last? HIERO. The third and last, not least in our account, Dooing as before. Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman, Braue Iohn of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster, As by his scuthcin plainely may appeare: He with a puissant armie came to Spaine And tooke our Kinge of Castille prisoner. EMBASS. This is an argument for our viceroy That Spaine may not insult for her successe, Since English warriours likewise conquered Spaine And made them bow their knees to Albion. KING. Hieronimo, I drinke to thee for this deuice, Which hath pleasde both the emba**ador and me: Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou loue the king! Takes the cup of HORATIO. My lord, I feare we sit but ouer-long, Vnlesse our dainties were more delicate,— But welcome are to you the best we haue. Now let vs in, that you may be dispatcht; I think our councell is already set. Exeunt omnes. [CHORUS.] ANDREA. Come we for this from depth of vnder ground,— To see him feast that gaue me my d**hs wound? These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soule: nothing but league and loue and banqueting! REUENGE. Be still, Andrea; ere we go from hence, Ile turne their freendship into fell despight, Their loue to mortall hate, their day to night, Their hope into dispaire, their peace in warre, Their ioyes to paine, their blisse to miserie.