Thomas Kyd - The Spanish Tragedy ACT 3. SCENE 13. lyrics

HIERONIMO's house. Enter HIERONIMO with a book in his hand. [HIERO.] Vindicta mihi. I, heauen will be reuenged of euery ill, Nor will they suffer murder vnrepaide! Then stay, Hieronimo, attend their will; For mortall men may not appoint their time. Per scelus semper tutum est sceleribus iter: Strike, and strike home, where wrong is offred thee; For euils vnto ils conductors be, And d**h's the worst of resultion. For he that thinks with patience to contend To quiet life, his life shall easily end. Fata si miseros iuuant, habes selutem; Fata si vitam negant, habes sepulchrum: If destinie thy miseries doe ease, Then hast thou health, and happie shalt thou be; If destinie denie thee life, Hieronimo, Yet shalt thou be a**ured of a tombe; If neither, yet let this thy comfort be: Heauen couereth him that hath no buriall. And, to conclude, I will reuenge his d**h! But how? Not as the vulgare wits of men, With open, but ineuitable ils; As by a secret, yet a certaine meane, Which vnder kindeship wilbe cloked best. Wise men will take their opportunitie, Closely and safely fitting things to time; But in extreames aduantage hath no time; And therefore all times fit not for reuenge. Thus, therefore, will I rest me in unrest, Dissembling quiet in vnquietnes, Not seeming that I know their villanies, That my simplicitie may make them think That ignorantly I will let all slip; For ignorance, I wot, and well they know, Remedium malorum iners est. Nor ought auailes it me to menace them. Who, as a wintrie storme vpon a plaine, Will beare me downe with their nobilitie. No, no, Hieronimo, thou must enioyne Thine eies to obseruation, and thy tung To milder speeches then thy spirit affoords, Thy hart to patience, and thy hands to rest, Thy cappe to curtesie, and they knee to bow, Till to reuenge thou know when, where and how. How now? what noise, what coile is that you keepe? A noise within. Enter a SERVANT. SER. Heere are a sort of poore petitioners That are importunate, and it shall please you, sir, That you should plead their cases to the king. HIERO. That I should plead their seuerall actions? Why, let them enter, and let me see them. Enter three CITIZENS and an OLDE MAN [DON BAZULTO]. I CIT. So I tell you this: for learning and for law There is not any aduocate in Spaine That can preuaile or will take halfe the paine That he will in pursuite of equitie. HIERO. Come neere, you men, that thus importune me! [Aside] Now must I beare a face of grauitie, For thus I vsde, before my marshalship, To pleide the causes as corrigedor.— Come on, sirs, whats the matter? II CIT. Sir, an action. HIERO. Of batterie? I CIT. Mine of debt. HIERO. Giue place. II CIT. No, sir, mine is an action of the case. III CIT. Mine an eiectionae firmae by a lease. HIERO. Content you, sirs; are you determined That I should plead your seuerall actions? I CIT. I, sir; and heeres my declaration. II CIT. And heere is my band. III CIT. And heere is my lease. They giue him papers. HIERO. But wherefore stands you silly man so mute, With mournfall eyes and hands to heauen vprearde? Come hether, father; let me know thy cause. SENEX, [DON BAZULTO]. O worthy sir, my cause but slightly knowne May mooue the harts of warlike Myrmydons, And melt the Corsicke rockes with ruthfull teares! HIERO. Say, father; tell me whats thy sute! BAZULTO. No, sir, could my woes Giue way vnto my most distresfull words, Then should I not in paper, as you see, With incke bewray what blood began in me. HIERO. Whats heere? "The Humble Supplication Of Don Bazulto for his Murdered Sonne." BAZULTO. I, sir. HIERO. No, sir, it was my murdred sonne! Oh, my sonne, my sonne! oh, my sonne Horatio! But mine or thine, Bazulto, be content; Heere, take my hand-kercher and wipe thine eies, Whiles wretched I in thy mishaps may see The liuely portraict of my dying selfe. He draweth out a bloudie napkin. O, no; not this! Horatio, this was thine! And when I dyde it in thy deerest blood, This was a token twixt thy soule and me That of thy d**h reuenged I should be. But heere: take this, and this! what? my purse? I, this and that and all of them are thine; For all as one are our extremeties. I CIT. Oh, see the kindenes of Hieronimo! II CIT. This gentlenes shewes him a gentleman. HIERO. See, see, oh, see thy shame, Hieronimo! See heere a louing father to his sonne: Beholde the sorrowes and the sad laments That he deliuereth for his sonnes dicease. If loues effects so striues in lesser things, If loue enforce such moodes in meaner wits, If loue expresse such power in poor estates, Hieronimo, as when a raging sea, Tost with the winde and tide, ore-turneth then The vpper-billowes, course of waues to keep, Whilest lesser waters labour in the deepe, Then shamest thou not, Hieronimo, to neglect The [swift] reuenge of thy Horatio? Though on this earth iustice will not be found, Ile downe to hell and in this pa**ion Knock at the dismall gates of Plutos court, Getting by force, as once Alcides did, A troupe of furies and tormenting hagges, To torture Don Lorenzo and the rest. Yet, least the triple-headed porter should Denye my pa**age to the slimy strond, The Thracian poet thou shalt counterfeite; Come on, old father, be my Orpheus; And, if thou canst no notes vpon the harpe, Then sound the burden of thy sore harts greefe Till we do gaine that Proserpine may graunt Reuenge on them that murd[er]red my sonne. Then will I rent and teare them thus and thus, Shiuering their limmes in peeces with my teeth! Teare the papers. I CIT. Oh, sir, my declaration! Exit HIERONIMO and they after. II CIT. Saue my bond! Enter HIERONIMO. II CIT. Saue my bond! III CIT. Alas my lease, it cost me Ten pound, and you, my lord, haue torne the same! HIERO. That can not be, I gaue it neuer a wound; Shew me one drop of bloud 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 OLDE MAN [DON BAZULTO]. BAZULTO remaines till HIERONIMO enters againe, who, staring him the face, speakes: And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth, To aske for iustice in this vpper earth? T[o] tell thy father thou art vnreuenged? To wring more teares from Isabellas eies, Whose lights are dimd with ouer-long laments? Goe back, my sonne, complaine to Eacus; For heeres no iustice. Gentle boy, begone; For iustice is exiled from the earth. H[i]eronimo will beare thee company. Thy mother cries on righteous Radamant For iust reuenge against the murderers. BAZULTO. Alas, my l[ord], whence springs this troubled speech? HIERO. But let me looke on my Horatio: Sweet boy, how art thou chang'd in d**hs black shade! Had Proserpine no pittie on thy youth, But suffered thy fair crimson-colourd spring With withered winter to be blasted thus? Horatio, thou are older then thy father: Ah, ruthless father, that fauour thus transformess. BA. Ah, my good lord, I am not your yong sonne. HIE. What! not my sonne? thou then a Furie art Sent from the emptie kingdome of blacke night To summon me to make appearance Before grim Mynos and iust Radamant, To plague Hieronimo, that is remisse And seekes not vengeance for Horatios d**h. BA. I am a greeued man, and not a ghost, That came for iustice for my murdered sonne. HIE. I, now I know thee, now thou namest thy sonne; Thou art the liuely image of my griefe: Within thy face sorrowes I may see; The eyes are [dim'd] with teares, they cheekes are wan, They forehead troubled, and thy muttring lips Murmure sad words abruptly broken off By force of windie sighes thy spirit breathes; And all this sorrow riseth for thy sonne, And selfe-same sorrow feele I for my sonne. Come in, old man; thou shalt to Izabell. Leane on my arme; I thee, thou me shalt stay; And thou and I and she will sing a song, Three parts in one, but all of discords fram'd,— Talke not of cords!—but let vs now be gone,— For with a cord Horatio was slaine. Exeunt.