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The Spanish Tragedie

Containing the lamentable end of Don Horatio, and Bel-imperia : with the pittifull death of olde Hieronimo
  

 1. 
 2. 
Actus Secundus.
 3. 
 4. 

Actus Secundus.

Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.
Lorenzo.
My Lord, though Bel-imperia seeme thus coy,
Let reason holde you in your wonted ioy:


In time the sauage Bull sustaines the yoake,
In time all haggard Hawkes will stoope to lure,
In time small wedges cleaue the hardest Oake,
In time the flint is pearst with softest shower,
And she in time will fall from her disdaine,
And rue the sufferance of your freendly paine.

Bal.
No, she is wilder and more hard withall,
Then beast, or bird, or tree, or stony wall.
But wherefore blot I Bel-imperias name?
It is my fault, not she that merites blame.
My feature is not to content her sight,
My wodres are rude and worke her no delight.
The lines I send her are but harsh and ill,
Such as doe drop from Pan and Marsias quill.
My presents are not of sufficient cost,
And being worthles all my labours lost.
Yet might she loue me for my valiancie,
I but thats slaundred by captiuitie.
Yet might she loue me to content her sire:
I but her reason masters his desire.
Yet might she loue me as her brothers freend,
I, but her hopes aime at some other end.
Yet might she loue me to vpreare her state,
I, but perhaps she hopes some nobler mate.
Yet might she loue me as her beauteous thrall,
I, but I feare she cannot loue at all.

Lor.
My Lord, for my sake leaue these extasies,
And doubt not but weele finde some remedie,
Some cause there is that lets you not be loued:
First that must needs be knowne and then remoued.
What if my Sister loue some other Knight?

Balt.
My sommers day will turne to winters night.

Lor.
I haue already found a stratageme,
To sound the bottome of this doubtfull theame,
My Lord, for once you shall be rulde by me,
Hinder me not what ere you heare or see.
By force or faire meanes will I cast about,


To finde the truth of all this question out.
Ho Pedringano.

Ped.
Signior.

Lor.
Vien que presto.

Enter Pedringano.
Ped.
Hath your Lordship any seruice to command me?

Lor.
I Pedringano seruice of import:
And not to spend the time in trifling words,
Thus stands the case; it is not long thou knowst,
Since I did shield thee from my fathers wrath,
For thy conueiance in Andreas loue:
For which thou wert adiudg'd to punishment,
I stood betwixt thee and thy punishment:
And since, thou knowest how I haue fauoured thee.
Now to these fauours will I adde reward,
Not with faire woords, but store of golden coyne,
And lands and liuing ioynd with dignities,
If thou but satisfie my iust demaund.
Tell truth and haue me for thy lasting freend.

Ped.
What ere it be your Lordship shall demaund,
My bounden duety bids me tell the truth.
If case it lye in me to tell the truth.

Lor.
Then Pedringano this is my demaund,
Whome loues my sister Bel-imperia?
For she reposeth all her trust in thee:
Speak man and gaine both freendship and reward,
I meane, whome loues she in Andreas place?

Ped.
Alas my Lord, since Don Andreas death,
I haue no credit with her as before,
And therefore know not if she loue or no.

Lor.
Nay if thou dally then I am thy foe,
And feare shall force what frendship cannot winne.
Thy death shall bury what thy life conceales.
Thou dyest for more esteeming her then me.

Ped.
Oh stay my Lord.

Lor.
Yet speak the truth and I will guerdon thee,
And shield thee from what euer can ensue,


And will conceale what ere proceeds from thee,
But if thou dally once againe, thou diest.

Ped.
If Madame Bel-imperia be in loue.

Lor.
What villaine ifs and ands?

Ped.
O stay my Lord, she loues Horatio.

Balthazar starts back.
Lor.
What Don Horatio our Knight Marshals sonne?

Ped.
Euen him my Lord.

Lor.
Now say, but how knowest thou he is her loue?
And thou shalt finde me kinde and liberall:
Stand vp I say, and feareles tell the truth.

Ped.
She sent him letters which my selfe perusde,
Full fraught with lines and arguments of loue,
Preferring him before Prince Balthazar.

Lor.
Sweare on this crosse, that what thou saiest is true,
And that thou wilt conseale what thou hast tolde.

Ped.
I sweare to both by him that made vs all.

Lor.
In hope thine oath is true, heeres thy reward,
But if I proue thee periurde and vniust,
This very sword whereon thou tookst thine oath,
Shall be the worker of thy tragedie.

Ped.
What I haue saide is true, and shall for me,
Be still conceald from Bel-imperia.
Besides your Honors liberalitie,
Deserues my duteous seruice, euen till death.

Lor.
Let this be all that thou shalt doe for me,
Be watchfull when, and where these louers meete,
And giue me notice in some secret sort.

Ped.
I will my Lord.

Lor.
Then shalt thou finde that I am liberall,
Thou knowst that I can more aduaunce thy state
Then she, be therefore wise and faile me not.
Goe and attend her as thy custome is,
Least absence make her think thou doost amisse.
Exit Pedringano.
Why so: Tam armis quam ingenio:
Where words preuaile not, violence preuailes.


But golde doth more then either of them both.
How likes Prince Balthazar this stratageme?

Bal.
Both well, and ill: it makes me glad and sad:
Glad, that I know the hinderer of my loue,
Sad, that I feare she hates me whome I loue.
Glad, that I know on whom to be reueng'd,
Sad, that sheele flie me if I take reuenge.
Yet must I take reuenge or dye my selfe,
For loue resisted growes impatient.
I think Horatio be my destinde plague,
First in his hand he brandished a sword,
And with that sword he fiercely waged warre,
And in that warre he gaue me dangerous wounds,
And by those wounds he forced me to yeeld,
And by my yeelding I became his slaue.
Now in his mouth he carries pleasing words,
Which pleasing wordes doe harbour sweet conceits,
Which sweet conceits are lim'd with slie deceits,
Which slie deceits smooth Bel-imperias eares,
And through her eares diue downe into her hart,
And in her hart set him where I should stand.
Thus hath he tane my body by his force,
And now by sleight would captiuate my soule:
But in his fall ile tempt the destinies,
And either loose my life, or winne my loue.

Lor.
Lets goe my Lord, your staying staies reuenge,
Doe you hut follow me and gaine your loue,
Her fauour must be wonne by his remooue.

Exeunt.
Enter Horatio and Bel-imperia.
Hor.
Now Madame, since by fauour of your loue,
Our hidden smoke is turnd to open flame:
And that with lookes and words we feed our thoughts
Two chiefe contents, where more cannot be had.
Thus in the midst of loues faire blandishments,
Why shew you signe of inward languishments.



Pedringano sheweth all to the Prince and Lorenzo, placing them in secret.
Bel.
My hart (sweet freend) is like a ship at sea,
She wisheth port, where riding all at ease,
She mad repaire what stormie times haue worne:
And leaning on the shore may sing with ioy,
That pleasure followes paine, and blisse annoy.
Possession of thy loue is th'onely port,
Wherein my hart with feares and hopes long tost,
Each howre doth wish and long to make resort,
There to repaire the ioyes that it hath lost:
And sitting safe to sing in Cupids quire,
That sweetest blisse is crowne of loues desire.

Balthazar aboue.
Bal.
O sleepe mine eyes, see not my loue prophande,
Be deafe my eares, heare not my discontent,
Dye hart, another ioyes what thou deseruest.

Lor.
Watch still mine eyes, to see this loue disioynd,
Heare still mine eares, to heare them both lament,
Liue hart to ioy at fond Horatios fall.

Bel.
Why stands Horatio speecheles all this while?

Hor.
The lesse I speak, the more I meditate.

Bel.
But whereon doost thou chiefely meditate?

Hor.
On dangers past, and pleasures to ensue.

Bal.
On pleasures past, and dangers to ensue.

Bel.
What dangers, and what plesures doost thou mean?

Hor.
Dangers of warre, and pleasures of our loue.

Lor.
Dangers of death, but pleasures none at all.

Bel.
Let dangers goe, thy warre shall be with me,
But such a warring, as breakes no bond of peace.
Speak thou faire words, ile crosse them with faire words,
Send thou sweet looks, ile meet them with sweet looks,
Write louing lines, ile answere louing lines,
Giue me a kisse, ile counterchecke thy kisse,
Be this our warring peace, or peacefull warre.

Hor.
But gratious Madame, then appoint the field,
Where triall of this warre shall first be made.



Bal.
Ambitious villaine, how his boldenes growes?

Bel,
Then be thy fathers pleasant bower the field,
Where first we vowd a mutuall amitie:
The Court were dangerous, that place is safe:
Our howre shalbe when Vesper ginnes to rise,
That summons home distresfull trauellers.
There none shall heare vs but the harmeles birds.
Happelie the gentle Nightingale,
Shall carroll vs a sleepe ere we be ware.
And singing with the prickle at her breast,
Tell our delight and mirthfull dalliance.
Till then each houre, will seeme a yeere and more.

Hor.
But honie sweet, and honorable loue.
Returne we now into your fathers sight,
Dangerous suspition waits on our delight.

Lor.
I, danger mixt with iealous despite,
Shall send thy soule into eternall night.

Exeunt.
Enter King of Spaine, Portingale Embassadour, Don Ciprian, &c.
King.
Brother of Castile, to the Princes loue:
What saies your daughter Bel-imperia?

Cip.
Although she coy it as becomes her kinde,
And yet dissemble that she loues the Prince:
I doubt not I, but she will stoope in time.
And were she froward, which she will not be,
Yet heerein shall she follow my aduice,
Which is to loue him or forgoe my loue.

King.
Then Lord Embassadour of Portingale,
Aduise thy King to make this marriage vp,
For strengthening of our late confirmed league,
I know no better meanes to make vs freends.
Her dowry shall be large and liberall,
Besides that, she is daughter and halfe heire,
Vnto our brother heere Don Ciprian,
And shall enioy the moitie of his land.
Ile grace her marriage with an vnckles gift,


And this it is, in case the match goe forward,
The tribute which you pay shalbe releast,
And if by Balthazar she haue a Sonne,
He shall enioy the kingdome after vs.

Embas.
Ile make the motion to my soueraigne Liege,
And worke it if my counsaile may preuaile.

King.
Doe so my Lord, and if he giue consent,
I hope his presence heere will honour vs,
In celebration of the nuptiall day,
And let himselfe determine of the time.

Em.
Wilt please your grace command me ought besid?

King.
Commend me to the King, and so farewell.
But wheres Prince Balthazar to take his leaue?

Em.
That is perfourmd alreadie my good Lord.

King.
Amongst the rest of what you haue in charge,
The Princes raunsome must not be forgot:
Thats none of mine, but his that tooke him prisoner,
And well his forwardnes deserues reward.
It was Horatio our Knight Marshals sonne.

Em.
Betweene vs theres a price already pitcht,
And shall be sent with all conuenient speed.

King.
Then once againe farewell my Lord.

Em.
Farwell my Lord of Castile and the rest.

Exit
King.
Now brother, you must take some little paines,
To winne faire Bel-imperia from her will:
Young Virgins must be ruled by their freends,
The Prince is amiable and loues her well,
If she neglect him and forgoe his loue,
She both will wrong her owne estate and ours:
Therefore whiles I doe entertaine the Prince,
With greatest pleasure that our Court affoords,
Endeuour you to winne your daughters thoughts,
If she giue back, all this will come to naught.

Exeunt.
Enter Horatio, Bel-imperia, and Pedringano.
Hor.
Now that the night begins with sable wings,
To ouer-cloud the brightnes of the Sunne,


And that in darkenes pleasures may be done:
Come Bel-imperia let vs to the bower,
And there in safetie passe a pleasant hower.

Bel.
I follow thee my loue, and will not backe,
Although my fainting hart controles my soule.

Hor.
Why, make you doubt of Pedringanos faith?

Bel.
No he is as trustie as my second selfe.
Goe Pedringano watch without the gate,
And let vs know if any make approch.

Ped.
In steed of watching ile deserue more golde.
By fetching Don Lorenzo to this match.
Exit Ped.

Hor.
What meanes my loue?

Bel.
I know not what my selfe:
And yet my hart foretels me some mischaunce.

Hor.
Sweet say not so, faire fortune is our freend,
And heauens haue shut vp day to pleasure vs.
The starres thou seest holde back their twinckling shine,
And Luna hides her selfe to pleasure vs.

Bel.
Thou hast preuailde, ile conquer my misdoubt,
And in thy loue and councell drowne my feare:
I feare no more, loue now is all my thoughts,
Why sit we nat, for pleasure asketh case?

Hor.
The more thou sitst within these leauy bowers,
The more will Flora decke it with her flowers.

Bel.
I but if Flora spye Horatio heere,
Her iealous eye will think I sit too neere.

Hor.
Harke Madame how the birds record by night,
For ioy that Bel-imperia sits in sight.

Bel.
No Cupid counterfeits the Nightingale,
To frame sweet musick to Horatios tale.

Hor.
If Cupid sing, then Venus is nor farre,
I thou art Venus or some fairer starre.

Bel.
If I be Uenus thou must needs be Mars,
And where Mars raigneth there must needs be warre.

Hor.
Then thus begin our wars put forth thy hand,
That it may combat with my ruder hand.

Bel.
Set forth thy foot to try the push of mine.



Hor.
But first my lookes shall combat against thine.

Bel.
Then ward thyselfe, I dart this kisse at thee.

Hor.
Thus I retort the dart thou threwst at me.

Bel.
Nay then to gaine the glory of the field,
My twining armes shall yoake and make thee yeeld.

Hor.
Nay then my armes are large and strong with
Thus Elmes by vines are compast till they fall.

Bel.
O let me goe, for in my troubled eyes,
Now maist thou read that life in passion dies.

Hor.
O stay a while and I will dye with thee,
So shalt thou yeeld, and yet haue conquerd me.

Bel.
Whose there Pedringano? we are betraide.

Enter Lorenzo, Balthazar, Cerberin, Pedringano, disguised.
Lor.
My Lord away with her, take her aside,
O sir forbeare, your valour is already tride.
Quickly dispatch my maisters.

Thy hang him in the Arbor.
Hor.
What will you murder me?

Lor.
I thus, and thus, these are the fruits of loue.

They stab him.
Bel.
O saue his life and let me dye for him,
O saue him brother, saue him Balthazar:
I loued Horatio but he loued not me.

Bal.
But Balthazar loues Bel-imperia.

Lor.
Although his life were still ambituous proud,
Yet is heat the highest now he is dead.

Bel.
Murder, murder, helpe Hieronimo helpe.

Lor.
Come stop her mouth away with her.

Exeunt.
Enter Hieronimo in his shirt, &c.
Hiero.
What outcries pluck me from my naked bed,
And chill my throbbing hart with trembling feare,
Which neuer danger yet could daunt before.
Who cals Hieronimo? speak, heere I am:
I did not slumber, therefore twas no dreame,


No, no, it was some woman cride for helpe,
And heere within this garden did she crie.
And in this garden must I rescue her:
But stay, what murdrous spectacle is this?
A man hangd vp and all the murderers gone,
And in my bower to lay the guilt on me:
This place was made for pleasure not for death.
He cuts him downe.
Those garments that he weares. I oft haue seene,
Alas it is Horatio my sweet sonne.
O no, but he that whilome was my sonne,
O was it thou that call'dst me from my bed,
O speak if any sparke of life remaine.
I am thy Father, who hath slaine my sonne?
What sauadge monster, not of humane kinde,
Hath heere beene glutted with thy harmeles blood?
And left thy bloudie corpes dishonoured heere,
For me amidst this darke and deathfull shades,
To drowne thee with an ocean of my teares.
O heauens, why made you night to couer sinne?
By day this deed of darkenes had not beene.
O earth why didst thou not in time deuoure,
The vilde prophaner of this sacred bower.
O poore Horatio, what hadst thou misdoone?
To leese thy life ere life was new begun.
O wicked butcher what so ere thou wert,
How could thou strangle vertue and desert?
Ay me most wretched that haue lost my ioy,
In leesing my Horatio my sweet boy.

Enter Isabell.
Isa.
My husband absence makes my hart to throb,
Hieronimo.

Hiero.
Heere Isabella, helpe me to lament,
For sighes are stopt, and all my teares are spent.

Isa.
What world of griefe, my sonne Horatio?
O wheres the author of this endles woe.



Hiero.
To know the author were some ease of greefe,
For in reuenge my hart would finde releefe.

Isa.
Then is he gone? and is my sonne gone too?
O gush out teares, fountains and flouds of teares.
Blow sighes and raise an euerlasting storme.
For outrage fits our cursed wretchednes.

Hiero.
Sweet louely Rose, ill pluckt before thy time,
Faire worthy sonne, not conquerd but betraid:
Ile kisse thee now, for words with teares are stainde.

Isa.
And ile close vp the glasses of his sight,
For once these eyes were onely my delight,

Hiero.
Seest thou this handkercher besinerd with blood,
It shall not from me till I take reuenge:
Seest thou thoss wounds that yet are bleeding fresh,
Ile not intombe them till I haue reueng'd:
Then will I ioy amidst my discontent,
Till then my sorrow neuer shalbe spent.

Isa.
The heauens are iust, murder cannot be hid,
Time is the author both of truth and right.
And time will bring this trecherie to light.

Hiero.
Meane while good Jsabella cease thy plaints,
Or at the least dissemble them a while,
So shall we sooner finde the practise out,
And learne by whom all this was brought about.
Come Jsabell now let vs take him vp,
They take him vp.
And beare him in from out this cursed place,
Ile say his dirge, singing fits not this case.
O aliquis mihi quas pulcbrum var educet herbas,
Hiero sets his brest vnto his sword.
Misceat & nostro detur, medicina dolori:
Aut siquifaciunt annum oblimia succos,
Prebeat, ipse metum magnam quicunque per orbem,
Gramina Sol pulchras effecit in luminis oras.
Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneri,
Quicquid & irrauieuecaca menia nectit.
Omnia perpetiar, lethun quoque dum somelomnis,


Noster in extincto moriatur poctora sensus:
Ergo tuos occulos nunquum (mea vita) videbo.
Et tua perpetuus sepeliuit lumina somnus:
Emoriar tecum Sic, sic iuuat ne sub vmbras,
Attamen absist am properato cedere lotho,
Ne mortem vindicta tuam tam nulla sequatur.

Heere he throwes it from him and beares the body away.
Andrea.
Broughtst thou me hether to increase my paine?
I lookt that Balthazar should haue been slaine:
But tis my freend Horatio that is slaine,
And they abuse faire Bel-imperia.
Or whom I doted more then all the world,
Because she lou'd me more then all the world.

Reuenge.
Thou talkest of haruest when the corne is greene,
The end is crowne of euery worke well done:
The Sickle comes not till the corne be ripe.
Be still, and ere I lead thee from this place,
Ile shew thee Balthazar in heauy case.