Chapter XXIX: Act IV: Scene I.868

_Enter_ BEL-IMPERIA _and_ HIERONIMO.

_Bel._ Is this the love thou bear’st Horatio?
Is this the kindness that thou counterfeits?
Are these the fruits of thine incessant tears?
Hieronimo, are these thy passions,
Thy protestations and thy deep laments, 5
That thou wert wont to weary men withal?
O unkind father! O deceitful world!
With what excuses canst thou show thyself[869]
From this dishonour and the hate of men,
Thus to neglect the loss and life of him 10
Whom both my letters and thine own belief
Assures thee to be causeless slaughtered?
Hieronimo, for shame, Hieronimo,
Be not a history to after-times
Of such ingratitude unto thy son. 15
Unhappy mothers of such children then!
But monstrous fathers to forget so soon
The death of those whom they with care and cost
Have tend’red so, thus careless should be lost.
Myself, a stranger in respect of thee, 20
So lov’d his life, as still I wish their deaths.
Nor shall his death be unreveng’d by me,
Although I bear it out for fashion’s sake;
For here I swear, in sight of heaven and earth,
Shouldst thou neglect the love thou shouldst retain, 25
And give it over and devise no more,
Myself should send their hateful souls to hell
That wrought his downfall with extremest death.

_Hier._ But may it be that Bel-imperia
Vows such revenge as she hath deign’d to say? 30
Why, then I see that heaven applies our drift,[870]
And all the saints do sit soliciting
For vengeance on those cursed murderers.
Madam, ’t is true, and now I find it so,
I found a letter, written in your name, 35
And in that letter, how Horatio died.
Pardon, O pardon, Bel-imperia,
My fear and care in not believing it;
Nor think I thoughtless think upon a mean
To let his death be unreveng’d at full, 40
And here I vow—so you but give consent,
And will conceal my resolution—
I will ere long determine of their deaths
That causeless thus have murdered my son.

_Bel._ Hieronimo, I will consent, conceal, 45
And ought that may effect for thine avail,
Join with thee to revenge Horatio’s death.

_Hier._ On, then; [and] whatsoever I devise,
Let me entreat you, grace my practices,
For-why[871] the plot’s already in mine head. 50
Here they are.

_Enter_ BALTHAZAR _and_ LORENZO.

_Bal._ How now, Hieronimo?
What, courting Bel-imperia?

_Hier._ Ay, my lord;
Such courting as, I promise you,
She hath my heart, but you, my lord, have hers.

_Lor._ But now, Hieronimo, or never, 55
We are to entreat your help.

_Hier._ My help?
Why, my good lords, assure yourselves of me;
For you have giv’n me cause,—ay, by my faith have you!

_Bal._ It pleas’d you, at the entertainment of the ambassador,
To grace the king so much as with a show. 60
Now, were your study so well furnished,
As, for the passing of the first night’s sport,
To entertain my father with the like,
Or any such-like pleasing motion,
Assure yourself, it would content them well. 65

_Hier._ Is this all?

_Bal._ Ay, this is all.

_Hier._ Why then, I’ll fit you; say no more.
When I was young, I gave my mind
And plied myself to fruitless poetry;
Which though it profit the professor naught, 70
Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.

_Lor._ And how for that?

_Hier._ Marry, my good lord, thus:—
And yet methinks, you are too quick with us—
When in Toledo there I studied,
It was my chance to write a tragedy, 75
See here, my lords— _He shows them a book._
Which, long forgot, I found this other day.
Now would your lordships favour me so much
As but to grace me with your acting it—
I mean each one of you to play a part— 80
Assure you it will prove most passing strange,
And wondrous plausible[872] to that assembly.

_Bal._ What, would you have us play a tragedy?

_Hier._ Why, Nero thought it no disparagement,
And kings and emperors have ta’en delight 85
To make experience of their wits in plays.

_Lor._ Nay, be not angry, good Hieronimo;
The prince but ask’d a question.

_Bal._ In faith, Hieronimo, an you be in earnest,
I’ll make one.

_Lor._ And I another. 90

_Hier._ Now, my good lord, could you entreat
Your sister Bel-imperia to make one?
For what’s a play without a woman in it?

_Bel._ Little entreaty shall serve me, Hieronimo;
For I must needs be employed in your play. 95

_Hier._ Why, this is well. I tell you, lordings.
It was determined to have been acted
By gentlemen and scholars too,
Such as could tell what to speak.

_Bal._ And now
It shall be play’d by princes and courtiers, 100
Such as can tell how to speak:
If, as it is our country manner,
You will but let us know the argument.

_Hier._ That shall I roundly. The chronicles of Spain
Record this written of a knight of Rhodes: 105
He was betroth’d, and wedded at the length,
To one Perseda, an Italian dame,
Whose beauty ravish’d all that her beheld.
Especially the soul of Soliman,
Who at the marriage was the chiefest guest. 110
By sundry means sought Soliman to win
Perseda’s love, and could not gain the same.
Then ’gan he break his passions to a friend,
One of his bashaws,[873] whom he held full dear.
Her had this bashaw long solicited, 115
And saw she was not otherwise to be won,
But by her husband’s death, this knight of Rhodes,
Whom presently by treachery he slew.
She, stirr’d with an exceeding hate therefore,
As cause of this slew Soliman, 120
And, to escape the bashaw’s tyranny,
Did stab herself: and this the tragedy.

_Lor._ O excellent!

_Bel._ But say, Hieronimo,
What then became of him that was the bashaw?

_Hier._ Marry, thus: mov’d with remorse of his misdeeds, 125
Ran to a mountain-top, and hung himself.

_Bal._ But which of us is to perform that part?

_Hier._ O, that will I, my lords; make no doubt of it.
I’ll play the murderer, I warrant you;
For I already have conceited that. 130

_Bal._ And what shall I?

_Hier._ Great Soliman, the Turkish emperor.

_Lor._ And I?

_Hier._ Erastus, the knight of Rhodes.

_Bel._ And I?

_Hier._ Perseda, chaste and resolute.
And here, my lords, are several abstracts drawn, 135
For each of you to note your parts,
And act it, as occasion ’s off’red you.
You must provide a Turkish cap,
A black mustachio and a falchion;
_Gives a paper to_ BALTHAZAR.
You with a cross, like to a knight of Rhodes; 140
_Gives another to_ LORENZO.
And, madam, you must attire yourself
_He giveth_ BEL-IMPERIA _another_.
Like Phoebe, Flora, or the huntress [Dian],[874]
Which to your discretion shall seem best.
And as for me, my lords, I’ll look to one,
And, with the ransom that the viceroy sent, 145
So furnish and perform this tragedy,
As all the world shall say, Hieronimo
Was liberal in gracing of it so.

_Bal._ Hieronimo, methinks a comedy were better.

_Hier._ A comedy? 150
Fie! comedies are fit for common wits;
But to present a kingly troop withal,
Give me a stately-written tragedy;
_Tragoedia cothurnata_, fitting kings,
Containing matter, and not common things. 155
My lords, all this must be performed,
As fitting for the first night’s revelling,
The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit.
That in one hour’s meditation
They would perform anything in action. 160

_Lor._ And well it may; for I have seen the like
In Paris ’mongst the French tragedians.

_Hier._ In Paris? mass! and well remembered!
There ’s one thing more that rests for us to do.

_Bal._ What’s that, Hieronimo? Forget not anything. 165

_Hier._ Each one of us
Must act his part in unknown languages,
That it may breed the more variety:
As you, my lord, in Latin, I in Greek,
You in Italian; and for because I know 170
That Bel-imperia hath practised the French,
In courtly French shall all her phrases be.

_Bel._ You mean to try my cunning then, Hieronimo?

_Bal._ But this will be a mere confusion
And hardly shall we all be understood. 175

_Hier._ It must be so; for the conclusion
Shall prove the invention[875] and all was good:
And I myself in an oration,
And with a strange and wondrous show besides,
That I will have there behind a curtain, 180
Assure yourself, shall make the matter known;
And all shall be concluded in one scene,
For there ’s no pleasure ta’en in tediousness.

_Bal._ How like you this?

_Lor._ Why, thus my lord:
We must resolve to soothe his humours up. 185

_Bal._ On then, Hieronimo; farewell till soon.

_Hier._ You’ll ply this gear?

_Lor._ I warrant you.
_Exeunt all but_ HIERONIMO.

_Hier._ Why so:
Now shall I see the fall of Babylon,
Wrought by the heavens in this confusion.
And if the world like not this tragedy, 190
Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo. _Exit._

[SCENE II.][876]

_Enter_ ISABELLA _with a weapon_.

_Isab._ Tell me no more!—O monstrous homicides!
Since neither piety or pity moves
The king to justice or compassion,
I will revenge myself upon this place,
Where thus they murdered my beloved son. 5
_She cuts down the arbour._
Down with these branches and these loathsome boughs
Of this unfortunate and fatal pine!
Down with them, Isabella; rent them up.
And burn the roots from whence the rest is sprung!
I will not leave a root, a stalk, a tree, 10
A bough, a branch, a blossom, nor a leaf,
No, not an herb within this garden-plot,—
Accursed complot[877] of my misery!
Fruitless for ever may this garden be,
Barren the earth, and blissless whosoever 15
Imagines not to keep it unmanur’d![878]
An eastern wind, commix’d with noisome airs,
Shall blast the plants and the young saplings;
The earth with serpents shall be pestered,
And passengers, for fear to be infect, 20
Shall stand aloof, and, looking at it, tell:
“There, murd’red, died the son of Isabel.”
Ay, here he died, and here I him embrace:
See, where his ghost solicits with his wounds
Revenge on her that should revenge his death. 25
Hieronimo, make haste to see thy son;
For sorrow and despair hath cited me
To hear Horatio plead with Rhadamanth.
Make haste, Hieronimo, to hold excus’d[879]
Thy negligence in pursuit of their deaths 30
Whose hateful wrath bereav’d him of his breath.
Ah, nay, thou dost delay their deaths,
Forgives the murderers of thy noble son,
And none but I bestir me—to no end!
And as I curse this tree from further fruit, 35
So shall my womb be cursed for his sake;
And with this weapon will I wound the breast,
The hapless breast, that gave Horatio suck.
_She stabs herself._

[SCENE III.][880]

_Enter_ HIERONIMO; _he knocks up the curtain. Enter the_ DUKE of CASTILE.

_Cast._ How now, Hieronimo, where’s your fellows,
That you take all this pain?

_Hier._ O sir, it is for the author’s credit,
To look that all things may go well.
But, good my lord, let me entreat your grace, 5
To give the king the copy of the play:
This is the argument of what we show.

_Cast._ I will, Hieronimo.

_Hier._ One thing more, my good lord.

_Cast._ What’s that?

_Hier._ Let me entreat your grace 10
That, when the train are pass’d into the gallery,
You would vouchsafe to throw me down the key.

_Cast._ I will, Hieronimo. _Exit_ CASTILE.

_Hier._ What, are you ready, Balthazar?
Bring a chair and a cushion for the king. 15
_Enter_ BALTHAZAR, _with a chair_.
Well done, Balthazar! hang up the title:
Our scene is Rhodes. What, is your beard on?

_Bal._ Half on; the other is in my hand.

_Hier._ Despatch for shame; are you so long?
_Exit_ BALTHAZAR.
Bethink thyself, Hieronimo, 20
Recall thy wits, recount thy former wrongs
Thou hast receiv’d by murder of thy son,
And lastly, not least! how Isabel,
Once his mother and thy dearest wife,
All woe-begone for him, hath slain herself. 25
Behoves thee then, Hieronimo, to be reveng’d!
The plot is laid of dire revenge:
On, then, Hieronimo, pursue revenge;
For nothing wants but acting of revenge!
_Exit Hieronimo._

[SCENE IV.][881]

_Enter_ Spanish KING, VICEROY, _the_ DUKE OF CASTILE, _and their train_ [_to the gallery_].[882]

_King._ Now, Viceroy, shall we see the tragedy
Of Soliman, the Turkish emperor,
Perform’d of pleasure by your son the prince,
My nephew Don Lorenzo, and my niece. 4

_Vic._ Who? Bel-imperia?

_King._ Ay, and Hieronimo, our marshal,
At whose request they deign to do ’t themselves.
These be our pastimes in the court of Spain.
Here, brother, you shall be the bookkeeper:
This is the argument of that they show.
_He giveth him a book._
_Gentlemen, this play of Hieronimo, in sundry (10) languages, was
thought good to be set down in English, more largely, for the easier
understanding to every public reader._

Enter BALTHAZAR, BEL-IMPERIA, _and_ HIERONIMO.

Bal. _Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours, yield heavens the honour,
And holy Mahomet, our sacred prophet! 15
And be thou grac’d with every excellence
That Soliman can give, or thou desire.
But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is less
Than in reserving this fair Christian nymph,
Perseda, blissful lamp of excellence, 20
Whose eyes compel, like powerful adamant,
The warlike heart of Soliman to wait._

_King._ See, Viceroy, that is Balthazar, your son,
That represents the emperor Soliman:
How well he acts his amorous passion! 25

_Vic._ Ay, Bel-imperia hath taught him that.

_Cast._ That’s because his mind runs all on Bel-imperia.

Hier. _Whatever joy earth yields, betide your majesty._

Bal. _Earth yields no joy without Perseda’s love._

Hier. _Let then Perseda on your grace attend._ 30

Bal. _She shall not wait on me, but I on her:
Drawn by the influence of her lights, I yield.
But let my friend, the Rhodian knight, come forth.
Erasto, dearer than my life to me,
That he may see Perseda, my belov’d._ 35

_Enter_ ERASTO.

_King._ Here comes Lorenzo: look upon the plot,
And tell me, brother, what part plays he?

Bel. _Ah, my Erasto, welcome to Perseda._

Lor. _Thrice happy is Erasto that thou liv’st;
Rhodes’ loss is nothing to Erasto’s joy; 40
Sith his Perseda lives, his life survives._

Bal. _Ah, bashaw, here is love between Erasto
And fair Perseda, sovereign of my soul._

Hier. _Remove Erasto, mighty Soliman,
And then Perseda will be quickly won._ 45

Bal. _Erasto is my friend; and while he lives,
Perseda never will remove her love._

Hier. _Let not Erasto live to grieve great Soliman._

Bal. _Dear is Erasto in our princely eye._

Hier. _But if he be your rival, let him die._ 50

Bal. _Why, let him die!—so love commandeth me.
Yet grieve I that Erasto should so die._

Hier. _Erasto, Soliman saluleth thee,
And lets thee wit by me his highness’ will,
Which is, thou shouldst be thus employ’d._
Stabs him.

Bel. _Ay me!
Erasto! See, Soliman, Erasto’s slain!_ 56

Bal. _Yet liveth Soliman to comfort thee.
Fair queen of beauty, let not favour die,
But with a gracious eye behold his grief
That with Perseda’s beauty is increas’d, 60
If by Perseda his grief be not releas’d._

Bel. _Tyrant, desist soliciting vain suits;
Relentless are mine ears to thy laments,
As thy butcher is pitiless and base,
Which seiz’d on my Erasto, harmless knight. 65
Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command,
And to thy power Perseda doth obey;
But, were she able, thus she would revenge
Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince:_
Stabs him.
_And on herself she would be thus reveng’d._ 70
Stabs herself.

_King._ Well said!—Old marshal, this was bravely done!

_Hier._ But Bel-imperia plays Perseda well!

_Vic._ Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia,
You would be better to my son than so. 74

_King._ But now what follows for Hieronimo?

_Hier._ Marry, this follows for Hieronimo:
Here break we off our sundry languages,
And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue.
Haply you think—but bootless are your thoughts—
That this is fabulously counterfeit, 80
And that we do as all tragedians do,—
To die to-day, for fashioning our scene,
The death of Ajax or some Roman peer,
And in a minute starting up again,
Revive to please to-morrow’s audience. 85
No, princes; know I am Hieronimo,
The hopeless father of a hapless son,
Whose tongue is tun’d to tell his latest tale,
Not to excuse gross errors in the play. 89
I see, your looks urge instance of these words;
Behold the reason urging me to this!
_Shows his dead son._
See here my show, look on this spectacle!
Here lay my hope, and here my hope hath end;
Here lay my heart, and here my heart was slain;
Here lay my treasure, here my treasure lost; 95
Here lay my bliss, and here my bliss bereft:
But hope, heart, treasure, joy, and bliss,
All fled, fail’d, died, yea, all decay’d with this.
From forth these wounds came breath that gave me life;
They murd’red me that made these fatal marks. 100
The cause was love, whence grew this mortal hate;
The hate, Lorenzo and young Balthazar;
The love, my son to Bel-imperia.
But night, the coverer of accursed crimes,
With pitchy silence hush’d these traitors’ harms, 105
And lent them leave, for they had sorted[883] leisure
To take advantage in my garden-plot
Upon my son, my dear Horatio.
There merciless they butcher’d up my boy, 109
In black, dark night, to pale, dim, cruel death.
He shrieks: I heard—and yet, methinks, I hear—
His dismal outcry echo in the air.
With soonest speed I hasted to the noise,
Where hanging on a tree I found my son,
Through-girt[884] with wounds, and slaught’red as you see. 115
And griev’d I, think you, at this spectacle?
Speak, Portuguese, whose loss resembles mine:
If thou canst weep upon thy Balthazar,
’T is like I wail’d for my Horatio.
And you, my lord, whose reconciled son 120
March’d in a net, and thought himself unseen,
And rated me for brainsick lunacy,
With “God amend that mad Hieronimo!”—
How can you brook our play’s catastrophe?
And here behold this bloody handkercher, 125
Which at Horatio’s death I weeping dipp’d
Within the river of his bleeding wounds:
It as propitious, see, I have reserved,
And never hath it left my bloody heart,
Soliciting remembrance of my vow 130
With these, O, these accursed murderers:
Which now perform’d, my heart is satisfied.
And to this end the bashaw I became
That might revenge me on Lorenzo’s life,
Who therefore was appointed to the part, 135
And was to represent the knight of Rhodes,
That I might kill him more conveniently.
So, Viceroy, was this Balthazar, thy son,
That Soliman which Bel-imperia,
In person of Perseda, murdered; 140
Solely appointed to that tragic part
That she might slay him that offended her.
Poor Bel-imperia miss’d her part in this:
For though the story saith she should have died,
Yet I of kindness, and of care to her, 145
Did otherwise determine of her end;
But love of him whom they did hate too much
Did urge her resolution to be such.
And, princes, now behold Hieronimo,
Author and actor in this tragedy, 150
Bearing his latest fortune in his fist;
And will as resolute conclude his part,
As any of the actors gone before.
And, gentles, thus I end my play;
Urge no more words: I have no more to say. 155
_He runs to hang himself._

_King._ O hearken, Viceroy! Hold, Hieronimo!
Brother, my nephew and thy son are slain!

_Vic._ We are betray’d; my Balthazar is slain!
Break ope the doors; run, save Hieronimo.
_They break in and hold Hieronimo._
Hieronimo, do but inform the king of these events; 160
Upon mine honour, thou shalt have no harm.

_Hier._ Viceroy, I will not trust thee with my life,
Which I this day have offered to my son.
Accursed wretch! 164
Why stay’st thou him that was resolv’d to die?

_King._ Speak, traitor! damned, bloody murderer, speak!
For now I have thee, I will make thee speak.
Why hast thou done this undeserving deed?

_Vic._ Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?

_Cast._ Why hast thou butchered both my children thus? 170

_Hier._ O, good words!
As dear to me was my Horatio
As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you.
My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain,
And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar 175
Am I at last revenged thoroughly,
Upon whose souls may heavens be yet aveng’d
With greater far than these afflictions.

_Cast._ But who were thy confederates in this?

_Vic._ That was thy daughter Bel-imperia; 180
For by her hand my Balthazar was slain:
I saw her stab him.

_King._ Why speak’st thou not?

_Hier._ What lesser liberty can kings afford
Than harmless silence? Then afford it me.
Sufficeth, I may not, nor I will not tell thee. 185

_King._ Fetch forth the tortures: traitor as thou art,
I’ll make thee tell.

_Hier._ Indeed,
Thou may’st torment me as his wretched son
Hath done in murd’ring my Horatio;
But never shalt thou force me to reveal 190
The thing which I have vow’d inviolate.
And therefore, in despite of all thy threats,
Pleas’d with their deaths, and eas’d with their revenge,
First take my tongue, and afterwards my heart.
_He bites out his tongue._

[[885]Hier. _But are you sure they are dead?_

Cast. _Ay, slave,[886] too sure._

Hier. _What, and yours too?_ 195

Vic. _Ay, all are dead: not one of them survive._

Hier. _Nay, then I care not; come, and we shall be friends:
Let us lay our heads together:
See, here’s a goodly noose wilt hold them all._ 200

Vic. _O damned devil, how secure[887] he is!_

Hier. _Secure? Why, dost thou wonder at it?
I tell thee, Viceroy, this day I have seen revenge,
And in that sight am grown a prouder monarch,
Than ever sat under the crown of Spain. 205
Had I as many lives as there be stars,
As many heavens to go to, as those lives,
I’d give them all, ay, and my soul to boot,
But I would see thee ride in this red pool._

Cast. _But who were thy confederates in this?_ 210

Vic. _That was thy daughter Bel-imperia;
For by her hand my Balthazar was slain:
I saw her stab him._

Hier. _O, good words!
As dear to me was my Horatio, 215
As yours, or yours, or yours, my lord, to you.
My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain,
And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar
Am I at last revenged thoroughly,
Upon whose souls may heavens be yet avenged 220
With greater far than these afflictions.
Methinks, since I grew inward with revenge,
I cannot look with scorn enough on death._

King. _What, dost thou mock us, slave?—Bring tortures forth._ 224

Hier. _Do, do, do: and meantime I’ll torture you.
You had a son, as I take it; and your son
Should ha’ been married to your daughter:
Ha, was it not so?—You had a son too,
He was my liege’s nephew: he was proud
And politic; had he liv’d, he might ha’ come 230
To wear the crown of Spain, I think ’t was so:—
’T was I that kill’d him: look you, this same hand.
’T was it that stabb’d his heart—do ye see? this hand—
For one Horatio, if you ever knew him: a youth,
One that they hang’d up in his father’s garden: 235
One that did force your valiant son to yield,
While your more valiant son did take him prisoner._

Vic. _Be deaf, my senses: I can hear no more._

King. _Fall, heaven, and cover us with thy sad ruins._ 239

Cast. _Roll all the world within thy pitchy cloud._

Hier. _Now do I applaud what I have acted._
Nunc iners cadat[888] manus!
_Now to express the rupture of my part,—
First take my tongue, and afterward my heart._]

_King._ O monstrous resolution of a wretch! 245
See, Viceroy, he hath bitten forth his tongue,
Rather than to reveal what we requir’d.

_Cast._ Yet can he write.

_King._ And if in this he satisfy us not,
We will devise th’ extremest kind of death 250
That ever was invented for a wretch.
_Then he makes signs for a knife to mend his pen._

_Cast._ O, he would have a knife to mend his pen.

_Vic._ Here, and advise thee that thou write the troth.—
Look to my brother! save Hieronimo!
_He with a knife stabs the_ DUKE _and himself._

_King._ What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds? 255
My brother, and the whole succeeding hope
That Spain expected after my decease!
Go, bear his body hence, that we may mourn
The loss of our beloved brother’s death,
That he may be entomb’d whate’er befall. 260
I am the next, the nearest, last of all.

_Vic._ And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for us:
Take up our hapless son, untimely slain;
Set me with him, and he with woeful me,
Upon the main-mast of a ship unmann’d, 265
And let the wind and tide haul me along
To Scylla’s barking and untamed gulf,
Or to the loathsome pool of Acheron,
To weep my want for my sweet Balthazar:
Spain hath no refuge for a Portingale. 270

_The trumpets sound a dead march; the_ KING OF SPAIN _mourning after his brother’s body, and the_ KING OF PORTINGAL _bearing the body of his son_.

[CHORUS.]

_Enter_ GHOST _and_ REVENGE.

_Ghost._ Ay, now my hopes have end in their effects,
When blood and sorrow finish my desires:
Horatio murdered in his father’s bower;
Vild Serberine by Pedringano slain;
False Pedringano hang’d by quaint device; 5
Fair Isabella by herself misdone;
Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabb’d;
The Duke of Castile and his wicked son
Both done to death by old Hieronimo;
My Bel-imperia fall’n as Dido fell, 10
And good Hieronimo slain by himself:
Ay, these were spectacles to please my soul!
Now will I beg at lovely Proserpine
That, by the virtue of her princely doom,
I may consort[889] my friends in pleasing sort, 15
And on my foes work just and sharp revenge.
I’ll lead my friend Horatio through those fields,
Where never-dying wars are still inur’d;[890]
I’ll lead fair Isabella to that train,
Where pity weeps, but never feeleth pain; 20
I’ll lead my Bel-imperia to those joys,
That vestal virgins and fair queens possess;
I’ll lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plays,
Adding sweet pleasure to eternal days. 24
But say, Revenge, for thou must help, or none,
Against the rest how shall my hate be shown?

_Rev._ This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,
Where none but Furies, bugs,[891] and tortures dwell.

_Ghost._ Then, sweet Revenge, do this at my request:
Let me be judge, and doom them to unrest. 30
Let loose poor Tityus from the vulture’s gripe,
And let Don Cyprian supply his room;
Place Don Lorenzo on Ixion’s wheel,
And let the lover’s endless pains surcease 34
(Juno forgets old wrath, and grants him ease);
Hang Balthazar about Chimaera’s neck,
And let him there bewail his bloody love,
Repining at our joys that are above;
Let Serberine go roll the fatal stone,
And take from Sisyphus his endless moan; 40
False Pedringano, for his treachery,
Let him be dragg’d through boiling Acheron,
And there live, dying still in endless flames,
Blaspheming gods and all their holy names.

_Rev._ Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes: 45
To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes;
For here though death hath end their misery,
I’ll there begin their endless tragedy. _Exeunt._

BUSSY D’AMBOIS

BY GEORGE CHAPMAN

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HENRY III., King of France.
Monsieur, his brother.
The DUKE OF GUISE.
MONTSURRY, a Count.
BUSSY D’AMBOIS.
BARRISOR, }
L’ANOU, } Courtiers; enemies of D’Ambois.
PYRRHOT, }
BRISAC, }
MELYNELL, } Courtiers; friends of D’Ambois.
FRIAR COMOLET.
MAFFE, steward to Monsieur.
NUNTIUS.

Murderers.
BEHEMOTH, }
CARTOPHYLAX, } Spirits.
UMBRA of FRIAR.

ELENOR, Duchess of Guise.
TAMYRA, Countess of Montsurry.
BEAUPRE, niece to Elenor.
PERO, maid to Tamyra.
CHARLOTTE, maid to Beaupre.
PYRA, a court lady.
ANNABELLE, maid to Elenor.
Lords, Ladies, Pages, &c.

SCENE.—_Paris_.]