University of Virginia Library

Actus Quartus.

Enter Bel-imperia and Hieronimo.
Bel-imperia.
Is this the loue thou bearst Horatio?
Is this the kindnes that thou counterfeits,
Are these the fruits of thine incessant teares?
Hieronimo, are these thy passions?
Thy protestations, and thy deepe laments.
That thou wert wont to wearie men withall.
O vnkind Father, O deceitfull world,
With what excuses canst thou shew thy selfe?
With what dishonour, and the hate of men,
From this dishonour and the hate of men:
Thus to neglect the losse and life of him,
Whom both my letters, and thine owne beliefe,
Assures thee to be causles slaughtered.
Hieronimo, for shame Hieronimo:
Be not a History to after times,
Of such ingratitude vnto thy Sonne.
Vnhappy Mothers of such children then,
But monstrous Fathers, to forget so soone
The death of those, whom they with care and cost
Haue tendred so, thus careles should be lost.
My selfe a stranger in respect of thee,
So loued his life, as still I wish their deathes,
Nor shall his death be vnreuengd by me.
Although I beare it out for fashions sake:
For heere I sweare in sight of heauen and earth,
Shouldst thou neglect the loue thou shouldst retaine,
And giue it ouer and deuise no more,
My selfe should send their hatefull soules to hel,
That wrought his downfall with extreamest death.

Hie.
But may it be that Bel-imperia
Vowes such reuenge as she hath daind to say:
Why then I see that heauen applies our drift,
And all the Saints doe sit soliciting
For vengeance on those cursed murtherers
Madame tis true, and now I find it so,
I found a letter, written in your name,
And in that letter, how Horatio died.
Pardon, O pardon Bel-imperia,
My feare and care in not beleeuing it,
Nor thinke, I thoughtles thinke vpon a meane,
To let his death be vnreveng'd at full,
And heere I vow, so you but giue consent,
And will conceale my resolution,
I will ere long determine of their deathes,
That causles thus haue murderd my Sonne.

Bel.
Hieronimo, I will consent, conceale,
And ought that may effect for thine auaile.
Ioyne with thee to reuenge Horatioes death.

Hier.
On then, whatsoeuer I deuise,
Let me entreat you grace my practises.
For why, the plots already in mine head,
Heere they are.

Enter Balthazar and Lorenzo.
Bal.
How now Hieronimo, what, courting Bel-imperia.

Hiero.
I my Lord, such courting as I promise you
She hath my hart, but you my Lord haue hers.

Lor.
But now Hieronimo or neuer we are to intreate your helpe.

Hie.
My help, why my good Lords assure your selues of me.
For you haue giuen me cause, I by my faith haue you.

Bal.
It pleasde you at the entertainment of the Embassadour,
To grace the King so much as with a shew,
Now were your studie so well furnished,
As for the passing of the first nights sport,
To entertaine my Father with the like:
Or any such like pleasing motion,
Assure your selfe it would content them well.

Hiero.
Is this all?

Bal.
I, this is all.

Hiero.
Why then ile fit you, say no more.
When I was yong I gaue my minde,
And plide my selfe to fruitles poetrie:
Which though it profite the professor naught,
Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.

Lor.
And how for that?

Hiero.
Marrie my good Lord thus.
And yet me thinks you are too quick with vs.
When in Tolledo there I studied,
It was my chaunce to write a tragedie,
See heere my Lords.
He shewes them a book.
Which long forgot, I found this other day,
Now would your Lordships fauour me so much,
As but to grace me with your acting it,
I meane each one of you to play a part,
Assure you it will proue most passing strange,
And wondrous plausible to that assembly.

Bal.
What would you haue vs play a Tragedie?

Hiero.
Why Nero thought it no disparagement,
And Kings and Emperours haue tane delight,
To make experience of their wits in plaies?

Lor.
Nay be not angry good Hieronimo,
The Prince but asked a question.

Bal.
In faith Hieronimo and you be in earnest,
Ile make one.

Lor.
And I another.

Hiero.
Now my good Lord, could you intreat,
Your Sister Bel-imperia to make one,
For whats a play without a woman in it?

Bel.
Little intreaty shall serue me Hieronomo,
For I must needs be imployed in your play.

Hiero.
Why this is well, I tell you Lordings,
It was determined to haue beene acted,
By Gentlemen and schollers too,
Such as could tell what to speak.

Bal.
And now it shall be plaide by Princes and Courtiers
such as can tell how to speak:
If as it is our Country manner,
You will but let vs know the argument.

Hiero.
That shall I roundly: the Cronicles of Spaine
Recorde this written of a Knight of Rodes,
He was betrothed and wedded at the length,
To one Perseda an Italian dame.
Whose beauty rauished all that her behelde,
Especially the soule of Soliman,
Who at the marriage way the cheefest guest.
By sundry meanes sought Soliman to winne,
Persedas loue, and could not gaine the same.
Then gan he break his passions to a freend,
One of his Bashawes whom he heldfull deere,
Her had this Bashaw long solicited,
And saw she was not otherwise to be wonne,
But by her husbands death this Knight of Rodes.
Whome presently by trecherie he slew,
She stirde with an exceeding hate therefore,
As cause of this slew Soliman.
And to escape the Bashawes tirannie,
Did stab her selfe, and this the Tragedie.

Lor.
O excellent.

Bel.
But say Hieronimo what then became of him
That was the Bashaw?

Hiero.
Marrie thus, moued with remorse of his misdeeds
Ran to a mountain top and hung himselfe.

Bal.
But which of vs is to performe that parte,

Hiero.
O, that will I my Lords, make no doubt of it,
Ile play the murderer I warrant you,
For I already haue conceited that.

Bal.
And what shall I.

Hiero.
Great Soliman the Turkish Emperour.

Lor.
And I.

Hiero.
Erastus the Knight of Rhodes,

Bel.
And I.

Hiero.
Perseda, chaste and resolute.
And heere my Lords are seuerall abstracts drawne,
For eache of you to note your partes,
And act it as occasion's offred you.
You must prouide a turkish cappe,
A black mustacio and a fauchion.
Giues a paper to Bal.
You with a crosse like to a Knight of Rhodes.
Giues another to Lor.
And Madame, you must attire your selfe,
He giueth Bel. another.
Like Phœbe, Flora, or the huntresse,
Which to your discretion shall seeme best.
And as for me my Lords Ile looke to one,
And with the raunsome that the Vice-roy sent,
So furnish and performe this tragedie,
As all the world shall say Hieronimo,
Was liberall in gracing of it so.

Bal.
Hieronimo, me thinks a Comedie were better.

Hiero.
A Comedie, fie, comedies are fit for common wits
But to present a Kingly troupe withall,
Giue me a stately written Tragedie.
Tragedia cother nato, fitting Kings,
Containing matter, and not common things.
My Lords, all this must be perfourmed,
As fitting for the first nights reuelling.
The Italian Tragedians were so sharpe of wit,
That in one houres meditation,
They would performe any thing in action.

Lor.
And well it may, for I haue seene the like
In Paris, mongst the French Tragedians.

Hiero.
In Paris, mas and well remembred,
Theres one thing more that rests for vs to doo.

Bal.
Whats that Hieronimo forget not any thing.

Hiero.
Each one of vs must act his parte,
In vnknowne languages,
That it may breede the more varietie.
As you my Lord in Latin, I in Greeke,
You in Italian, and for because I know,
That Bel-imperia hath practised the French,
In courtly French shall all her phraises be.

Bel.
You meane to trye my cunning then Hieronimo.

Bal.
But this will be a meere confusion.
And hardly shall we all be vnderstoode.

Hiero.
It must be so, for the conclusion
Shall proue the inuention, and all was good:
And I my selfe in an Oration,
That I will haue there behinde a curtaine,
And with a strange and wondrous shew besides:
Assure your selfe shall make the matter knowne.
And all shalbe concluded in one Scene,
For theres no pleasure tane in tediousnes.

Bal.
How like you this?

Lor.
Why thus my Lord we must resolue,
To soothe his humors vp.

Bal.
On then Hieronimo, farewell till soone.

Hiero.
Youle plie this geere.

Lor.
I warrant you.

Exeunt all but Hiero.
Hiero.
Why so, now shall I see the fall of Babilon,
Wrought by the heauens in this confusion.
And if the world like not this tragedie,
Hard is the hap of olde Hieronimo.

Exit.
Enter Jsabella with a weapon.
Tell me no more, O monstrous homicides,
Since neither pietie nor pittie moues
The King to iustice or compassion:
I will reuenge my selfe vpon this place,
Where thus they murdered my beloued Sonne.
She cuts downe the Arbour.
Downe with these branches and these loathsome bowes,
Of this vnfortunate and fatall pine.
Downe with them Jsabella, rent them vp,
And burne the roots from whence the rest is sprung:
I will not leaue a root, a stalke, a tree,
A bowe, a branch, a blossome, nor a leafe.
No, not an hearb within this garden Plot.
Accursed complot of my miserie,
Fruitlesse for euer may this garden be.
Barren the earth, and blislesse whosoeuer,
Immagines not to keep it vnmanurde:
An Easterne winde comixt with noisome aires,
Shall blast the plants and the yong saplings,
The earth with Serpents shalbe pestered,
And passengers for feare to be infect,
Shall stand aloofe, and looking at it, tell
There murdred dide the sonne of Isabell.
I heere he dide, and heere I him imbrace,
See where his Ghoast solicites with his wounds,
Reuenge on her that should reuenge his death,
Hieronimo make haste to see thy sonne,
For sorrow and dispaire hath scited me,
To heare Horatio plead with Radamant,
Make haste, Hieronimo to holde excusde.
Thy negligence in pursute of their deaths,
Whose hatefull wrath bereu'd him of his breath.
Ah nay, thou dost delay their deaths,
Forgiues the murderers of thy noble sonne,
And none but I bestirre me to no end,
And as I cursse this tree from further fruit,
So shall my wombe be cursed for his sake,
And with this weapon will I wound the brest,
The haples brest that gaue Horatio suck.

She stabs her selfe.
Enter Hieronimo, he knocks vp the curtaine.
Enter the Duke of Castile.
Cas.
How now Hieronimo wheres your fellows,
That you take all this paine?

Hiero.
O sir, it is for the Authors credit,
To look that all things may goe well:
But good my Lord let me intreat your grace,
To giue the King the coppie of the plaie:
This is the argument of what we shew.

Cas,
I will Hieronimo.

Hiero.
One thing more my good Lord.

Cas.
Whats that?

Hiero.
Let me intreat your grace,
That when the traine are past into the gallerie,
You would vouchsafe to throwe me downe the key.

Cas.
I will Hieronimo.
Exit Cas.

Hiero.
What are you ready Balthazar?
Bring a chaire and a cushion for the King.
Enter Balthazar with a Chaire.
Well doon Balthazar, hang vp the title.
Our scene is Rhodes, what is your beardon?

Bal.
Halfe on, the other is in my hand.

Hiero.
Dispatch for shame, are you so long?
Exit Balthazar.
Bethink thy selfe Hieronimo,
Recall thy wits, recompt thy former wrongs,
Thou hast receiued by murder of thy sonne.
And lastly, not least, how Jsabell,
Once his mother and thy deerest wife:
All woe begone for him hath slaine her selfe.
Behoues thee then Hieronimo to be reueng'd,
The plot is laide of dire reuenge,
On then Hieronimo pursue reuenge,
For nothing wants but acting of reuenge.
Exit Hieronimo.

Enter Spanish King, Vice-roy, the Duke of Castile, and their traine.
King.
Now Viceroy, shall we see the Tragedie,
Of Soliman the Turkish Emperour:
Performde of pleasure by your Sonne the Prince,
My Nephew Don Lorenzo, and my Neece.

Vice.
Who, Bel-imperia?

King.
I, and Hieronimo our Marshall.
At whose request they deine to doo't themselues.
These be our pastimes in the Court of Spaine.
Heere brother, you shall be the booke-keeper.
This is the argument of that they shew.

He giueth him a booke.
Gentlemen, this play of Hieronimo in sundrie Languages, was thought good to be set downe in English more largely, for the easier vnderstanding to euery publique Reader.
Enter Balthazar, Bel-imperia, and Hieronimo.
Balthazar.
Bashaw , that Rhodes is ours, yeeld heauens the honor,
And holy Mahomet our sacred Prophet:
And be thou grac't with euery excelence,
That Soliman can giue, or thou desire.
But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is lesse,
Then in reseruing this faire Christian Nimph
Perseda, blisfull lamp of Excellence:
Whose eies compell like powerfull Adamant,
The warlike heart of Soliman to wait.

King.
See Vice-Roy, that is Balthazar your Sonne,
That represents the Emperour Solyman:
How well he acts his amorous passion.

Vice.
I Bel-imperia hath taught him that.

Castile.
That's because his mind runnes all on Bel-imperia

Hiero.
What euer ioy earth yeelds betide your Maiestie.

Balt.
Earth yeelds no ioy without Persedaes loue.

Hiero.
Let then Perseda on your grace attend.

Balt.
She shall not wait on me, but I on her,
Drawne by the influence of her lights, I yeeld.
But let my friend the Rhodian knight come foorth,
Erasto, dearer then my life to me,
That he may see Perseda my beloued.

Enter Erasto.
King.
Heere comes Lorenzo, looke vpon the plot,
And tel me brother what part plaies he?

Bel.
Ah my Erasto, welcome to Perseda.

Lo.
Thrice happie is Erasto, that thou liuest,
Rhodes losse is nothing to Erastoes ioy:
Sith his Perseda liues, his life suruiues.

Balt.
Ah Bashaw, heere is loue betweene Erasto
And faire Perseda soueraigne of my soule.

Hiero.
Remooue Erasto mighty Solyman,
And then Perseda will be quickly wonne.

Balt.
Erasto is my friend, and while he liues,
Perseda neuer will remooue her loue.

Hiero.
Let not Erasto liue, to greeue great Soliman.

Balt.
Deare is Erasto in our Princly eye.

Hiero.
But if he be your riuall, let him die.

Balt.
VVhy let him die, so loue commaundeth me.
Yet greeue I that Erasto should so die.

Hiero.
Erasto, Solyman saluteth thee,
And lets thee wit by me his highnes will:
VVhich is, thou shouldst be thus imploid.

Stab him.
Bel.
Ay me Erasto, see Solyman Erastoes slaine.

Balt.
Yet liueth Solyman to comfort thee.
Faire Queene of beautie, let not fauour die,
But with a gratious eye beholde his griefe,
That with Persedaes beautie is encreast.
If by Persedaes griefe be not releast.

Bel.
Tyrant, desist soliciting vaine sutes,
Relentles are mine eares to thy laments,
As thy butcher is pittilesse and base,
VVhich seazd on my Erasto, harmelesse knight.
Yet by thy power thou thinkest to commaund,
And to thy power Perseda doth obey:
But were she able, thus she would reuenge
Thy treacheries on thee ignoble Prince:
Stab him.
And on herselfe she would be thus reuengd

Stab herselfe.
King.
VVell said olde Marshal, this was brauely done.

Hiero.
But Bel-imperia plaies Perseda well.

Uice.
were this in earnest Bel-imperia,
You would be better to my Sonne then so.

King.
But now what followes for Hieronimo?

Hiero,
Marrie this followes for Hieronimo.
Heere breake we off our sundrie languages,
And thus conclude I in our vulgare tung.
Happely you think, but bootles are your thoughts,
That this is fabulously counterfeit,
And that we doo as all Tragedians doo.
To die to day, for (fashioning our scene)
The death of Aiax, or some Romaine peere,
And in a minute starting vp againe,
Reuiue to please to morrowes audience.
No Princes, know I am Hieronimo,
The hopeles Father of a haples Sonne,
Whose tung is tun'd to tell his latest tale,
Not to excuse grosse errors in the play,
I see your lookes vrge instance of these words,
Beholde the reason vrging me to this,
Shewes his dead sonne.
See heere my shew, look on this spectacle:
Heere lay my hope, and heere my hope hath end:
Heere lay my hart, and heere my hart was slaine:
Heere lay my treasure, heere my treasure lost:
Heere lay my blisse, and heere my blisse bereft.
But hope, hart, treasure, ioy, and blisse:
All fled, faild, died, yea all decaide with this.
From forth these wounds came breath that gaue me life,
They murdred me that made these fatall markes:
The cause was loue, whence grew this mortall hate.
The hate, Lorenzo and yong Balthazar:
The loue, my sonne to Bel-imperia.
But night the couerer of accursed crimes,
With pitchie silence husht these traitors harmes,
And lent them leaue, for they had sorted leasure,
To take aduantage in my Garden plot,
Vpon my Sonne, my deere Horatio:
There mercilesse they butcherd vp my boy,
In black darke night, to pale dim cruell death.
He shrikes, I heard, and yet me thinks I heare,
His dismall out-cry eccho in the aire:
With soonest speed I hasted to the noise,
Where hanging on a tree, I found my sonne.
Through girt with wounds, and slaughtred as you see,
And greeued I (think you) at this spectacle?
Speak Portaguise, whose losse resembles mine,
If thou canst weep vpon thy Balthazar,
Tis like I wailde for my Horatio.
And you my L. whose reconciled sonne,
Marcht in a net, and thought him selfe vnseene,
And rated me for brainsicke lunacie,
With God amend that mad Hieronimo,
How can you brook our plaies catastrophe?
And heere beholde this bloudie hand-kercher,
Which at Horatios death I weeping dipt,
Within the riuer of his bleeding wounds.
It as propitious, see I haue reserued,
And neuer hath it left my bloody hart,
Soliciting remembrance of my vow.
With these, O these accursed murderers,
Which now perform'd, my hart is satisfied.
And to this end the Bashaw I became,
That might reuenge me on Lorenzos life,
Who therefore was appointed to the part,
And was to represent the Knight of Rhodes,
That I might kill him more conueniently.
So Uice-roy was this Balthazar thy Sonne,
That Soliman, which Bel-imperia,
In person of Perseda murdered:
Solie appointed to that tragicke part,
That she might slay him that offended her.
Poore Bel-imperia mist her part in this,
For though the story saith she should haue died,
Yet I of kindenes, and of care to her,
Did otherwise determine of her end.
But loue of him whom they did hate too much,
Did vrge her resolution to be such.
And Princes now beholde Hieronimo,
Author and actor in this Tragedie:
Bearing his latest fortune in his fist:
And will as resolute conclude his parte,
As any of the Actors gone before.
And Gentles, thus I end my play,
Vrge no more words, I haue no more to say.

He runs to hang himselfe.
King.
O hearken Vice-roy, holde Hieronimo,
Brother, my Nephew, and thy Sonne are slaine.

Vice.
We are betraide, my Balthazar is slaine,
Breake ope the doores, runne saue Hieronimo.
Hieronimo, doe but enforme the King of these euents,
Ypon mine honour thou shalt haue no harme.

Hiero.
Vice-roy, I will not trust thee with my life,
Which I this day haue offered to my Sonne:
Accursed wretch, why staiest thou him that was resolued to die?

King.
Speak traitor, damned, bloudy murderer speak,
For now I haue thee I will make thee speak:
Why hast thou done this vndeseruing deed?

Vico.
Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?

Cas.
Why hast thou butchered both my children thus?

Hiero.
O good words, as deare to me was my Horatio,
As yours, or yours, or yours my L. to you.
My guiltles Sonne was by Lorenzo slaine,
And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar,
Am I at last reuenged thorowly.
Vpon whose soules may heauens be yet auenged,
With greater far then these afflictions.

Cas.
But who were thy confederates in this?

Vice.
That was thy daughter Bel-imperia.
For by her hand my Balthazar was slaine
I saw her stab him.

King.
Why speakest thou not?

Hiero.
What lesser libertie can Kings affoord
Then harmeles silence? then affoord it me:
Sufficeth I may not, nor I will not tell thee.

King.
Fetch forth the tortures.
Traitor as thou art, ile make thee tell.

Hiero.
Indeed thou maiest torment me as his wretched Sonne,
Hath done in murdring my Horatio.
But neuer shalt thou force me to reueale,
The thing which I haue vowd inuiolate:
And therefore in despight of all thy threats,
Pleasde with their deaths, and easde with their reuenge:
First take my tung, and afterwards my hart.

King.
O monstrous resolution of a wretch,
See Vice-roy, hee hath bitten foorth his tung,
Rather then to reueale what we requirde.

Cas.
Yet can he write.

King.
And if in this he satisfie vs not,
We will deuise the 'xtreamest kinde of death,
That euer was inuented for a wretch.

Then he makes signes for a knife to mend his pen.
Cas.
O he would haue a knife to mend his Pen.

Vice.
Heere, and aduise thee that thou write the troth,
Looke to my brother, saue Hieronimo.

He with a knife stabs the Duke and himselfe.
King.
What age hath euer heard such monstrous deeds?
My brother and the whole succeeding hope,
That Spaine expected after my discease,
Go beare his body hence that we may mourne,
The losse of our beloued brothers death.
That he may be entom'd what ere befall,
I am the next, the neerest, last of all.

Vice.
And thou Don Pedro do the like for vs,
Take vp our haples sonne vntimely slaine:
Set me with him, and he with wofull me,
Vpon the maine mast of a ship vnmand,
And let the winde and tide hall me along,
To Sillas barking and vntamed greefe:
Or to the lothsome poole of Acheron,
To weepe my want for my sweet Balthazar,
Spaine hath no refuge for a Portingale.

The Trumpets sound a dead march, the King of Spaine mourning after his brothers body, and the King of Portingale bearing the body of his Sonne.
Enter Ghoast and Reuenge.
Ghoast.
I, now my hopes haue end in their effects,
When blood and sorrow finnish my desires:
Horatio murdered in his Fathers bower,
Vilde Serberine by Pedringano slaine,
False Pedringano hangd by quaint deuice,
Faire Isabella by her selfe misdone,
Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabd,
The Duke of Castile and his wicked Sonne,
Both done to death by olde Hieronimo.
My Bel-imperia falne as Dido fell,
And good Hieronimo slaine by himselfe:
I these were spectacles to please my soule.
Now will I beg at louely Proserpine,
That by the vertue of her Princely doome,
I may consort my freends in pleasing sort,
And on my foes worke iust and sharpe reuenge.
Ile lead my freend Horatio through those feeldes,
Where neuer dying warres are still inurde.
Ile lead faire Isabella to that traine,
Where pittie weepes but neuer feeleth paine.
Ile lead my Bel-imperia to those ioyes,
That vestal Virgins, and faire Queenes possesse,
Ile lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plaies,
Adding sweet pleasure to eternall daies.
But say Reuenge, for thou must helpe or none,
Against the rest how shall my hate be showne?

Reuenge.
This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,
Where none but furies, bugs and tortures dwell.

Ghoast.
Then sweet Reuenge doo this at my request,
Let me be iudge and doome them to vnrest.
Let loose poore Titius from the vultures gripe,
And let Don Ciprian supply his roome,
Place Don Lorenzo on Ixions wheele,
And let the louers endles paines surcease:
Iuno forgets olde wrath and graunts him ease.
Hang Balthazar about Chineras neck,
And let him there be waile his bloudy loue,
Repining at our ioyes that are aboue.
Let Serberine goe roule the fatall stone,
And take from Siciphus his endles mone.
False Pedringaco for his trecherie,
Let him be dragde through boyling Acheron,
And there liue dying still in endles flames,
Blaspheming Gods and all their holy names.

Reuenge.
Then haste we downe to meet thy freends and foes,
To place thy freends in ease, the rest in woes.
For heere, though death hath end their miserie,
Ile there begin their endles Tragedie.

Exeunt.