The Spanish Tragedie/Act 2
ACTVS SECVNDVS.
Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.
Lorenzo. My Lord, though Bel-imperia seeme thus coy,Let reason hold 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 frindly paine.
Bal. No, she is wilder and more hard withall,Then beast, or bird, or tree, or stonie 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 wordes 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 slaundered by captiuitie.Yet might she loue me to content her sire:I, but her reason maisters his desire.Yet might she loue me as her brothers friend: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 beautious thrall,I, but I feare she can not 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 beloued:First, that must needs be knowen, and then remoued.What if my sister loue some other Knight?
Bal. My sommers day will turne to winters night.
Lor. I haue already found a strategeme,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 trueth of all this question out.Ho, Pedringano.
Pedr. Signior.
Lor. Vien que presto.
Enter Pedringano.
Ped. Hath your Lordship any seruice to command mee?
Lor. I, Pedringano, seruice of impart,And not to spend the time in trifling words.Thus stands the case: it is not long thou knowest,Since I did shield thee from my fathers wrath,For thy conueiance in Andreas loue:For which thou wert adiudged 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 wordes, but store of golden coyne,And lands, and liuing ioynd with dignities,If thou but satisfie my iust demand.Tell trueth, and haue me for thy lasting friend.
Ped. What ere it be your Lordship shall demaund,My bounden duetie bids me tell the trueth:If case it lye in me to tell the trueth.
Lor. Then, Pedringano, this is my demaund,Whom loues my sister Bel-imperia?For she reposeth all her trust in thee:Speake man, and gayne both friendship and reward:I meane, whom loues she in Andreas place?
Ped. Alas, My Lord, since Don Andreas death,I haue no credite with her as before,And therefore know not if she loue or no.
Lor. Nay, if thou dallie, then I am thy fo, Draw his sword.And feare shall force what friendship connot winne.Thy death shall bury what thy life conceales:Thou diest, for more esteeming her then me.
Ped. Oh, stay, my Lord.
Lor. Yet speake the trueth, and I will guerdon thee,And shield thee from what euer can ensue,And will conceale what ere proceedes from thee,But if thou dally once againe, thou diest.
Ped. If Madame Bel-imperia be in loue,
Offer to kill him.Lor. What Villaine, ifs and ands?
Ped. Oh, stay, my Lord! She loues Horatio.Balthazar starts backe.
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 trueth.
Ped. She sent him letters, which my selfe perusde,Full fraught with lines and arguments of loue,Perferring him before Prince Balthazar.
Lor. Sweare on this crosse that what thou sayest is true,And that thou wilt conceale what thou hast tolde.
Ped. I sweare to both, by him that made vs all.
Lor. In hope thine oath is true, heers thy reward,But if I prooue thee periurde and vniust,This very sword whereon thou tookest thine oath,Shall be the worker of thy tragedie.
Ped. What I haue said 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 knowest that I can more aduance thy stateThen she, be therefore wise and faile me not:Goe and attend her as thy custome is,Least absence make her thinke thou doest amisse.Exit Pedringano. Why so, Tam armis quam ingenio:Where words preuailes not, violence preuailes.But gold doth more than 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 reuenged, 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 woundes,And by those wouuds he forced me to yeeld,And by my yeelding, I became his slaue.Now, in his mouth he caries pleasing words,Which pleasing words doe harbour sweet conceits,Which sweete conceits are limbde with slie deceites,Which slie deceits smooth Bel-imperias eares,And through her eares diue downe into her heart,And in her heart set him where I should stand:Thus hath he tane my body by his force,And now by slieght would captiuate my soule:But in his fall Ile tempt the destinies.And either lose my life, or winne my loue.
Lor. Lets goe, my Lord; your staying stayes reuenge,Doe you but follow me, and gaine your loue.Exeunt.Her fauour must be wonne by his remooue.
Enter Horatio and Bel-imperia.
Hor. Now, Modame, since by fauour of your loue,Our hidden smoke is turned to open flame:And that with lookes and wordes 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 heart, sweet friend, is like a ship at Sea:She wisheth port, where, riding all at ease,She may repaire what stormie times haue worne:And, leaning on the shore may sing with ioy,That pleasure, follow paine, and blisse annoy. Possession of thy loue is th' onely port,Wherein my heart with feares and hopes long tost,Each houre doeth wish and long to make resort,Thereon repayre the ioyes that it hath lost:And sitting safe to sing in Cupids Quire,That sweetest blisse is crowne of loues desire.Balthazar aboue. Balt. O, sleepe, mine eyes: see not my loue prophande.Be deafe my eares, heare not my discontent.Die heart, another ioyes what thou deseruest.
Lor. Watch still mine eyes, to see the loue disioynd:Heare still mine eares, to heare them both lament:Leaue heart to ioy at fond Horatios fall!
Bel. Why stands Horatio speechles all this while?
Hor. The lesse I speake, the more I meditate.
Bel. But whereon doest thou chiefly meditate?
Hor. On dangers past, and pleasures to ensue.
Bal. On pleasures past and dangers to ensue.
Bel. What dangers, and what pleasures doest thou meane?
Hor. Dangers of warre, and pleasures of our loue.
Lor. Dangers of death, but pleasures none all.
Bel. Let dangers goe, thy warre shall be with me:But such a warring as breakes no bond of peace.Spake thou faire words, Ile crosse them with faire wordes,Send thou sweet lookes, Ile meet them with sweete lookes:Write louing lines, Ile answere louing lines:Giue me a kisse, Ile countercheke thy kisse,Be this our warring peace, or peacefull warre.
Hor. But gracious Madame, then appoint the field,Where triall of this warre shall first be made.
Bal. Ambitious villaine, how his boldenes growes?
Bel. Then by thy fathers pleasant bower the fieldWhere first we vowde our mutuall amitie:The Court were dangerous; that place is safe:Our houre shall be when Vesper gins to rise,That summons home distresfull trauellers.There none shall heare vs but the harmelesse birdes: Happely the gentle Nightingale,Shall carroll vs asleepe ere we be ware:And singing with the prickle at her brest,Tell our delight and mirthfull dalliance.Till then each houre will seeme a yeere and more.
Hor. But, honie-sweet, and honourable loue,Returne we now into your fathers sight,Dangerous suspition waites on our delight.
Lor. I, danger mixt with iealous despite,Exeunt.Shall send thy soule into eternall night!
Enter King of Spaine, Portingale Embassadour, Don Ciprian, &c.
King. Brother of Castile, to the Princes loue,What sayes 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 herein 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 firiends,Her dowrie shall be large and liberall,Besides that, she is daughter and halfe heire,Vnto our brother, here Don Ciprian,And shall enioy the moitie of his land,Ile grace her marriage with an vnckles gift.And this is it, in case the match goe forward,The tribute which you pay shall be releast,And if by Balthazar she haue a sonne,He shall enioy the kingdome after vs.
Embass. Ile make the motion to my Soueraigne liege,And worke it if my counsaile may preuaile.
King. Do 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 to command me ought beside?
King. Commend me to the king, and so Fare-wel.But whers Prince Balthazar, to take his leaue?
Em. That is perfmde already, my good Lord.
King. Amongst the rest of what you haue in charge,The Princes ransome 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 ther's a price already pitcht,And shall be sent with all conuenient speed.
King. Then once againe, Fare-wel, my Lord.
Exit.Em. Fare-well my Lord o Castile, and the rest.
King. Now brother, you must take some little paine,To winne faire Bel-imperia from her will:Young virgins must be ruled by their friends.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 affords,Endeuour you to winne your daughters thoughts.Exeunt.If she giue backe, all this will come to naught.
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 heart controules my soule.
Hor. Why make you doubt of Pedringanos faith.
Bel. No, he is as trusty as my second selfe.Goe, Pedringano, watch without the gate,And let vs known if any make reproch.
Ped. In stead of watching, Ile deserue more gold,Exit Ped.By fetching Don Lorenzo to this match.
Hor. What means my loue?
Bel. I know not what my selfe:And yet my heart foretels me some mischance.
Hor. Sweet, say not so: faire Fortune is our friend,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 counsell drowne my feare:I feare no more, loue now is all my thoughts.Why sit we not, for pleasure asketh ease.
Hor. The more thou sitst within these leauie bowers,The more will Flora decke it with her flowers.
Bel. I but if Flora spie Horatio heere,Her ielous eye, will thinke 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 not farre,I, thou art Venus, or some fairer starre,
Bel. If I be Venus, thou must needes be Mars,And where Mars raigneth there must needes be warre.
Hor. Then thus beginne our warres, put forth thy hand,That it may combate with my ruder hand.
Bel. Set forth thy foote to trie the push of mine.
Hor. But first my lookes shall combate against thine.
Bel. Then ward thy selfe, I dart this kisse at thee.
Hor. Thus, I retort the dart thou threwest at me.
Bel. Nay, then to gaine the glory of the field,My twinning armes shall yoke and make thee yeeld.
Hor. Nay, then my armes are large and strong withall:Thus Elmes by vines are compast till they fall.
Bel. O let me goe, for in my troubled eyes,Now mayest thou read that life in passion dies.
Hor. O stay awhile, and I will die with thee.So shalt thou yeeld, and yet haue conquered me.
Bel. Who's there, Pedringano? We are betraide.
Enter Lorenzo, Balthazar, Cerberine, Pedringano disguised.
Lor. My Lord, away with her, take her aside.O, sir, forbeare, your valour is alreadie tride.They hang him in the Arbor.Quickely dispatch, my masters.
Hor. What, will ye murder me?
Lor. I thus, and thus: these are the fruites of loue.They stab him.
Bal. O saue his life, and let me die for him:O, saue him brother; saue him Balthazar:I loued Horatio, but he loued not me.
Balt. But Balthazar loues Bel-imperia.
Lor. Although his life were still ambitious proud,Yet is he at the highest now he is dead.
Bel. Murder, murder, helpe Hieronimo helpe.
Lor. Come, stop her mouth; away with her.
Enter Hieronimo in his shirt.
Hier. What out-crie cals me from my naked bed.And chill my throbbing heart with trembling feare,Which neuer danger yet could daunt before:Who cals Hieronimo? speake, heare I am,I did not slumber therefore twas no dreame.No, no, it was some woman cride for helpe,And here within the garden did she cry,And in this garden must I rescue her.But stay, what murderous spectacle is this?A man hangde 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 seen: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, speake if any sparke of life remaine. I am thy Father: who hath slaine my sonne?What sauage monster, not of humaine kinde,Hath here beene glutted with thy harmeles blood?And left thy bloodie 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 deede of darkenes had not beene.O, earth why didst thou not in time deuoure,The vile prophaner of this sacred bower.O, poore Horatio, what hadst thou misdone?To leese thy life ere life was new begun,O, wicked Butcher what so ere thou wert.How could'st thou strangle vertue and desert?Aye me most wretched that haue lost my joy,In leesing my Horatio my sweet boy.
Enter Isabella.
Isa. My husbands absence makes my heart to throb. Hieronimo.
Hier. 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, whers the authour of this endles woe.
Hero. To know the authour were some ease of griefe,For in reuenge my heart would find reliefe.
Isa. Then is he gone? and is my sonne gone too?O, gush out teares, fountaines and floods of teares,Blow sighes and raise an euerlasting storme,For outrage fits our cursed wretchednes.Aye me, Hieronimo sweet husband speake.
Hier. He supt with vs to night, frolicke and mery.And said he would goe visit BalthazarAt the Dukes Palace: there the Prince doth lodge.He had no custome to stay out so late,He may be in his chamber, some go see. Roderigo, Ho.
Enter Pedro, and Iaques.
Isa. Aye me, he raues, sweet Hieronimo.
Hiero. True, all Spaine takes note of it.Besides he is so generally beloued,His Maiestie the other day did grace himWith waiting on his cup: these be fauoursWhich doe assure me he cannot be short liued.
Isa. Sweet Hieronimo.
Hiero. I wonder how this fellow got his clothes:Syrah, sitha, Ile know the trueth of all:Iaques, runne to the Duke of Castiles presently.And bid my sonne Horatio to come home.I, and his mother haue had strange dreames to night.Doe you heare me sir?
Iaques. I, sir.
Hiero. Well sir, begon. Pedro, come hither knowest thou who this is.
Ped. Too well, sir.
Hiero. Too well, who? who is it? Peace, Isabella: Nay blush not man.
Ped. It is my Lord, Horatio.
Hor. Ha, ha, Saint Iames, but this doth make me laugh,That there are more deluded then my selfe.
Ped. Deluded?
Hier. I, I would haue sworne my selfe within this houre,That this had beene my sonne Horatio,His garments are so like. Ha, are they not great perswasions.
Isa. O would to God it were not so.
Hier. Were not, Isabella, doest thou dreame it is?Can thy soft bosome intertaine a thought,That such a blacke deede of mischiefe should be done,On one so poore and spotles as our sonne?Away, I am ashamed.
Isa. Deare Hieronimo, cast a more serious eye vpon thy griefeWeake apprehension giues but weake beleife.
Hier. It was a man sure that was hanged vp here,A youth, as I remember, I cut him downe:If it should prooue my sonne now after all,Say you, say you, light: lend me a Taper,Let me looke againe. O God, confusion, mischiefe, torment, death and hell, Drop all your stinges at once in my cold bosome,That now is stiffe with horror, kill me quickly:Be gracious to me thou infectiue night,And drop this deede of murder downe on me,Gird in my wast of griefe with thy large darknesse,And let me not suruiue, to see the lightMay put me in the minde I had a sonne.
Isa. O, sweet Horatio, O, my dearest sonne.
Hier. How strangly had I lost my way to griefe.Sweet louely rose, ill-pluckt before thy time:Faire worthy sonne, not conquered but betraide:Ile kisse thee now, for wordes with teares are staind.
Isa. And Ile close vp the glasses of his sight,For once these eyes were onely my delight.
Hier. Seest thou this hand-kercher besmerd with blood,It shall not from me till I take reuenge:Seest thou these woundes that yet are bleeding fresh,Ile not intombe them till I haue reuengd:Then will I ioy amidst my discontent,Till then my sorrow neuer shall be spent.
Isa. The heauens are iust, murder cannot be hid,Time is the authour both of trueth and right,And time will bring this treacherie to light.
Hier. Meane while, good Isabella, cease thy plaintes,Or at the least dissemble them awhile.So shall we sooner finde the practise out,And learne by whom all this was brought about.Come Isabella, now lets 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 pulchrum ver educet herbas.Hiero. sets his brest vnto his sword. Misceat & nostro detur medician dolori:Aut si qui faciunt annum oblimia succos,Prebeat, ipse metum magnum quicunque per orbem,Gramina Sol pulchras effecit in luminis oras, Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni,Quicquid & irraui eue cæca menia nectit.Omnia perpetiar, letum quoque dum semel omnis,Noster in extincto moriatur pectore sensus:Ergo tuos oculos nunquam (mea vita) videbo.Et tua perpetuus sepelivit lumina somnus,Emor iar tecum sic, Sic iuuai ire sub umbras,At tamen absistam properato cedere letho,Ne mortem vindicta tuam tam nalla sequatur.Here he throws it from him and beares the body away,
Andrea.Broughtst thou me hither to encrease my paine:I lookt that Balthazar should haue beene slaine.But tis my friend Horatio that is slaine:And they abuse faire Bel-imperia,On whom I dooted more then all the world,Because she loued me more then all the world.
Reuenge.Thou talkest of haruest when the corne is greene,The end is growne 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 heauie case.