Chapter XXVIII: Act III: Scene I.775 (2)

Hier. _Well, sir; then bring me forth, bring me through alley and
alley, still with a distracted countenance going along, and let my
hair heave up my night-cap. Let the clouds scowl, make the moon dark,
the stars extinct, the winds blowing, the bells (150) tolling, the
owls shrieking, the toads croaking, the minutes jarring,[844] and the
clock striking twelve. And then at last, sir, starting, behold a man
hanging, and tottering and tottering, as you know the wind will wave
a man, and I with a trice to cut him (155) down. And looking upon him
by the advantage of my torch, find it to be my son Horatio. There you
may [show] a passion, there you may show a passion! Draw me like old
Priam of Troy, crying, “The house is a-fire, the house is a-fire, as
(160) the torch over my[845] head!” Make me curse, make me rave, make
me cry, make me mad, make me well again, make me curse hell, invocate
heaven, and in the end leave me in a trance—and so forth._

Paint. _And is this the end?_ 165

Hier. _O no, there is no end; the end is death and madness! As I am
never better than when I am mad: then methinks I am a brave fellow,
then I do wonders; but reason abuseth me, and there’s the torment,
there’s the hell. At the last, sir, bring me to (170) one of the
murderers: were he as strong as Hector, thus would I tear and drag
him up and down._
He beats the painter in, then comes out again, with a book in his
hand.]

[SCENE XIII.][846]

_Enter_ HIERONIMO, _with a book in his hand._

[_Hier._] _Vindicta mihi!_
Ay, heaven will be reveng’d of every ill;
Nor will they suffer murder unrepaid.
Then stay, Hieronimo, attend their will:
For mortal men may not appoint their time! 5
“_Per scelus semper tutum est sceleribus iter._”
Strike, and strike home, where wrong is off’red thee;
For evils unto ills conductors be,
And death’s the worst of resolution.
For he that thinks with patience to contend 10
To quiet life, his life shall easily end.—
“_Fata si miseros juvant, habes salutem:
Fata si vitam negant, habes sepulchrum_”:
If destiny thy miseries do ease,
Then hast thou health, and happy shalt thou be;
If destiny deny thee life, Hieronimo, 16
Yet shalt thou be assured of a tomb;
If neither, yet let this thy comfort be:
Heaven covereth him that hath no burial.
And to conclude, I will revenge his death! 20
But how? Not as the vulgar wits of men,
With open, but inevitable ills,[847]
As by a secret, yet a certain mean,
Which under kindship[848] will be cloaked best.
Wise men will take their opportunity, 25
Closely and safely fitting things to time,
But in extremes advantage hath no time;
And therefore all times fit not for revenge.
Thus therefore will I rest me in unrest,
Dissembling quiet in unquietness, 30
Not seeming that I know their villanies,
That my simplicity may make them think
That ignorantly I will let all slip;
For ignorance, I wot, and well they know,
_Remedium malorum iners est._[849] 35
Nor ought avails it me to menace them,
Who, as a wintry storm upon a plain,
Will bear me down with their nobility.
No, no, Hieronimo, thou must enjoin
Thine eyes to observation, and thy tongue 40
To milder speeches than thy spirit affords,
Thy heart to patience, and thy hands to rest,
Thy cap to courtesy, and thy knee to bow,
Till to revenge thou know when, where, and how. _A noise within._
How now, what noise? What coil[850] is that you keep? 45

[_Enter a_ Servant.]

_Serv._ Here are a sort[851] of poor petitioners,
That are importunate, and it shall please you, sir,
That you should plead their cases to the king.

_Hier._ That I should plead their several actions?
Why, let them enter, and let me see them. 50

_Enter_ three Citizens _and an_ Old Man.

_1 Cit._ So, I tell you this: for learning and for law,
There is not any advocate in Spain
That can prevail, or will take half the pain
That he will, in pursuit of equity.

_Hier._ Come near, you men, that thus importune me.— 55
[_Aside._] Now must I bear a face of gravity;
For thus I us’d, before my marshalship,
To plead in causes as corregidor.[852]—
Come on, sirs, what’s the matter?

_2 Cit._ Sir, an action.

_Hier._ Of battery?

_1 Cit._ Mine of debt.

_Hier._ Give place.

_2 Cit._ No, sir, mine is an action of the case.[853]

_3 Cit._ Mine an _ejectione firmae_[854] by a lease. 62

_Hier._ Content you, sirs; are you determined
That I should plead your several actions?

_1 Cit._ Ay, sir, and here ’s my declaration. 65

_2 Cit._ And here’s my band.

_3 Cit._ And here’s my lease.

_They give him papers._

_Hier._ But wherefore stands yon silly man so mute,
With mournful eyes and hands to heaven uprear’d?
Come hither, father, let me know thy cause.

_Senex._ O worthy sir, my cause, but slightly known, 70
May move the hearts of warlike Myrmidons,
And melt the Corsic rocks with ruthful tears.

_Hier._ Say, father, tell me, what’s thy suit?

_Senex._ No, sir, could my woes
Give way unto my most distressful words,
Then should I not in paper, as you see, 76
With ink bewray what blood began in me.

_Hier._ What’s here? “The humble supplication
Of Don Bazulto for his murd’red son.”

_Senex._ Ay, sir.

_Hier._ No, sir, it was my murd’red son:
O my son, my son, O my son Horatio! 80
But mine, or thine. Bazulto, be content.
Here, take my handkercher and wipe thine eyes,
Whiles wretched I in thy mishaps may see
The lively portrait of my dying self.

_He draweth out a bloody napkin._

O no, not this; Horatio, this was thine; 85
And when I dy’d it in thy dearest blood,
This was a token ’twixt thy soul and me,
That of thy death revenged I should be.
But here, take this, and this—what, my purse?—
Ay, this, and that, and all of them are thine;
For all as one are our extremities. 91

_1 Cit._ O, see the kindness of Hieronimo!

_2 Cit._ This gentleness shows him a gentleman.

_Hier._ See, see, O see thy shame, Hieronimo!
See here a loving father to his son! 95
Behold the sorrows and the sad laments,
That he delivereth for his son’s decease!
If love’s effects so strive[855] in lesser things,
If love enforce such moods in meaner wits,
If love express such power in poor estates, 100
Hieronimo, as when[856] a raging sea,
Toss’d with the wind and tide, o’erturneth[857] then
The upper billows, course of waves to keep,
Whilst lesser waters labour in the deep,
Then sham’st thou not, Hieronimo, to neglect
The sweet revenge of thy Horatio? 105
Though on this earth justice will not be found,
I ’ll down to hell, and in this passion
Knock at the dismal gates of Pluto’s court,
Getting by force, as once Alcides did, 110
A troop of Furies and tormenting hags
To torture Don Lorenzo and the rest.
Yet lest the triple-headed porter should
Deny my passage to the slimy strand,
The Thracian poet thou shalt counterfeit. 115
Come on, old father, be my Orpheus,
And if thou canst[858] no notes upon the harp,
Then sound the burden of thy sore heart’s grief,
Till we do gain that Proserpine may grant
Revenge on them that murdered my son. 120
Then will I rent and tear them, thus and thus,
Shivering their limbs in pieces with my teeth.
_Tears the papers._

_1 Cit._ O sir, my declaration!
_Exit Hieronimo, and they after._

_2 Cit._ Save my bond!

_Enter_ HIERONIMO.

_2 Cit._ Save my bond!

_3 Cit._ Alas, my lease! it cost me ten pound,
And you, my lord, have torn the same. 125

_Hier._ That cannot be, I gave it never a wound.
Show me one drop of blood fall from the same!
How is it possible I should slay it then?
Tush, no; run after, catch me if you can. 130
_Exeunt all but the_ Old Man. BAZULTO _remains till_ HIERONIMO
_enters again, who staring him in the face, speaks_.

_Hier._ And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth,
To ask for justice in this upper earth,
To tell thy father thou art unreveng’d,
To wring more tears from Isabella’s eyes,
Whose lights are dimm’d with over-long laments? 135
Go back, my son, complain to Aeacus,
For here ’s no justice; gentle boy, begone,
For justice is exiled from the earth:
Hieronimo will bear thee company.
Thy mother cries on righteous Rhadamanth 140
For just revenge against the murderers.

_Senex._ Alas, my lord, whence springs this troubled speech?

_Hier._ But let me look on my Horatio.
Sweet boy, how art thou chang’d in death’s black shade!
Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth, 145
But suffered thy fair crimson-colour’d spring
With withered winter to be blasted thus?
Horatio, thou art older than thy father.
Ah, ruthless fate,[859] that favour thus transforms!

_Baz._ Ah, my good lord, I am not your young son. 150

_Hier._ What, not my son? Thou then a Fury art,
Sent from the empty kingdom of black night
To summon me to make appearance
Before grim Minos and just Rhadamanth,
To plague Hieronimo that is remiss, 155
And seeks not vengeance for Horatio’s death.

_Baz._ I am a grieved man, and not a ghost,
That came for justice for my murdered son.

_Hier._ Ay, now I know thee, now thou nam’st thy son.
Thou art the lively image of my grief; 160
Within thy face my sorrows I may see.
Thy eyes are gumm’d with tears, thy cheeks are wan,
Thy forehead troubled, and thy mutt’ring lips
Murmur sad words abruptly broken off.
By force of windy sighs thy spirit breathes; 165
And all this sorrow riseth for thy son:
And selfsame sorrow feel I for my son.
Come in, old man, thou shalt to Isabel.
Lean on my arm: I thee, thou me, shalt stay,
And thou, and I, and she will sing a song, 170
Three parts in one, but all of discords fram’d—:
Talk not of chords, but let us now be gone,
For with a cord Horatio was slain. _Exeunt._

[SCENE XIV.][860]

_Enter_ KING OF SPAIN, _the_ DUKE, VICEROY, _and_ LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, DON PEDRO, _and_ BEL-IMPERIA.

_King._ Go, brother, it is the Duke of Castile’s cause;
Salute the Viceroy in our name.

_Cast._ I go.

_Vic._ Go forth, Don Pedro, for thy nephew’s sake,
And greet the Duke of Castile.

_Ped._ It shall be so.

_King._ And now to meet these Portuguese: 5
For as we now are, so sometimes were these,
Kings and commanders of the western Indies.
Welcome, brave Viceroy, to the court of Spain,
And welcome all his honourable train!
’T is not unknown to us for why you come, 10
Or have so kingly cross’d the seas:
Sufficeth it, in this we note the troth
And more than common love you lend to us.
So is it that mine honourable niece
(For it beseems us now that it be known) 15
Already is betroth’d to Balthazar:
And by appointment and our condescent[861]
To-morrow are they to be married.
To this intent we entertain thyself,
Thy followers, their pleasure, and our peace. 20
Speak, men of Portingal, shall it be so?
If ay, say so; if not, say flatly no.

_Vic._ Renowmed King, I come not, as thou think’st,
With doubtful followers, unresolved men,
But such as have upon thine articles 25
Confirm’d thy motion, and contented me.
Know, sovereign, I come to solemnize
The marriage of thy beloved niece,
Fair Bel-imperia, with my Balthazar,—
With thee, my son; whom sith I live to see, 30
Here take my crown, I give it her and thee;
And let me live a solitary life,
In ceaseless prayers,
To think how strangely heaven hath thee preserv’d.

_King._ See, brother, see, how nature strives in him! 35
Come, worthy Viceroy, and accompany
Thy friend with thine extremities;[862]
A place more private fits this princely mood.

_Vic._ Or here, or where your highness thinks it good.
_Exeunt all but_ CASTILE _and_ LORENZO.

_Cast._ Nay, stay, Lorenzo, let me talk with you. 40
See’st thou this entertainment of these kings?

_Lor._ I do, my lord, and joy to see the same.

_Cast._ And know’st thou why this meeting is?

_Lor._ For her, my lord, whom Balthazar doth love,
And to confirm their promised marriage. 45

_Cast._ She is thy sister?

_Lor._ Who, Bel-imperia? Ay,
My gracious lord, and this is the day,
That I have long’d so happily to see.

_Cast._ Thou wouldst be loth that any fault of thine
Should intercept her in her happiness? 50

_Lor._ Heavens will not let Lorenzo err so much.

_Cast._ Why then, Lorenzo, listen to my words:
It is suspected, and reported too,
That thou, Lorenzo, wrong’st Hieronimo,
And in his suite towards his majesty 55
Still keep’st him back, and seek’st to cross his suit.

_Lor._ That I, my lord——?

_Cast._ I tell thee, son, myself have heard it said,
When (to my sorrow) I have been ashamed
To answer for thee, though thou art my son. 60
Lorenzo, know’st thou not the common love
And kindness that Hieronimo hath won
By his deserts within the court of Spain?
Or see’st thou not the king my brother’s care
In his behalf, and to procure his health? 65
Lorenzo, shouldst thou thwart his passions,
And he exclaim against thee to the king,
What honour were ’t in this assembly,
Or what a scandal were ’t among the kings
To hear Hieronimo exclaim on thee? 70
Tell me—and look thou tell me truly too—
Whence grows the ground of this report in court?

_Lor._ My lord, it lies not in Lorenzo’s power
To stop the vulgar, liberal of their tongues.
A small advantage makes a water-breach, 75
And no man lives that long contenteth all.

_Cast._ Myself have seen thee busy to keep back
Him and his supplications from the king.

_Lor._ Yourself, my lord, hath seen his passions,
That ill beseem’d the presence of a king: 80
And, for I pitied him in his distress,
I held him thence with kind and courteous words
As free from malice to Hieronimo
As to my soul, my lord.

_Cast._ Hieronimo, my son, mistakes thee then.

_Lor._ My gracious father, believe me, so he doth. 86
But what’s a silly man, distract in mind
To think upon the murder of his son?
Alas! how easy is it for him to err!
But for his satisfaction and the world’s, 90
’T were good, my lord, that Hieronimo and I
Were reconcil’d, if he misconster me.

_Cast._ Lorenzo, thou hast said; it shall be so.
Go one of you, and call Hieronimo.

_Enter_ BALTHAZAR _and_ BEL-IMPERIA.

_Bal._ Come, Bel-imperia, Balthazar’s content,
My sorrow’s ease and sovereign of my bliss, 96
Sith heaven hath ordain’d thee to be mine:
Disperse those clouds and melancholy looks,
And clear them up with those thy sun-bright eyes,
Wherein my hope and heaven’s fair beauty lies.

_Bel._ My looks, my lord, are fitting for my love, 101
Which, new-begun, can show no brighter yet.

_Bal._ New-kindled flames should burn as morning sun.

_Bel._ But not too fast, lest heat and all be done.
I see my lord my father.

_Bal._ Truce, my love; 105
I will go salute him.

_Cast._ Welcome, Balthazar,
Welcome, brave prince, the pledge of Castile’s peace!
And welcome, Bel-imperia!—How now, girl?
Why com’st thou sadly to salute us thus?
Content thyself, for I am satisfied: 110
It is not now as when Andrea liv’d;
We have forgotten and forgiven that,
And thou art graced with a happier love.
But, Balthazar, here comes Hieronimo;
I’ll have a word with him. 115

_Enter_ HIERONIMO _and a_ Servant.

_Hier._ And where’s the duke?

_Serv._ Yonder.

_Hier._ Even so.—
What new device have they devised, trow?[863]
_Pocas palabras!_[864] mild as the lamb!
Is ’t I will be reveng’d? No, I am not the man.

_Cast._ Welcome, Hieronimo. 130

_Lor._ Welcome, Hieronimo.

_Bal._ Welcome, Hieronimo.

_Hier._ My lords, I thank you for Horatio.

_Cast._ Hieronimo, the reason that I sent
To speak with you, is this.

_Hier._ What, so short? 125
Then I’ll be gone, I thank you for ’t.

_Cast._ Nay, stay, Hieronimo!—go call him, son.

_Lor._ Hieronimo, my father craves a word with you.

_Hier._ With me, sir? Why, my lord, I thought you had done.

_Lor._ No; [_Aside_] would he had!

_Cast._ Hieronimo, I hear
You find yourself aggrieved at my son, 131
Because you have not access unto the king;
And say ’t is he that intercepts your suits.

_Hier._ Why, is not this a miserable thing, my lord?

_Cast._ Hieronimo, I hope you have no cause,
And would be loth that one of your deserts 136
Should once have reason to suspect my son,
Considering how I think of you myself.

_Hier._ Your son Lorenzo! Whom, my noble lord?
The hope of Spain, mine honourable friend? 140
Grant me the combat of them, if they dare:

_Draws out his sword._

I’ll meet him face to face, to tell me so!
These be the scandalous reports of such
As love not me, and hate my lord too much.
Should I suspect Lorenzo would prevent 145
Or cross my suit, that lov’d my son so well?
My lord, I am asham’d it should be said.

_Lor._ Hieronimo, I never gave you cause.

_Hier._ My good lord, I know you did not.

_Cast._ There then pause;
And for the satisfaction of the world, 150
Hieronimo, frequent my homely house,
The Duke of Castile, Cyprian’s ancient seat;
And when thou wilt, use me, my son, and it:
But here, before Prince Balthazar and me,
Embrace each other, and be perfect friends. 155

_Hier._ Ay, marry, my lord, and shall.
Friends, quoth he? See, I’ll be friends with you all:
Especially with you, my lovely lord;
For divers causes it is fit for us
That we be friends: the world’s suspicious, 160
And men may think what we imagine not.

_Bal._ Why, this is friendly done, Hieronimo.

_Lor._ And that I hope old grudges are forgot.

_Hier._ What else? It were a shame it should not be so.

_Cast._ Come on, Hieronimo, at my request; 165
Let us entreat your company to-day. _Exeunt._

_Hier._ Your lordship’s to command.—Pah! keep your way:
_Chi mi fa più carezze che non suole,
Tradito mi ha, o tradir mi vuole._ [_Exit._

[CHORUS.]

_Enter_ GHOST _and_ REVENGE.

_Ghost._ Awake, Erichtho! Cerberus, awake!
Solicit Pluto, gentle Proserpine! 171
To combat, Acheron and Erebus!
For ne’er, by Styx and Phlegethon in hell,[865]
Nor ferried Charon to the fiery lakes
Such fearful sights, as poor Andrea sees.[866] 175
Revenge, awake!

_Revenge._ Awake? For why?

_Ghost._ Awake, Revenge; for thou art ill-advis’d
To sleep away what thou art warn’d to watch!

_Revenge._ Content thyself, and do not trouble me.

_Ghost._ Awake, Revenge, if love—as love hath had— 180
Have yet the power or prevalence in hell!
Hieronimo with Lorenzo is join’d in league,
And intercepts our passage to revenge.
Awake, Revenge, or we are woe-begone!

_Revenge._ Thus worldlings ground what they
have dream’d upon.[867] 185
Content thyself, Andrea: though I sleep,
Yet is my mood soliciting their souls.
Sufficeth thee that poor Hieronimo
Cannot forget his son Horatio.
Nor dies Revenge, although he sleep awhile;
For in unquiet, quietness is feign’d, 191
And slumb’ring is a common worldly wile.
Behold, Andrea, for an instance, how
Revenge hath slept, and then imagine thou,
What ’t is to be subject to destiny. 195

_Enter a Dumb-Show._

_Ghost._ Awake, Revenge; reveal this mystery.

_Revenge._ Lo! the two first the nuptial torches bore
As brightly burning as the mid-day’s sun;
But after them doth Hymen hie as fast,
Clothed in sable and a saffron robe, 200
And blows them out, and quencheth them with blood,
As discontent that things continue so.

_Ghost._ Sufficeth me; thy meaning’s understood,
And thanks to thee and those infernal powers
That will not tolerate a lover’s woe. 205
Rest thee, for I will sit to see the rest.

_Revenge._ Then argue not, for thou hast thy request. _Exeunt._