Chapter IX: Part 9

Death hath his conquest, hell hath had his wish,
Gorlois his vow, Alecto her desire;
Sin hath his pay, and blood is quit with blood:
Revenge in triumph bears the struggling hearts!
Now, Gorlois, pierce the craggy rocks of hell,
Through chinks whereof infernal sprites do glance,
Return this answer to the furies’ court:
That Cornwall trembles with the thought of war,
And Tamar’s flood with drooping pace doth flow,
For fear of touching Camel’s bloody stream.
Britain, remember; write it on thy walls,
Which neither time nor tyranny may raze,
That rebels, traitors, and conspirators,
The seminary of lewd Catiline,
The bastard covey of Italian birds,
Shall feel the flames of ever-flaming fire,
Which are not quenched with a sea of tears.
And since in thee some glorious star must shine,
When many years and ages are expir’d,
Whose beams shall clear the mist of miscontent,
And make the damp of Pluto’s pit retire,
Gorlois will never fray the Britons more:
For Britain then becomes an angel’s land.
Both devils and sprites must yield to angels’ power,
Unto the goddess of the angels’ land.
Vaunt, Britain, vaunt of her renowmed reign,
Whose face deters the hags of hell from thee,
Whose virtues hold the plagues of heaven from thee;
Whose presence makes the earth fruitful to thee;
And with foresight of her thrice-happy days,
Britain, I leave thee to an endless praise.

Besides these speeches there was also penned a Chorus for the first act, and another for the second act, by Master Francis Flower, which were pronounced accordingly. The dumb shows were partly devised by Master Christopher Yelverton, Master Francis Bacon, Master John Lancaster and others, partly by the said Master Flower, who with Master Penruddock and the said Master Lancaster, directed these proceedings at Court.

[250] [A copy is in the library of the Duke of
Devonshire; it was formerly Kemble’s.]

[251] Shown to be _true_: the author has converted the
substantive _sooth_ into a verb.

[252] Ben Jonson opens his “Catiline” with the ghost of
Sylla “ranging for revenge,” and he was only thirteen
years old, when “The Misfortunes of Arthur” was
performed at Greenwich before the Queen. Hughes,
doubtless, had the commencement of Seneca’s “Thyestes”
in his mind, and throughout he has been indebted more
or less to that and other classical authorities. The
ghost of Polydorus opens the “Hecuba” of Euripides. The
ghost of Gorlois in this instance speaks the prologue
to the tragedy.

[253] _Pheer_ is companion, and is most ordinarily
applied to the male sex: Gorlois, however, refers to
the infidelity of his wife.

[254] Unwieldy or _unmanageable_ of herself--not having
any control over her actions. The sense is a little
constrained.

[255] These lines as they stand in the original are
nonsense--

“Whether to dround or stifll up _his_ breath,
_On sorcing_ blood to dye with dint of knife.”

[256] Milton has this thought, almost in the same
words, allowing for the difference of an interrogation.

“For where no hope is left, is left no fear.”
--_Par. Reg. III. 206._

[257] The word _should_ is accidentally repeated in
this line in the old copy.

[258] “But yet I’ll hope the best” is by mistake given
to Conan in the old copy.

[259] In the old copy Mordred’s reply is made a part of
Conan’s observation.

[260] By an apparent error in the original the five
preceding lines are given to Mordred.

[261] Arthur’s name is misprinted for that of Mordred
in this place in the original.

[262] It stands _rooms_ in the old copy, but to make
sense of the line we must read _grooms_. [Grooms is
here and afterwards used in the sense of _man_.]

[263] This reply, which belongs to Mordred, is given to
Conan in the old copy.

[264] Instead of the words “commons grudge,” “realm
envies” has been substituted and wafered over the text.
The alteration, like some others, seems to have been
originally pasted upon the objectionable passage.

[265] The following were substituted for the four
preceding lines.

“The first art in a kingdom is to scorn
The envy of the realm. He cannot rule
That fears to be envi’d. What can divorce
Envy from sovereignty? Must my deserts!”

[266] It does not appear whether Conan goes out, or
stands by, listening to the dialogue between Mordred
and Gawin in the following scene.

[267] _Pejor est bello timor ipse belli_--
Seneca, Thyestes, A. III. Chor.

Jasper Heywood (“Thyestes Faithfully Englished.” 1560)
thus translates this passage--

“Worse is then warre it selfe the feare of fyght.”

[268] [_Dulce bellum inexpertis._]

[269] _i.e._, Gawin: the Herald went out before.

[270] It had been originally printed _Second_, but
corrected by pasting _First_ over it.

[271] Old copy, _presence_.

[272] _i.e._, _Reach’d_ or _gave_ the reins to will.

[273] The word _subjection_ in this place has been
pasted over “allegiance.”

[274] [Old copy, _promise_.]

[275] “Illi mors gravis incubat,
Qui notus nimis omnibus,
Ignotus moritur sibi.”
--_Sen. Thyestes_, act ii. Chor.

[276] In the original misprinted _ceeepe_.

[277] _Overhippes_ in the original.

[278] [In the Chorus to the third scene, the word
_foulter_ is used in the undoubted sense of falter--

“They fall and foulter like the mellow fruit.”

But see Nares, edit. 1859, _v. fouldring_.]

[279] [Old copy, _mischiefes_.]

[280] _Curæ leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent._

“The grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.”
--_Macbeth_, act iv., sc. 3.

[281] [Old copy, _pagions_.]

[282] “In omni adversitate fortunæ infelicissimum genus
infortunii est fuisse felicem.”--Boet: _De Consol
Philos._ L. II.

Dante translates the passage thus--

“Nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria.”
--_Inferno_, c. v.

Fortiguerri follows him in these lines--

“E perchè rimembrare il ben perduto
Fa piu meschino lo stato presente.”
--_Ricciardetto_, c. xi., st. 81.

[283] [The writer seems to have had in his memory the
fourth eclogue of Virgil.]

[284] Printed _benthe_.

THE FIRST PART

OF

JERONIMO.

_EDITION._

_The First Part of Ieronimo. With the Warres of Portugall, and the
Life and Death of Don Andræa. Printed at London, for Thomas
Pauyer, and are to be solde at his shop, at the entrance into the
Exchange. 1605. 4to. Black letter._

[PREFACE TO THE FORMER EDITION.][285]

From Heywood’s[286] “Apology for Actors,” it appears that Thomas Kyd was the author of the “Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again.” But whether he likewise wrote this “First Part of Jeronimo” does not appear.

This “First Part of Jeronimo” is so scarce that many have doubted whether it ever existed; and Mr Coxeter and the author of the “Playhouse Dictionary” were of opinion, that what is called the “Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again,” was only the old play altered and new-named. Ben Jonson has a passage in the induction to “Cynthia’s Revels,” 1600, that seems to favour that opinion: “Another swears down all that sit about him, that the old Hieronimo, as it was first acted, was the only best and judiciously pen’d play of Europe.”

They were, however, two distinct plays, as appears from this copy of the first part, which is printed from one in the valuable collection of David Garrick, Esq.

From another passage in the induction to “Cynthia’s Revels,” acted in 1600, it may be conjectured, that “Jeronimo” first appeared on the stage about the year 1588.[287] “They say (says one of the children of the Queen’s Chapel) the ghosts of some three or four plays, _departed a dozen years since_, have been seen walking on your stage here.”

THE FIRST PART OF JERONIMO.

[_Sound a Signet,[288] and pass over the Stage. Enter at one door
the King of Spain, Duke of Castile, Duke Medina_, LORENZO, _and_
ROGERO; _at another door_, ANDREA, HORATIO, _and_ JERONIMO.
JERONIMO _kneels down, and the King creates him Marshal of
Spain_; LORENZO _puts on his Spurs,[289] and_ ANDREA _his sword.
The King goes along with_ JERONIMO _to his House; after a long
Signet is sounded, enter all the Nobles, with covered dishes, to
the Banquet. Exeunt omnes. That done, enter all again as
before._]

SPAIN. Frolic, Jeronimo! thou art now confirmed
Marshal of Spain by all the dues
And customary rights unto thy office.

JER. My knee sings thanks unto your highness’ bounty.--
Come hither, boy Horatio; fold thy joints;
Kneel by thy father’s loins, and thank my liege,
By honouring me, thy mother, and thyself,
With this high staff of office.

HOR. O my liege,
I have a heart thrice stronger than my years,
And that shall answer gratefully for me.
Let not my youthful blush impair my valour:
If ever you have foes, or red field-scars,
I’ll empty all my veins to serve your wars;
I’ll bleed for you; and more, what speech affords,
I’ll speak in drops, when I do fail in words.

JER. Well spoke, my boy; and on thy father’s side.--
My liege, how like you Don Horatio’s spirit?
What! doth it promise fair?

SPAIN. Ay,
And no doubt his merit will purchase more.
Knight Marshal, rise, and still rise
Higher and greater in thy sovereign’s eyes.

JER. O fortunate hour! bless’d minute! happy day!
Able to ravish even my sense away!
Now I remember too--O sweet remembrance!--
This day my years strike fifty, and in Rome
They call the fifty year the year of jubilee,
The merry year, the peaceful year, [the] jocund year,
A year of joy, of pleasure and delight;
This shall be my year of jubilee, for ’tis my fifty.
Age ushers honour; ’tis no shame; confess:
Beard, thou art fifty full, not a hair less.

_Enter an_ EMBASSADOR.

SPAIN. How now? what news for[290] Spain? tribute returned?

EMB. Tribute in words, my liege, but not in coin.

SPAIN. Ha! dare he still procrastinate with Spain?
Not tribute paid! not three years paid!
’Tis not at his coin,
But his slack homage, that we most repine.

JER. My liege, if my opinion might stand firm
Within your highness’ thoughts----

SPAIN. Marshal,
Our kingdom calls thee father; therefore speak free.
Thy counsel I’ll embrace, as I do thee.

JER. I thank your highness. Then, my gracious liege,
I hold it meet, by way of embassage,
To demand his mind, and the neglect of tribute.
But, my liege,
Here must be kind words, which doth oft besiege
The ears of rough-hewn tyrants more than blows;
O, a politic speech beguiles the ears of foes.
Marry, my liege, mistake me not, I pray;
If friendly phrases, honey’d speech, bewitching accent,
Well-tuned melody, and all sweet gifts
Of nature, cannot avail or win him to it,
Then let him raise his gall up to his tongue,
And be as bitter as physicians’ drugs,
Stretch his mouth wider with big swoll’n phrases.
O, here’s a lad of mettle, stout Don Andrea,
Mettle to the crown,
Would shake the king’s high court three handfuls down.

SPAIN. And well picked out, Knight Marshal; speech well-strung;
I’d rather choose Horatio, were he not so young.

HOR. I humbly thank your highness,
In placing me next unto his royal bosom.

SPAIN. How stand ye, lords, to this election?

OMNES. Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.

MED. Only, with pardon, mighty sovereign----

CAST. I should have chosen Don Lorenzo.

MED. I, Don Rogero.

ROG. O no; not me, my lords,
I am war’s champion, and my fees are swords.
Pray, king, pray, peers, let it be Don Andrea;
He is a worthy limb,
Loves wars and soldiers; therefore I love him.

JER. And I love him and thee, valiant Rogero.
Noble spirits, gallant bloods;
You are no wise, insinuating lords,
You ha’ no tricks, you ha’ none of all their sleights.

LOR. So, so, Andrea must be sent embassador;
Lorenzo is not thought upon: good!
I’ll wake the court, or startle out some blood.

SPAIN. How stand you, lords, to this election?

OMNES. Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.

SPAIN. Then, Don Andrea----

AND. My approved liege.

SPAIN. We make thee our lord high embassador.

AND. Your highness circles me with honour’s bounds;
I shall discharge the weight of your command
With best respect: if friendly-tempered phrase
Cannot affect the virtue of your charge,
I will be hard like thunder, and as rough
As northern tempests, or the vexed bowels
Of too insulting waves, who at one blow
Five merchants’ wealths into the deep doth throw.
I’ll threaten crimson wars----

ROG. Aye, aye, that’s good;
Let them keep coin, pay tribute with their blood.

SPAIN. Farewell, then, Don Andrea; to thy charge.
Lords, let us in; joy shall be now our guest:
Let’s in to celebrate our second feast.
[_Exeunt omnes, manet_ LORENZO _solus._

LOR. Andrea’s gone embassador;
Lorenzo is not dreamt on in this age.
Hard fate,
When villains sit not in the highest state!
Ambition’s plumes, that flourished in our court,
Severe authority has dashed with justice;
And policy and pride walk like two exiles,
Giving attendance, that were once attended;
And we rejected, that were once high-honoured.
I hate Andrea; ’cause he aims at honour,
When my purest thoughts work in a pitchy vale,
Which are as different as heaven and hell.
One peers for day, the other gapes for night.
That yawning beldam, with her jetty skin--
’Tis she I hug as mine effeminate bride,
For such complexions best appease my pride.
I have a lad in pickle of this stamp,
A melancholy, discontented courtier,
Whose famished jaws look like the chap of death;
Upon whose eyebrows hangs damnation;
Whose hands are washed in rape and murders bold:
Him with a golden bait will I allure
(For courtiers will do anything for gold),
To be Andrea’s death at his return.
He loves my sister, that shall cost his life;
So she a husband, he shall lose a wife.
O sweet, sweet policy, I hug thee! good;
Andrea’s Hymen’s-draught shall be in blood.
[_Exit._

_Enter_ HORATIO _at one door_, ANDREA _at another._

HOR. Whither in such haste, my second self?

AND. I’faith, my dear bosom, to take solemn leave
Of a most weeping creature.

HOR. That’s a woman.

_Enter_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

AND. That’s Bell’-Imperia.

HOR. See, see, she meets you here:
And what is it to love, and be lov’d dear!

BEL. I have heard of your honour, gentle breast,
I do not like it now so well, methinks.

AND. What! not to have honour bestowed on me?

BEL. O, yes; but not a wandering honour, dear;
I could afford well, diddest thou stay here.
Could honour melt itself into thy veins,
And thou the fountain, I could wish it so,
If thou wouldst remain here with me, and not go.

AND. ’Tis but to Portugal.

HOR. But to demand the tribute, lady.

BEL. Tribute! alas, that Spain cannot of peace
Forbear a little coin, the Indies being so near.
And yet this is not all: I know you are too hot,
Too full of spleen for an embassador,
And will lean much to honour.

AND. Pish![291]

BEL. Nay, hear me, dear! I know you will be rough
And violent; and Portugal hath a tempestuous son,
Stamp’d with the mark of fury, and you too.

AND. Sweet Bell’-Imperia!

BEL. You’ll[292] meet like thunder, each imperious
Over other’s spleen; you have both proud spirits,
And both will strive to aspire. When
Two vexed clouds justle, they strike out fire:
And you, I fear me, war, which peace forefend.
O dear Andrea, pray, let’s have no wars!
First let them pay the soldiers that were maimed
In the last battle, ere more wretches fall,
Or walk on stilts to timeless funeral.

AND. Respective dear! O my life’s happiness!
The joy of all my being! do not shape
Frightful conceit beyond the intent of act!
I know thy love is vigilant o’er my blood,
And fears ill-fate which heaven hath yet withstood.
But be of comfort; sweet Horatio knows
I go to knit friends, not to kindle foes.

HOR. True, madam Bell’-Imperia, that’s his task:
The phrase he useth must be gently styled,
The king hath warned him to be smooth and mild.

BEL. But will you, indeed, Andrea?

AND. By this.

BEL. By this lip-blushing kiss.

HOR. O, you swear sweetly.

BEL. I’ll keep your oath for you, till you return,
Then I’ll be sure you shall not be forsworn.

_Enter_ PEDRINGANO.

AND. Ho, Pedringano!

PED. Signior?

AND. Are all things aboard?

PED. They are, my good lord.

AND. Then. Bell’-Imperia, I take leave; Horatio
Be, in my absence, my dear self, chaste self.--
What! playing the woman, Bell’-Imperia?
Nay, then you love me not; or, at the least,
You drown my honours in those flowing waters.
Believe it, Bell’-Imperia, ’tis as common
To weep at parting, as to be a woman.
Love me more valiant; play not this moist prize;
Be woman in all parts save in thy eyes.
And so I leave thee.

BEL. Farewell, my lord:
Be mindful of my love and of your word.

AND. ’Tis fixed upon my heart; adieu, soul’s friend!

HOR. All honour on Andrea’s steps attend.

BEL. Yet he is in sight, and yet but now he’s vanished.
[_Exit_ ANDREA.

HOR. Nay, lady, if you stoop so much to passion,
I’ll call him back again.

BEL. O good Horatio, no; it is for honour.
Pr’y-thee, let him go.

HOR. Then, madam, be composed, as you were wont,
To music and delight; the time being comic, will
Seem short and pleasant, till his return
From Portugal. And, madam, in this circle
Let your heart move;
Honoured promotion is the sap of love.
[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ LAZAROTTO, _a discontented Courtier._

LOR. Come, my soul’s spaniel, my life’s jetty substance,
What’s thy name?

LAZ. My name ’s an honest name, a courtier’s name:
’Tis Lazarotto.

LOR. What, Lazarotto!

LAZ. Or rather rotting in this lazy age
That yields me no employments: I have mischief
Within my breast, more than my bulk[293] can hold:
I want a midwife to deliver it.

LOR. I’ll be the he-one then, and rid thee soon
Of this dull, leaden, and tormenting elf.
Thou know’st the love betwixt
Bell’-Imperia and Andrea’s bosom?

LAZ. Aye, I do.

LOR. How might I cross it, my sweet mischief?
Honey-damnation, how?

LAZ. Well:
As many ways as there are paths to hell,
And that’s enou’, i’ faith. From usurer’s door--
There goes one path: from friars that nurse whores--
There goes another path: from brokers’ stalls,
From rich that die and build no hospitals--
Two other paths: from farmers that crack barns
With stuffing corn, yet starve the needy swarms--
Another path: from drinking-schools one--
From dicing-houses--but from the court, none, none.

LOR. Here is a slave just of the stamp I wish;
Whose ink-soul’s blacker than his name,
Though it stand printed with a raven’s quill. [_Aside._

But, Lazarotto, cross my sister’s love,
And I’ll rain showers of ducats in thy palm.

LAZ. O duckets, dainty ducks; forgive me, duckets,
I’ll fetch you duck enough for gold; and chink
Makes the punk wanton and the bawd to wink.

LOR. Discharge, discharge, good Lazarotto,
How we may cross my sister’s loving hopes.

LAZ. Nay, now I’ll tell you.

LOR. Thou knowest Andrea’s gone embassador.

LAZ. The better; there is opportunity:
Now list to me.

_Enter_ JERONIMO _and_ HORATIO, _and overhear their talk._

Alcario, the Duke Medina’s son,
Doats on your sister Bell’-Imperia:
Him in her private gallery you shall place
To court her; let his protestations be
Fashioned with rich jewels,[294] for in love
Great gifts and gold have the best tongue to move.
Let him not spare an oath without a jewel
To bind it fast: O, I know women’s hearts,
What stuff they are made of, my lord: gifts and giving
Will melt the chastest-seeming female living.

LOR. Indeed Andrea is but poor, though honourable;
His bounty among soldiers soaks him dry,
And their o’er-great gifts may bewitch her eye.

JER. Here’s no fine villainy, no damned brother! [_Aside._

LOR. But say she should deny his gifts, be all
Composed of hate, as my mind gives me that
She will: what then?

LAZ. Then thus: at his return
To Spain, I’ll murder Don Andrea.

LOR. Dar’st thou, spirit?

LAZ. What dares not he do, that ne’er hopes t’inherit?

HOR. He dares be damn’d like thee. [_Aside._

LAZ. Dare I? Ha, ha!
I have no hope of everlasting height,
My soul’s a Moor, you know, salvation’s white.
What dare I not enact then? Tush, he dies;
I will make way to Bell’-Imperia’s eyes.

LOR. To weep, I fear, but not to tender love.

LAZ. Why, is she not a woman? she must weep
Awhile, as widows use, till their first sleep;
Who in the morrow following will be sold
To new, before the first are throughly cold.
So Bell’-Imperia; for this is common;
The more she weeps, the more she plays the woman.

LOR. Come then, howe’er it hap, Andrea shall be cross’d.

LAZ. Let me alone, I’ll turn him to a ghost.
[_Exeunt_ LORENZO _and_ LAZAROTTO.
_Manent_ JERONIMO _and_ HORATIO.[295]

JER. Farewell, true brace of villains;
Come hither, boy Horatio, didst thou hear them?

HOR. O my true-breasted father, my ears
Have suck’d in poison, deadly poison:
Murder Andrea! O inhuman practice!
Had not your reverend years been present here,
I should have poniarded the villain’s bowels,
And shoved his soul out to damnation.
Murder Andrea! honest lord! impious villains!

JER. I like thy true heart, boy; thou lov’st thy friend:
It is the greatest argument and sign,
That I begot thee, for it shows thou ’rt mine.

HOR. O father, ’tis a charitable deed
To prevent those that would make virtue bleed!
I’ll despatch letters to Don Andrea;
Unfold their hellish practice, damn’d intent,
Against the virtuous rivers of his life.
Murder Andrea!

_Enter_ ISABELLA.

JER. Peace: who comes here? news, news, Isabella.

ISA. What news, Jeronimo?

JER. Strange news:
Lorenzo is become an honest man.

ISA. Is this your wondrous news?

JER. Is it not wondrous
To have honesty in hell? go, tell it abroad now;
But see you put no new additions to it,
As thus--shall I tell you, gossip? Lorenzo is
Become an honest man:--beware, beware; for honesty,
Spoken in derision, points out knavery.
O, then, take heed; that jest would not be trim,
He’s a great man, therefore we must not knave him.
In, gentle soul; I’ll not be long away,
As short my body, short shall be my stay.[296]
[_Exit_ ISABELLA.

HOR. Murder Andrea! what blood-sucking slave
Could choke bright honour in a scabbard grave!

JER. What, harping still upon Andrea’s death?
Have courage, boy: I shall prevent their plots,
And make them both stand like two politic sots.

HOR. Lorenzo has a reach as far as hell
To hook the devil from his flaming cell:
O sprightly father, he’ll outreach you then;
Knaves longer reaches have than honest men.

JER. But, boy, fear not, I will outstretch them all,
My mind’s a giant, though my bulk be small.[297]
[_Exeunt._

_Enter the_ KING OF PORTUGAL, BALTHEZAR, ALEXANDRO, DON VOLLUPO,
_and others: a Peal of Ordnance; within, a great shout of People._

KING. What is the meaning of this loud report?

ALEX. An embassy, my lord, is new arrived from Spain.

KING. Son Balthezar, we pray, do you go meet him,
And do him all the honour that belongs him.

BAL. Father, my best endeavour shall obey you:
Welcome, worthy lord, Spain’s choice embassador,
Brave, stout Andrea; for so I guess thee.

_Enter_ ANDREA.

AND. Portugal’s heir, I thank thee,
Thou seems no less than what thou art, a prince
And an heroic spirit: Portugal’s king,
I kiss my hand, and tender on thy throne
My master’s love, peace and affection.

KING. And we receive them and thee, worthy Andrea;
Thy master’s high-prized love unto our heart,
Is welcome to his friend, thou to our court.

AND. Thanks, Portugal. My lords, I had in charge,
At my depart from Spain, this embassage,
To put your breast in mind of tribute due
Unto our master’s kingdom, these three years
Detained and kept back; and I am sent to know
Whether neglect or will detains it so.

KING. Thus much return unto thy king, Andrea;
We have with best advice thought of our state,
And find it much dishonoured by base homage:
I not deny, but tribute hath been due
To Spain by our forefathers’ base captivity,
Yet cannot rase out their successors’ merit.
’Tis said, we shall not answer at next birth
Our fathers’ faults in heaven; why then on earth?
Which proves and shows, that which they lost
By base captivity,
We may redeem with honoured valiancy.
We borrow nought: our kingdom is our own:
He’s a base king that pays rent for his throne.

AND. Is this thy answer, Portugal?

BAL. Ay, Spain;
A royal answer too, which I’ll maintain.

OMNES. And all the peers of Portugal the like.

AND. Then thus all Spain, which but three minutes ago
Was thy full friend, is now returned thy foe.

BAL. An excellent foe; we shall have scuffling good.

AND. Thou shalt pay tribute, Portugal, with blood.

BAL. Tribute for tribute, then, and foes for foes.

AND. I bid you sudden wars.

BAL. I, sudden blows, and that’s as good as wars.
Don, I’ll not bate
An inch of courage nor a hair of fate:
Pay tribute I with strokes.

AND. Aye, with strokes you shall;
Alas, that Spain should correct Portugal!

BAL. Correct!
O, in that one word such torments do I feel,
That I could lash thy ribs with valiant steel.

AND. Prince Balthezar, shall’s meet?

BAL. Meet, Don Andrea? yes, in the battle’s bowels;
Here is my gage, a never-failing pawn;
’Twill keep his day, his hour, nay minute, ’twill.

AND. Then thine and this, possess one quality.

BAL. O, let them kiss!
Did I not understand thee noble, valiant,
And worthy my sword’s society with thee,
For all Spain’s wealth, I’d not grasp hands.
Meet Don Andrea? I tell thee, noble spirit,
I’d wade up to the knees in blood, I’d make
A bridge of Spanish carcases, to single thee
Out of the gasping army.

AND. Woot thou, prince?
Why even for that I love [thee.]

BAL. Tut, love me, man, when we have drunk
Hot blood together; wounds will tie
An everlasting settled amity,
And so shall thine.

AND. And thine.

BAL. What! give no place?

AND. To whom?

BAL. To me.

AND. To thee?
Why should my face, that’s placed above my mind,
Fall under it?

BAL. I’ll make thee yield.

AND. Aye, when you get me down;
But I stand even yet--jump crown to crown.

BAL. Dar’st thou?

AND. I dare.

BAL. I am all vex’d.

AND. I care not.

BAL. I shall forget the law.

AND. Do, do.

BAL. Shall I?

AND. Spare not.

BAL. But thou wilt yield first.

AND. No.

BAL. O, I hug thee for’t!
The valiant’st spirit e’er trod the Spanish court:
Here let the rising of our hot blood set.

ALEX. My liege, two nobler spirits never met.

BAL. Until we meet in purple, when our swords
Shall----

AND. Agreed, right valiant prince:--
Then, Portugal, this is thy resolute answer?

KING. So, return, it’s so: we have bethought us,
What tribute is; how poor that monarch shows,
Who for his throne a yearly pension owes:
And what our predecessors lost to Spain,
We have fresh spirits that can renew’t again.

AND. Then I unclasp the purple leaves of war:
Many a new wound must gasp through an old scar.
So, Portugal, I leave thee.

KING. Ourself in person
Will see thee safe aboard: come, son, come, lords,
Instead of tribute we must pay our swords.

BAL. Remember, Don Andrea, that we meet.

AND. Up hither sailing in a crimson fleet.
[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ ALCARIO.

LOR. Do you affect my sister?

ALCA. Affect! above affection, for
Her breast is my life’s treasure; O, entire
Is the condition of my hot desire!

LOR. Then this must be your plot.
You know Andrea’s gone embassador,
On whom my sister Bell’-Imperia
Casts her affection?
You are in stature like him, speech alike,
And had you but his vestment on your back,
There’s no one living but would swear ’twere he:
Therefore sly policy must be your guide.
I have a suit just of Andrea’s colours,
Proportioned in all parts:--nay, ’twas his own--
This suit within my closet shall you wear,
And so disguis’d woo, sue, and then at last--

ALCA. What?

LOR. Obtain thy love.

ALCA. This falls out rare; in this disguise I may both
Wed, bed, and board her.

LOR. You may, you may:
Besides, within these few days he’ll return.

ALCA. Till this be acted, I in passion burn.

LOR. All falls out for the purpose: all hits jump;[298]
The date of his embassage, nigh expired,
Gives strength unto our plot.

ALCA. True, true; all to the purpose.

LOR. Moreover, I will buzz Andrea’s landing
Which, once but crept into the vulgar mouths,
Is hurried here and there, and sworn for troth:
Think, ’tis your love makes me create this guise,
And willing hope to see your virtue rise.

ALCA. Lorenzo’s bounty I do more enfold
Than the great’st mine of India’s brightest gold.

LOR. Come, let us in; the next time you shall show
All Don Andrea, not Alcario.
[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ JERONIMO _trussing of his points_; HORATIO
_with pen and ink._

JER. Come, pull the table this way: so, ’tis well.
Come write, Horatio, write;
This speedy letter must away to-night.
[HORATIO _folds the paper the contrary way_.

What! fold paper that way to a nobleman?
To Don Andrea, Spain’s embassador!
Fie! I am ashamed to see it: hast thou worn
Gowns in the university, toss’d[299] logic, suck’d
Philosophy, ate cues, drunk cees,[300] and cannot give
A letter the right courtier’s crest?
O, there’s a kind of state
In everything, save in a cuckold’s pate!
Fie, fie, Horatio! what, is your pen foul?

HOR. No, father, cleaner than Lorenzo’s soul;
That’s dipp’d in ink made of an envious gall,
Else had my pen no cause to write at all.

JER. Signior Andrea, say.

HOR. Signior Andrea----

JER. ’Tis a villainous age this.

HOR. ’Tis a villainous age this----

JER. That a nobleman should be a knave as
Well as an ostler.

HOR. That a nobleman should be a knave as
Well as an ostler----

JER. Or a serjeant.

HOR. Or a serjeant----

JER. Or a broker.

HOR. Or a broker----

JER. Yet I speak not this of Lorenzo,
For he’s an honest lord.

HOR. ’S foot, father, I’ll not write him honest lord.

JER. Take up thy pen, or I’ll take up thee.

HOR. What! write him honest lord? I’ll not agree.

JER. You’ll take it up, sir?

HOR. Well, well.

JER. What went before? thou hast put me out: beshrew
Thy impudence or insolence!

HOR. Lorenzo’s an honest lord----

JER. Well, sir; and has hired one to murder you.

HOR. O, I cry you mercy, father, meant you so?

JER. Art thou a scholar, Don Horatio,
And canst not aim at figurative speech?

HOR. I pray you, pardon me; ’twas but youth’s
Hasty error.

JER. Come, read then.

HOR. And has hired one to murder you----

JER. He means to send you to heaven, when
You return from Portugal.

HOR. From Portugal----

JER. Yet he’s an honest duke’s son.

HOR. Yet he’s an----

JER. But not the honest son of a duke.

HOR. But not the honest----

JER. O that villainy should be found in the great chamber!

HOR. O that villainy----

JER. And honesty in the bottom of a cellar.

HOR. And honesty----

JER. If you’ll be murdered, you may.

HOR. If you’ll be----

JER. If you be not, thank God and Jeronimo.

HOR. If you be not----

JER. If you be, thank the devil and Lorenzo.

HOR. If you be, thank-----

JER. Thus hoping you will not be murdered, and you can choose.

HOR. Thus hoping you will-----

JER. Especially being warned beforehand.

HOR. Especially----

JER. I take my leave, boy; Horatio, write _leave_
Bending in the hams like an old courtier:--
Thy assured friend, say, ’gainst Lorenzo and
The devil,--little Jeronimo Marshal.

HOR. Jeronimo Marshal.

JER. So, now read it o’er.

HOR. Signior Andrea, ’tis a villainous age this,
That a nobleman should be a knave as well
As an ostler, or a serjeant, or a broker; yet
I speak not this of Lorenzo: he’s an
Honest lord, and has hired one to murder you,
When you return from Portugal: yet
He’s an honest duke’s son, but not the
Honest son of a duke. O that villainy
Should be found in the great chamber, and honesty
In the bottom of the cellar!

JER. True, boy: there’s a moral in that; as much
To say, knavery in the court, and honesty in a
Cheese-house.

HOR. If you’ll be murdered, you may: if you be
Not, thank God and Jeronimo: if you be,
Thank the devil and Lorenzo. Thus hoping
You will not be murdered, and you can choose;
Especially being warned beforehand, I take my leave.

JER. Horatio, hast thou written _leave_, bending in the
Hams enough, like a gentleman-usher? ’Sfoot,
No, Horatio; thou hast made him straddle too much
Like a Frenchman: for shame, put his legs closer,
Though it be painful.

HOR. So, ’tis done, ’tis done.--
Thy assured friend ’gainst Lorenzo and the devil;
Little Jeronimo Marshal.

_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ ISABELLA.

ISA. Yonder he is, my lord; pray you speak to him.

JER. Wax, wax, Horatio: I had need wax too,
Our foes will stride else over me and you.

ISA. He’s writing a love-letter to some Spanish lady,
And now he calls for wax to seal it.

LOR. God save you, good knight Marshal.

JER. Who’s this? my lord Lorenzo? welcome, welcome;
You’re the last man I thought on, save the devil:
Much doth your presence grace our homely roof.

LOR. O Jeronimo,
Your wife condemns you of an uncourtesy
And over-passing wrong; and, more, she names
Love-letters which you send to Spanish dames.

JER. Do you accuse me so, kind Isabella?

ISA. Unkind Jeronimo!

LOR. And, for my instance, this in your hand is one.

JER. In sooth, my lord, there is no written name
Of any lady, nor[301] no Spanish dame.

LOR. If it were not so, you would not be afeard
To read or show the waxed letter:
Pray you, let me behold it.

JER. I pray you pardon me.
I must confess, my lord, it treats of love,
Love to Andrea, ay, even to his very bosom.

LOR. What news, my lord, hear you from Portugal?

JER. Who, I? before your grace it must not be;
The badger feeds not, till the lion’s served:
Nor fits it news so soon kiss subjects’ ears,[302]
As the fair cheek of high authority.
Jeronimo lives much absent from the court,
And, being absent there, lives from report.

LOR. Farewell, Jeronimo.

ISA. Welcome, my lord Lorenzo.
[_Exeunt_ LORENZO _and_ ISABELLA.

JER. Boy,
Thy mother’s jealous of my love to her.

HOR. O, she play’d us a wise part; now ten to one
He had not overheard the letter read,
Just as he enter’d.

JER. Though it had happen’d evil,
He should have heard his name yoked with the devil.
Here, seal the letter with a loving knot:
Send it with speed; Horatio, linger not;
That Don Andrea may prevent his death,
And know his enemy by his envious breath.
[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ LORENZO, _and_ ALCARIO _disguised like_ ANDREA.

LOR. Now, by the honour of Castile’s true house,
You are as like Andrea, part for part,
As he is like himself: did I not know you,
By my cross I swear, I could not think you but
Andrea’s self, so legg’d, so faced, so speech’d,
So all in all; methinks I should salute
Your quick return and speedy haste from Portugal:
Welcome, fair lord, worthy ambassador,
Brave Don Andrea! O, I laugh to see
How we shall jest at her mistaking thee!

ALC. What, have you given it out Andrea is return’d?

LOR. ’Tis all about the court in every ear,
And my invention brought to me for news
Last night at supper; and which the more to cover,
I took a bowl, and quaff’d a health to him,
When it would scarce go down for extreme laughter,
To think how soon report had scatter’d it.

ALC. But is the villain Lazarotto
Acquainted with our drift?

LOR. Not for Spain’s wealth;
Though he be secret, yet suspects the worst,
For confidence confounds the stratagem.
The fewer in a plot of jealousy
Build a foundation surest, when multitudes
Make it confused, ere it come to head.
Be secret then; trust not the open air,
For air is breath, and breath-blown words raise care--
This is the gallery, where she most frequents.

ALC. Within this walk have I beheld her dally
With my shape’s substance. O immortal powers!
Lend your assistance; clap a silver tongue
Within this palate that, when I approach
Within the presence of this demi-goddess,
I may possess an adamantic power,
And so bewitch her with my honey’d speech,
Have every syllable a music-stop,
That, when I pause, the melody may move,
And hem persuasion ’tween her snowy paps,
That her heart hearing may relent and yield!

LOR. Break off, my lord: see where she makes approach.

_Enter_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

ALC. Then fall into your former vein of terms.

LOR. Welcome, my lord, welcome, brave Don Andrea,
Spain’s best of spirit! what news
From Portugal? tribute or war?
But see, my sister Bell’-Imperia comes:
I will defer it to some other time,
For company hinders love’s conference.
[_Exit_ LORENZO.

BEL. Welcome, my life’s self-form, dear Don Andrea.

ALC. My words iterated give thee as much:
Welcome, my self of self.

BEL. What news, Andrea? treats it peace or war?

ALC. At first they cried all war, as men resolved
To lose both life and honour at one cast:
At which I thunder’d words all clad in proof,
Which struck amazement to their palled speech,
And tribute presently was yielded up.
But, madam Bell’-Imperia, leave we this,
And talk of former suits and quests of love.

_They whisper. Enter_ LAZAROTTO.

LAZ. ’Tis all about the court Andrea’s come:
Would I might greet him! and I wonder much,
My lord Lorenzo is so slack in murder,
Not to afford me notice all this while.
Gold, I am true;
I had my hire, and thou shalt have thy due:
Was’t possible to miss him so? soft! soft!
This gallery leads to Bell’-Imperia’s lodging;
There he is, sure, or will be, sure. I’ll stay:
The evening too begins to slubber day:[303]
Sweet, opportuneful season; here I’ll lean,
Like a court-hound, that licks fat trenchers clean.
[_Aside_.

BEL. But has the king partook your embassy?

ALC. That till to-morrow shall be now deferr’d.

BEL. Nay, then you love me not:
Let that be first despatch’d; till when receive this token.
[_She kisses him. Exit_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

ALC. I to the king with this unfaithful heart!
It must not be: I play too false a part.

LAZ. Up, Lazarotto; yonder comes thy prize;
Now lives Andrea, now Andrea dies.
[LAZAROTTO _kills him_.

ALC. That villain Lazarotto has kill’d me,
Instead of Andrea.

_Enter_ ANDREA _and_ ROGERO, _and Others._

ROG. Welcome home, lord embassador.

ALC. O, O, O.

AND. Whose groan was that? what frightful villain’s this,
His sword unsheathed? whom hast thou murdered, slave?

LAZ. Why, Don, Don Andrea.

AND. No, counterfeiting villain.
He says, my lord, that he hath murdered me.

LAZ. Aye, Don Andrea, or else Don the devil.

AND. Lay hands on him; some rear up
The bleeding body to the light.

ROG. My lord, I think ’tis you: were you not here,
A man might swear ’twere you.

AND. His garments, ha! like mine, his face made like!
An ominous horror all my veins doth strike.
Sure, this portends my death; this misery
Aims at some fatal pointed tragedy.

_Enter_ JERONIMO _and_ HORATIO.

JER. Son Horatio, see Andrea slain!

HOR. Andrea slain! then, weapon, cling[304] my breast.

AND. Live, truest friend, for ever lov’d and bless’d.

HOR. Lives Don Andrea?

AND. Aye, but slain in thought,
To see so strange a likeness forged and wrought.
Lords, cannot you yet descry,
Who is the owner of this red melting body?

ROG. My lord, it is Alcario, duke Medina’s son;
I know him by this mole upon his breast.

LAZ. Alcario slain! hast thou beguiled me, sword?
Arm, hast thou slain thy bountiful kind lord?
Why then rot off and drop upon the ground,
Strow all the galleries with gobbets round.

_Enter_ LORENZO.

LOR. Who names Alcario slain? it is Alcario!
O cursed deed!
Couldst thou not see, but make the wrong man bleed?

LAZ. ’Sfoot, ’twas your fault, my lord; you brought no word.

LOR. Peace; no words: I’ll get thy pardon:
Why, mum, then.

_Enter_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

BEL. Who names Andrea slain? O, ’tis Andrea!
O, I swoon, I die:

LOR. Look to my sister Bell’-Imperia!

AND. Raise up, my dear love, Bell’-Imperia!
O, be of comfort, sweet: call in thy spirits;
Andrea lives: O, let not death beguile thee!

BEL. Are you Andrea?

AND. Do not forget;
That was Alcario, my shape’s counterfeit.

LOR. Why speaks not this accurs’d, damn’d villain?

LAZ. O good words, my lords; for those are courtiers’ vails:
The king must hear; why should I make two tales?
For to be found in two, before the king
I will resolve you all this strange strange thing:
I hit, yet miss’d; ’twas I mistook my part.

HOR. Aye, villain; for thou aim’st at this true heart.

JER. Horatio, ’twas well, as fortune stands,
This letter came not to Andrea’s hands.

HOR. ’Twas happiness indeed.

BEL. Was it not you, Andrea, questioned me
’Bout love?

AND. No, Bell’-Imperia.
Belike, ’twas false Andrea; for the first
Object mine eyes met was that most accurst,
Which, I much fear me, by all signs portends
Most doubtful wars and dangerous pointed ends
To light upon my blood.

BEL. Angels of heaven, forefend it!

AND. Some take up the body; others take charge
Of that accursed villain.

LOR. My lord, leave that to me; I’ll look to him.

JER. Mark, mark, Horatio: a villain guard a villain.

AND. The king may think my news is a bad guest,
When the first object is a bleeding breast.
[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ KING OF SPAIN, CASTILE, MEDINA, ROGERO,
_and Others; a Dead March within._

KING. My lords,
What heavy sounds are these?--nearer and nearer! ha!
Andrea the forerunner of these news?
Nay, then I fear Spain’s inevitable ill.
Ha! Andrea, speak! what news from Portugal?
What, is [the] tribute paid? Or peace or wars?

AND. Wars, my dread liege.

KING. Why then
That bleeding object doth presage what shall
Hereafter follow. What’s he that lies there slain,
Or hurt, or both? Speak.

AND. My liege, Alcario, duke Medina’s son;
And by that slave this purple act was done.

MED. Who names Alcario slain? ah me, ’tis he:
Art thou that villain?

LAZ. How didst thou know my name?
I see an excellent villain hath his fame,
As well as a great courtier.

MED. Speak, villain: wherefore didst thou this accursed deed?

LAZ. Because I was an ass, a villainous ass;
For had I hit it right, Andrea had lain there;
He walk’d upright: this ominous mistake,
This damned error,
Breedeth in my soul an everlasting terror.

KING. Say, slave, how came this accurs’d evil?

LAZ. Faith, by myself, my short sword, and the devil.
To tell you all without a tedious tongue,
I’ll cut them down, my words shall not hang[305] long.
That hapless bleeding lord Alcario,
Which this hand slew, pox on’t, was a huge doater
On Bell’-Imperia’s beauty, who replied
In scorn, and his hot suit denied;
For her affections were all firmly planted
In Don Andrea’s bosom; yet, unwise,
He still pursued it with blind lover’s eyes.
Then hired he me with gold--O fate, thou elf!
To kill Andrea, which here killed himself;
For, not content to stay the time of murder,
He took Andrea’s shape unknown to me,
And in all parts disguised, as there you see,
Intending, as it seemed by that sly shift,
To steal away her troth; short tale to tell,
I took him for Andrea--down he fell.

KING. O impious deed,
To make the heir of honour melt and bleed!
Bear him away to execution.

LAZ. Nay, lord Lorenzo, where’s the pardon? ’sfoot,
I’ll peach else. [_Aside._

LOR. Peace, Lazarotto, I’ll get it of the king. [_Aside._

LAZ. Do it quickly then, or I’ll spread villainy. [_Aside._

LOR. My lord, he is the most notorious rogue,
That ever breath’d,
[_In his ear._

KING. Away with him.

LOR. Your highness may do well to bar his speech,
’Tis able to infect a virtuous ear.

KING. Away with him, I will not hear him speak.

LAZ. My lord Lorenzo is a----
[_They stop his mouth, and bear him in._

JER. Is not this a monstrous courtier?

HOR. He is the court-toad, father.

KING. Tribute denied us? ha!

AND. It is, my liege, and that with no mean words:
He will redeem his honour lost with swords.

KING. So daring! ha! so peremptory!
Can you remember the words he spake?

AND. Word for word, my gracious sovereign,
And these they were--thus much--return to Spain:
Say, that our settled judgment hath advised us
What tribute is, how poor that monarch shows
Who for his throne a yearly pension owes;
And what our predecessors lost to Spain,
We have fresh spirits that can renew it again.

KING. Ha! so peremptory, daring, stout!

AND. Then, my liege,
According to your gracious dread command,
I bad defiance with a vengeful hand.

SPAIN. He entertained it?

AND. Aye, and returned it with menacing brows;
Prince Balthezar his son
Grew violent, and wish’d the fight begun.

_Enter_ LORENZO.

LOR. So, so, I have sent my slave to hell;
Though he blab there, the devils will not tell.

_A Tucket within._[306]

SPAIN. How now! what means this trumpet’s sound?

_Enter a Messenger._

MES. My liege, the Portugals
Are up in arms, glittering in steel.

SPAIN. Where’s our lord general, Lorenzo, stout Andrea,
With whom I rank sprightly Horatio?
What! for shame, shall the Portugals
Trample the fields before you?

GEN. No, my liege, there’s time enough
To let out blood enough: tribute shall flow
Out of their bowels, and be tendered so.

SPAIN. Farewell, brave lords; my wishes are bequeath’d,
A nobler rank of spirits never breath’d.
[_Exeunt King and Nobles._

JER. O my sweet boy, heaven shield thee still from care!
O, be as fortunate as thou art fair!

HOR. And heaven bless you, my father, in this fight,
That I may see your grey head crown’d in white!
[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ ANDREA _and_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

BEL. You came but now, [and] must you part again?
You told me that your spirit
Should put on peace; but, see, war follows war.

AND. Nay, sweet love, cease;
To be denied our honour: why, ’twere base
To breathe and live; and war[307] in such a case
Is even as necessary as our blood.
Swords are in season then when right’s withstood:
Deny us tribute, that so many years
We have in peace told out? why, it would raise
Spleen in the host of angels! ’twere enough
To make our tranquil saints of angry stuff.

BEL. You have o’erwrought the chiding of my breast;
And by that argument you firmly prove
Honour to soar above the pitch of love.
Lend me thy loving and thy warlike arm,
On which I knit this soft and silken charm,
Tied with an amorous knot: O, may it prove
Enchanted armour, being charm’d by love;
That when it mounts up to thy warlike crest,
It may put by the sword, and so be blest.

AND. O, what divinity proceeds from love!
What happier fortune than myself can move!--
Hark! the drum beckons me; sweet dear, fare well!
This scarf shall be my charm ’gainst foes and hell.

BEL. O, let me kiss thee first.

AND. The drum again!

BEL. Hath that more power than I?

AND. Do’t quickly then: farewell!
[_Exit_ ANDREA.

BEL. Farewell! O cruel part!
Andrea’s bosom bears away my heart.
[_Exit_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

_Enter_ BALTHEZAR, ALEXANDRO, VOLLUPO, _Don_ PEDRO,
_with Soldiers, Drum, and Colours._

BAL. Come, valiant spirits, you peers of Portugal,
That owe your lives, your faiths, and services,
To set you free from base captivity.
O, let our fathers’ scandal ne’er be seen
As a base blush upon our free-born cheeks;
Let all the tribute that proud Spain received
Of those all captive Portugals deceased,
Turn into chafe, and choke their insolence.
Methinks, no moiety, not one little thought
Of them whose servile acts live in their graves,
But should raise spleens big as a cannon-bullet
Within your bosoms: O, for honour,
Your country’s reputation, your lives’ freedom,
Indeed your all, that may be termed revenge,
Now let your bloods be liberal as the sea;
And all those wounds that you receiv[’d] of Spain,
Let theirs be equal to quit yours again.
Speak, Portugals! are you resolved as I,
To live like captives, or as free-born die?

VOL. Prince Balthezar, as you say, so say we;
To die with honour, scorn captivity.

ALEX. Why, spoke like true Portugals indeed;
I am assured of your forwardness.
Now, Spain, sit firm, I’ll make thy towers shake,
And all that gold thou hadst from Portugal,
Which makes thy court melt in luxuriousness,
I vow to have it treble at thy hands.
Hark, Portugals! I hear their Spanish drum:
March on, and meet them; this must be the day,
That all they have received they back must pay.
[_The Portugals march about._

_Enter_ JERONIMO, ANDREA, HORATIO, LORENZO, LORD GENERAL, ROGERO,
_and Attendants, with Drum and Colours._

JER. What, are you braving us before we come!
We’ll be as shrill as you: strike ’larum, drum.
[_They sound a flourish on both sides._

BAL. Thou inch of Spain!
Thou man, from thy hose downward scarce so much!
Thou very little longer than thy beard!
Speak not such big words; they’ll throw thee down,
Little Jeronimo! words greater than thyself!
It must not [be].

JER. And thou long thing of Portugal, why not?
Thou, that art full as tall
As an English gallows, upper beam and all,
Devourer of apparel, thou huge swallower,
My hose will scarce make thee a standing collar.
What! have I almost quited you?

AND. Have done, impatient marshal.

BAL. Spanish combatants,
What! do you set a little pigmy marshal
To question with a prince?

AND. No, prince Balthezar;
I have desired him peace, that we might war:
What! is the tribute-money tendered yet?

BAL. Tribute? ha, ha!
What else: Wherefore meet our drums,
But to tender and receive the sums
Of many a bleeding heart which, ere sun fall,
Shall pay dear tribute, even their lives and all.

AND. Prince Balthezar, I know your valiant spirit;
I know your courage to be tried and good,
And yet, O prince, be not confirmed in blood:
Not that I taste of fear or cowardice,
But of religion, piety, and love
To many bosoms, that yet firmly move
Without disturbed spleens. O, in thy heart
Weigh the dear drops of many a purple part,
That must be acted on the field’s green stage,
Before the evening dews quench the sun’s rage.
Let tribute be appeased and so stayed,
And let not wonted fealty be denayed
To our desertful kingdom. Portugals,
Keep your forefathers’ oaths; that virtue craves;
Let them not lie foresworn now in their graves,
To make their ashes perjured and unjust,
For heaven can be revenged on their dust.
They swore to Spain, both for themselves and you;
And will posterity prove their sires untrue?
This should not be ’mong men of virtuous sp’rit:
Pay tribute thou, and receive peace and writ.

BAL. O virtuous coward!

HOR. O ignoble spirit!
To term him coward for his virtuous merit!

AND. Coward! nay, then, relentless rib of steel,
What virtue cannot, thou shalt make him feel.

LOR. Proud Alexandro, thou art mine.

ALEX. Agreed.

ROG. And thou, Vollupo, mine.

VOL. I’ll make thee bleed.

HOR. And thou, Don Pedro, mine.

DON PED. I care not whose; or thine, or thine, or all at once.

BAL. I bind thee, Don Andrea, by thy honour,
Thy valiancy, and all that thou hold’st great,
To meet me single in the battle’s heat;
Where I’ll set down, in characters on thy flesh,
Four precious lines, spoke by our father’s mouth,
When first thou cam’st embassador; these they are:
’Tis said we shall not answer, at next birth,
Our fathers’ faults in heaven, why then on earth?
Which proves and shows,
That what they lost by base captivity,
We may redeem with wonted valiancy:
And to this crimson end our colours spread;
Our courages are new-born, our valours bred
Therefore, Andrea, as thou tenderest fame,
Wars, reputation, and a soldier’s name,
Meet me.

AND. I will.

BAL. Single me out.

AND. I shall.

ALEX. Do you the like.

LOR. And you all, and we.

AND. Can we be foes, and all so well agreed?

BAL. Why, man, in war there’s bleeding amity;
And he this day gives me the deepest wound,
I’ll call him brother.

AND. Then, prince, call me so;
To gain that name, I’ll give the deepest blow.

JER. Nay. then, if brotherhood by strokes come due,
I hope, boy, thou wilt gain a brother too.

HOR. Father, doubt it not.

AND. Lord general,
Breathe, like your name, a general defiance
’Gainst Portugal.

GEN. Defiance to the Portugals!

BAL. The like
Breathe our lord general against the Spaniards.

GEN. Defiance to the Spaniards!

AND. Now cease, words:
I long to hear the music of clashed swords.

BAL. Why, thou shalt hear it presently.
[_They offer to fight._

AND. Quickly then.

BAL. Why now.