Thomas Kyd - The Spanish Tragedy ACT 4. SCENE 3. lyrics

The DUKE's castle. Enter HIERONIMO; he knocks up the curtaine. Enter the DUKE OF CASTILE. CAS. How now, Hieronimo? wheres your fellows, That you take all this paine? HIERO. O sir, it is for the authors credit To look that all things may goe well. But, good my lord, let me intreat your Grace To giue the king the coppie of the plaie: This is the argument of what we shew. CAS. I will, Hieronimo. HIERO. One more thing, my good lord. CAS. Whats that? HIERO. Let me intreat your Grace That, when the traine are past into the gallerie, You would vouchsafe to throwe me downe the key. CAS. I will Hieronimo. Exit CAS[TILE]. HIERO. What, are you ready, Balthazar? Bring a chaire and a cushion for the king. Enter BALTHAZAR with a chaire. Well doon, Balthazar; hang vp the title: Our scene is Rhodes. What, is your beard on? BAL. Halfe on, the other is in my hand. HIERO. Dispatch, for shame! are you so long? Exit BALTHAZAR. Bethink thy-selfe, Hieronimo, Recall thy wits, recompt thy former wrongs Thou hast receiued by murder of thy sonne, And lastly, [but] not least, how Isabell, Once his mother and [my] deerest wife, All woe-begone for him, hath slaine her-selfe. Behoues thee then, Hieronimo, to be Reueng'd! The plot is laide of dire reuenge: On then, Hieronimo; persue reuenge, For nothing wants but acting of reuenge! Exit HIERONIMO. Enter SPANISH KING, VICE-ROY, the DUKE OF CASTILE, and their traine, [to the gallery]. KING. Now, viceroy, shall we see the tragedie Of Soliman, the Turkish emperour, Performde by pleasure by yor sonne the prince, My nephew Don Lorenzo, and my neece. VICE. Who? Bel-imperia? KING. I; and Hieronimo our marshall, At whose request they deine to doo't themselues. These be our pastimes in the court of Spaine. Heere, brother, you shall be the booke-keeper: This is the argument of that they shew. He giueth him a booke. Enter BALTHAZAR, BEL-IMPERIA, and HIERONIMO. BALTHAZAR. [acting] Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours yeeld Heauens the honor And holy Mahhomet, our sacred prophet! And be thou grac't with euery excelence That Soliman can giue or thou desire! But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is lesse Then in reseruing this faire Christian nimph, Perseda, blisfull lamp of excellence, Whose eies compell, like powerfull adamant, The warlike heart of Soliman to wait. KING. See, vice-roy, that is Balthazar your sonne, That represents the Emperour Solyman: How well he acts his amorous pa**ion! VICE. I; Bel-imperia hath taught him that. CASTILE: That's because his mind runnes al on Bel-imperia. HIERO. [acting] What-euer ioy earth yeelds betide your Maiestie! BALT. [acting] Earth yeelds no ioy without Persedaes loue. HIERO. [acting] Let then Peerseda on your Grace attend. BALT. [acting] She shall not wait on me, but I on her! Drawne by the influence of her lights, I yeeld. But let my friend, the Rhodian knight, come foorth,— Erasto, dearer then my life to me,— That he may see Perseda, my beloued. Enter ERASTO [LORENZO]. KING. Heere comes Lorenzo: looke vpon the plot And tell me, brother, what part plaies he. BEL. [acting] Ah, my Erasto! Welcome to Perseda! LO. [acting] Thrice happie is Erasto that thou liuest! Rhodes losse is nothing to Erastoes ioy; Sith his Perseda liues, his life suruiues. BALT. [acting] Ah, bashaw, heere is loue betweene Erasto And faire Perseda, soueraigne of my soule! HIERO. [acting] Remooue Erasto, mighty Solyman, And then Perseda will be quickly wonne. BALT. [acting] Erasto is my friend; and, while he liues, Perseda neuer will remooue her loue. HIERO. [acting] Let not Erasto liue to greeue great Soliman! BALT. [acting] Deare is Erasto in our princely eye. HIERO. [acting] But, if he be your riuall, let him die! BALT. [acting] Why, let him die! so loue commaundeth me. Yet I greeve I that Erasto should so die. HIERO. [acting] Erasto, Soliman saluteth thee, And lets thee wit by me his Highnes will, Which is, thou shouldst be thus imploid. Stab him. BEL. [acting] Ay, me, Erasto! See, Solyman, Erastoes slaine! BALT. [acting] Yet liueth Solyman to comfort thee. Faire queene of beautie, let not fauour die, Both with gratious eye behlde his griefe, That with Persedaes beautie is encreast, If by Perseda griefe be not releast. BEL. [acting] Tyrant, desist soliciting vaine sutes; Relentles are mine eares to thy laments As thy butcher is pittilesse and base Which seazd on my Erasto, harmelesse knight. Yet by thy power thou thinkest to commaund, And to thy power Perseda doth obey; But, were she able, thus she would reuenge Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince; Stab him. And on herselfe she would be thus reuengd. Stab herselfe. KING. Well said, old marshall! this was brauely done! HIERO. But Bel-imperia plauies Perseda well. VICE. Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia, You would be better to my sonne then so. KING. But now what followes for Hieronimo? HIERO. Marrie, this followes for Hieronimo! Heere breake we off our sundrie languages, And thus conclude I in our vulgare tung: Happely you think—but bootles are your thoughts— That this is fabulously counterfeit, And that we doo as all trageians doo,— To die to-day, for fashioning our scene, The d**h of Aiax, or some Romaine peer, And, in a minute starting vp againe, Reuiue to please tomorrows audience. No, princes; know I am Hieronimo, The hopeles father of a haples sonne, Whose tung is tun'd to tell his latest tale, Not to excuse grosse errors in the play. I see your lookes vrge instance of these words: Beholde the reason vrging me to this! Showes his dead sonne. See heere my shew; look on this spectacle! Heere lay my hope, and heere my hope hath end; Heere lay my hart, and heere my hart was slaine; Heere lay my treasure, heere my treasure lost; Heere lay my blisse, and heere my blisse bereft. But hope, hart, treasure, ioy and blisse,— All fled, faild, died, yea, all decaide with this. From froth these wounds came breath that gaue me life; They murdred me that made these fatall markes. The cause was loue whence grew this mortall hate: The hate, Lorenzo and yong Balthazar; The loue, my sonne to Bel-imperia. But night, the couerer of accursed crimes, With pitchie silence husht these traitors harmes, And lent them leaue—for they had sorted leasure— To take aduantage in my garden plot Vpon my sonne, my deere Horatio. There mercilesse they butcherd vp my boy, In black, darke night, to pale, dim, cruell d**h! He shrikes; I heard—and yet, me thinks, I heare— His dismall out-cry eccho in the aire; With soonest speed I hasted to the noise, Where, hanging on a tree, I found my sonne Through-girt with wounds and slaughtred, as you see. And greeued I, think you, at this spectacle? Speak, Portuguise, whose losse resembles mine! If thou canst weep vpon thy Balthazar, Tis like I wailde for my Horatio. And you, my l[ord], whose reconciled sonne Marcht in a net and thought himself vnseene, And rated me for a brainsicke lunacie, With "God amend that mad Hieronimo!"— How can you brook our plaies catastrophe? And heere beholde this bloudie hand-kercher, Which at Horatios d**h weeping dipt Within the riuer of his bleeding wounds! It as propitious, see, I haue reserued, And neuer hath it left my bloody hart, Soliciting remembrance of my vow With these, O these accursed murderers! Which now perform'd, my hart is satisfied. And to this end the bashaw I became, That might reuenge me on Lorenzos life, Who therefore was appointed to the part And was to represent the knight of Rhodes, That I might k** him more conueniently. So, vice-roy, was this Balthazar thy sonne— That Soliman which Bel-imperia In person of Perseda murdered,— So[le]lie appointed to that tragicke part, That she might slay him that offended her. Poore Bel-imperia mist her part in this: For, though the story saith she should haue died, Yet I, of kindenes and care for her, Did otherwise determine of her end. But loue of him whome they did hate too much Did vrge her resolution to be such. And princes, now beholde Hieronimo, Author and actor in this tragedie, Bearing his latest fortune in his fist; And will as resolute conclude his parte As any of the actors gone before. And, gentles, thus I end my play! Vrge no more words, I haue no more to say. He runs to hang himselfe. KING. O hearken, vice-roy; holde Hieronimo! Brother, my newphew and they sonne are slaine! VICE. We are betraide! my Balthazar is slaine! Breake ope the doores; runne saue Hieronimo! Hieronimo, doe but enforme the king of these euents; Vpon mine honour, thou shalt haue no harme! HIERO. Vice-roy, I will not trust thee with my life, Which I this day haue offered to my sonne: Accursed wretch, why staiest thou him that was resolued to die? KING. Speak, traitor! damned, bloudy murderer, speak!— For, now I haue thee, I wil make thee speak! Why hast thou done this vndeseruing deed? VICE. Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar? CAS. Why hast thou butchered both my children thus? HIERO. O good words! As deare to me was Horatio As yours, or yours, my l[ord], to you. My guitles sonne was by Lorenzo slaine; And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar Am I at last reuenged thorowly,— Vpon whole soules may Heauens be yet auenged With far greater far then these afflictions! CAS. But who were thy confederates in this? VICE. That was thy daughter Bel-imperia; For by her hand my Balthazar was slaine,— I saw her stab him. KING. Why speakest thou not? HIERO. What lesser libertie can kings affoord Then harmles silence? That afford it me! Sufficeth I may not nor I will not tell thee. KING. Fetch forth the tortures! Traitor as thou art, Ile make thee tell! HIERO. Indeed? Thou maiest torment me as his wretched sonne Hath done in murdring my Horatio; But neuer shalt thou force me to reueale The thing which I haue vowed inviolate. And therefore, in despight of all thy threats, Pleasde with their d**hs, and easde with their reuenge, First take my tung, and afterwards my hart! He bites out his tongue. KING. O monstrous resolution of a wretch! See, Vice-Roy, he hath bitten foorth his tung Rather than reueale what we requirde. CAS. Yet can he write. KING. And if in this he satisfie vs not, We will deuise the 'xtreamest kinde of d**h That euer was inuented for a wretch. Then he makes signes for a knife to mend his pen. CAS. O, he would haue a knife to mend his pen. VICE. Here; and aduise thee that thou write the troth,— Look to my brother! saue Hieronimo! He with a knife stabs the DUKE and himself. KING. What age hath euer heard such monstrous deeds? My brother and the whole succeeding hope That Spaine expected after my dicease. Go beare his body hence, that we may mourne The losse of our beloued brothers d**h, That he may be entom'd, what-ere befall. I am the next, the neerest, last of all. VICE. And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for vs: Take vp our haples sonne vntimely slaine; Set me vp with him, and he with wofull me, Vpon the maine-mast of a ship vnmand, And let the winde and tide [hale] me along To Sillas barking and vntamed gulfe Or to the lothsome poole of Archeron, To weepe my want for my sweet Balthazar. Spaine hath no refuge for a Portingale! The trumpets sound a dead march, the KING OF SPAINE mourning after his brothers body, and the KING OF PORTINGALE bearing the body of his sonne. Enter GHOAST and REUENGE. GHOAST. I; now my hopes haue end in their effects, When blood and sorrow finnish my desires: Horatio murdered in his Fathers bower, Vilde Serberine by Pedrigano slaine, False Pedrigano hang'd by quaint deuice, Faire Isabella by her-selfe misdone, Prince Balthazar by Bel-imepria stabd, The Duke of Castile an his wicked sonne Both done to d**h by olde Hieronimo, My Bel-imperia falne as Dido fell, And good Hieronimo slaine by himselfe! I, these were spectacles to please my soule. Now will I beg at louely Proserpine That, by the vertue of her princely doome, I may consort my freends in pleasing sort, And on my foes work iust and sharpe reuenge. Ile lead my freend Horatio through those feeldes Where neuer-dying warres are still inurde; Ile lead faire Isabella to that traine Where pittie weepes but neuer feeleth paine; Ile lead my Bel-imperia to those ioyes That vestal virgins and faire queenes possess; Ile lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plaies, Adding sweet pleasure to eternall daies. But say, Reuenge,—for thou must helpe or none,— Against the rest how shall my hate be showne? REUENGE. This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell, Where none but furies, bugs and tortures dwell. GHOAST. Then, sweet Reuenge, doo this at my request: Let me iudge and doome them to vnrest; Let loose poore Titius from the vultures gripe, And let Don Ciprian supply his roome; Place Don Lorenzo on Ixions wheele, And let the louers endles paines surcease, Iuno forget olde wrath and graunt him ease; Hang Balthazar about Chimeras neck, And let him there bewaile his bloudy loue, Repining at our ioyes that are aboue; Let Serberine goe roule the fatall stone And take from Siciphus his endles mone; False Pedringano, for his trecherie, Let him be dragde through boyling Acheron, And there liue dying still in endles flames, Blaspheming gods and all their holy names. REUENGE. Then haste we downe to meet thy freends and foes; To place thy freends in ease, the rest in woes. For heere though d**h [doth] end their miserie, Ile there begin their endles tragedie. Exeunt. FINIS.