Chapter XXV: Act I: Scene I: Induction

_Enter the_ GHOST OF ANDREA, _and with him_ REVENGE.

_Ghost._ When this eternal substance of my soul
Did live imprison’d in my wanton flesh,
Each in their function serving other’s need,
I was a courtier in the Spanish court.
My name was Don Andrea; my descent, 5
Though not ignoble, yet inferior far
To gracious fortunes of my tender youth:
For there in prime and pride of all my years,
By duteous service and deserving love,
In secret I possess’d a worthy dame, 10
Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.
But in the harvest of my summer joys
Death’s winter nipp’d the blossoms of my bliss,
Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me.
For in the late conflict with Portingale 15
My valour drew me into danger’s mouth
Till life to death made passage through my wounds.
When I was slain, my soul descended straight
To pass the flowing stream of Acheron;
But churlish Charon, only boatman there, 20
Said that, my rites of burial not perform’d,
I might not sit amongst his passengers.
Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis’ lap,
And slak’d his smoking chariot in her flood,
By Don Horatio, our knight marshal’s son, 25
My funerals and obsequies were done.
Then was the ferryman of hell content
To pass me over to the slimy strand,
That leads to fell Avernus’ ugly waves.
There, pleasing Cerberus with honey’d speech, 30
I pass’d the perils of the foremost porch,
Not far from hence, amidst ten thousand souls,
Sat Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanth;
To whom no sooner ’gan I make approach,
To crave a passport for my wand’ring ghost, 35
But Minos, in graven leaves of lottery,
Drew forth the manner of my life and death.
“This knight,” quoth he, “both liv’d and died in love;
And for his love tried fortune of the wars;
And by war’s fortune lost both love and life.” 40
“Why then,” said Aeacus, “convey him hence,
To walk with lovers in our fields of love,
And spend the course of everlasting time
Under green myrtle-trees and cypress shades.”
“No, no,” said Rhadamanth, “it were not well, 45
With loving souls to place a martialist.
He died in war, and must to martial fields,
Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain,
And Achilles’ Myrmidons do scour the plain.”
Then Minos, mildest censor of the three, 50
Made this device to end the difference:
“Send him,” quoth he, “to our infernal king,
To doom him as best seems his majesty.”
To this effect my passport straight was drawn.
In keeping on my way to Pluto’s court, 55
Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night,
I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell,
Or pens can write, or mortal hearts can think.
Three ways there were: that on the right-hand side
Was ready way unto the ’foresaid fields, 60
Where lovers live and bloody martialists;
But either sort contain’d within his bounds.
The left-hand path, declining fearfully,
Was ready downfall to the deepest hell,
Where bloody Furies shakes their whips of steel, 65
And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel;
Where usurers are chok’d with melting gold,
And wantons are embrac’d with ugly snakes,
And murderers groan with never-killing wounds,
And perjur’d wights scalded in boiling lead, 70
And all foul sins with torments overwhelm’d.
’Twixt these two ways I trod the middle path,
Which brought me to the fair Elysian green,
In midst whereof there stands a stately tower,
The walls of brass, the gates of adamant. 75
Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine,
I show’d my passport, humbled on my knee;
Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile,
And begg’d that only she might give my doom.
Pluto was pleas’d, and seal’d it with a kiss. 80
Forthwith, Revenge, she rounded[726] thee in th’ ear,
And bade thee lead me through the gates of horn,[727]
Where dreams have passage in the silent night.
No sooner had she spoke, but we were here—
I wot not how—in twinkling of an eye. 85

_Revenge._ Then know, Andrea, that thou art arriv’d
Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,
Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingale,
Depriv’d of life by Bel-imperia.
Here sit we down to see the mystery, 90
And serve for Chorus in this tragedy.

[SCENE II.][728]

_Enter_ SPANISH KING, GENERAL, CASTILE, _and_ HIERONIMO.

_King._ Now say, lord General, how fares our camp?

_Gen._ All well, my sovereign liege, except some few
That are deceas’d by fortune of the war.

_King._ But what portends thy cheerful countenance,
And posting to our presence thus in haste? 5
Speak, man, hath fortune given us victory?

_Gen._ Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.

_King._ Our Portingals will pay us tribute then?

_Gen._ Tribute and wonted homage therewithal.

_King._ Then bless’d be heaven and guider of the heavens, 10
From whose fair influence such justice flows.

_Cast. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,
Et conjuratae curvato poplite gentes
Succumbunt: recti soror est victoria juris._[729]

_King._ Thanks to my loving brother of Castile. 15
But, General, unfold in brief discourse
Your form of battle and your war’s success,
That, adding all the pleasure of thy news
Unto the height of former happiness,
With deeper wage and greater dignity 20
We may reward thy blissful chivalry.

_Gen._ Where Spain and Portingale do jointly knit
Their frontiers, leaning on each other’s bound,
There met our armies in their proud array;
Both furnish’d well, both full of hope and fear, 25
Both menacing alike with daring shows,
Both vaunting sundry colours of device,
Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums, and fifes,
Both raising dreadful clamours to the sky,
That valleys, hills, and rivers made rebound, 30
And heav’n itself was frighted with the sound.
Our battles both were pitch’d in squadron form,
Each corner strongly fenc’d with wings of shot;
But ere we join’d and came to push of pike,
I brought a squadron of our readiest shot 35
From out our rearward to begin the fight:
They brought another wing t’ encounter us.
Meanwhile, our ordnance play’d on either side,
And captains strove to have their valours tried.
Don Pedro, their chief horsemen’s colonel, 40
Did with his cornet[730] bravely make attempt
To break the order of our battle ranks:
But Don Rogero, worthy man of war,
March’d forth against him with our musketeers,
And stopp’d the malice of his fell approach. 45
While they maintain hot skirmish to and fro,
Both battles join, and fall to handy-blows,
Their violent shot resembling th’ ocean’s rage,
When, roaring loud, and with a swelling tide,
It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks, 50
And gapes to swallow neighbour-bounding lands.
Now, while Bellona rageth here and there,
Thick storms of bullets ran like winter’s hail,
And shivered lances dark the troubled air.
_Pede pes et cuspide cuspis;_ 55
_Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro._[731]
On every side drop captains to the ground,
And soldiers, some ill-maim’d, some slain outright:
Here falls a body sund’red from his head,
There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass, 60
Mingled with weapons and unbowell’d steeds,
That scattering overspread the purple plain.
In all this turmoil, three long hours and more,
The victory to neither part inclin’d;
Till Don Andrea, with his brave lanciers, 65
In their main battle made so great a breach,
That, half dismay’d, the multitude retir’d:
But Balthazar, the Portingals’ young prince,
Brought rescue, and encourag’d them to stay.
Here-hence the fight was eagerly renew’d, 70
And in that conflict was Andrea slain:
Brave man at arms, but weak to Balthazar.
Yet while the prince, insulting over him,
Breath’d out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproach,
Friendship and hardy valour join’d in one 75
Prick’d forth Horatio, our knight marshal’s son,
To challenge forth that prince in single fight.
Not long between these twain the fight endur’d,
But straight the prince was beaten from his horse,
And forc’d to yield him prisoner to his foe. 80
When he was taken, all the rest they fled,
And our carbines pursu’d them to the death,
Till, Phoebus waving[732] to the western deep,
Our trumpeters were charg’d to sound retreat.

_King._ Thanks, good lord General, for these good news; 85
And for some argument of more to come,
Take this and wear it for thy sovereign’s sake.
_Gives him his chain._
But tell me now, hast thou confirm’d a peace?

_Gen._ No peace, my liege, but peace conditional,
That if with homage tribute be well paid, 90
The fury of your forces will be stay’d:
And to this peace their viceroy hath subscrib’d,
_Gives the King a paper._
And made a solemn vow that, during life,
His tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.

_King._ These words, these deeds, become thy person well. 95
But now, knight marshal, frolic with thy king,
For ’tis thy son that wins this battle’s prize.

_Hier._ Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege,
And soon decay, unless he serve my liege.

_King._ Nor thou, nor he, shall die without reward.
_A tucket[733] afar off._ 100
What means this warning of this trumpet’s sound?

_Gen._ This tells me that your grace’s men of war,
Such as war’s fortune hath reserv’d from death,
Come marching on towards your royal seat,
To show themselves before your majesty; 105
For so I gave in charge at my depart.
Whereby by demonstration shall appear
That all, except three hundred or few more,
Are safe return’d, and by their foes enrich’d.

_The_ Army _enters_; BALTHAZAR, _between_ LORENZO _and_ HORATIO, _captive_.

_King._ A gladsome sight! I long to see them here.
_They enter and pass by._ 110
Was that the warlike prince of Portingale,
That by our nephew was in triumph led?

_Gen._ It was, my liege, the prince of Portingale.

_King._ But what was he that on the other side
Held him by th’ arm, as partner of the prize? 115

_Hier._ That was my son, my gracious sovereign;
Of whom though from his tender infancy
My loving thoughts did never hope but well,
He never pleas’d his father’s eyes till now,
Nor fill’d my heart with over-cloying joys. 120

_King._ Go, let them march once more about these walls,
That, staying them, we may confer and talk
With our brave prisoner and his double guard.
[_Exit a messenger._]
Hieronimo, it greatly pleaseth us
That in our victory thou have a share, 125
By virtue of thy worthy son’s exploit.
_Enter again._
Bring hither the young prince of Portingale:
The rest march on; but, ere they be dismiss’d,
We will bestow on every soldier
Two ducats and on every leader ten, 130
That they may know our largess welcomes them.
_Exeunt all but_ [_the_ KING], BALTHAZAR, LORENZO _and_ HORATIO.
Welcome, Don Balthazar! welcome, nephew!
And then, Horatio, thou art welcome too.
Young prince, although thy father’s hard misdeeds,
In keeping back the tribute that he owes, 135
Deserve but evil measure at our hands,
Yet shalt thou know that Spain is honourable.

_Bal._ The trespass that my father made in peace
Is now controll’d[734] by fortune of the wars;
And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so. 140
His men are slain, a weakening to his realm;
His colours seiz’d, a blot unto his name,
His son distress’d, a cor’sive[735] to his heart:
These punishments may clear his late offence.

_King._ Ay, Balthazar, if he observe this truce, 145
Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars.
Meanwhile live thou, though not in liberty,
Yet free from bearing any servile yoke;
For in our hearing thy deserts were great,
And in our sight thyself art gracious. 150

_Bal._ And I shall study to deserve this grace.

_King._ But tell me—for their holding makes me doubt—
To which of these twain art thou prisoner?

_Lor._ To me, my liege.

_Hor._ To me, my sovereign.

_Lor._ This hand first took his courser by the reins. 155

_Hor._ But first my lance did put him from his horse.

_Lor._ I seiz’d his weapon, and enjoy’d it first.

_Hor._ But first I forc’d him lay his weapons down.

_King._ Let go his arm, upon our privilege.
_They let him go._
Say, worthy prince, to whether did’st thou yield? 160

_Bal._ To him in courtesy, to this perforce.
He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes;
He promis’d life, this other threat’ned death;
He won my love, this other conquer’d me,
And, truth to say, I yield myself to both. 165

_Hier._ But that I know your grace for just and wise,
And might seem partial in this difference,
Enforc’d by nature and by law of arms
My tongue should plead for young Horatio’s right.
He hunted well that was a lion’s death, 170
Not he that in a garment wore his skin;
So hares may pull dead lions by the beard.

_King._ Content thee, marshal, thou shalt have no wrong;
And, for thy sake, thy son shall want no right.
Will both abide the censure of my doom? 175

_Lor._ I crave no better than your grace awards.

_Hor._ Nor I, although I sit beside my right.

_King._ Then by my judgment, thus your strife shall end:
You both deserve, and both shall have reward.
Nephew, thou took’st his weapon and his horse: 180
His weapons and his horse are thy reward.
Horatio, thou didst force him first to yield:
His ransom therefore is thy valour’s fee;
Appoint the sum, as you shall both agree.
But, nephew, thou shalt have the prince in guard, 185
For thine estate best fitteth such a guest:
Horatio’s house were small for all his train.
Yet, in regard thy substance passeth his,
And that just guerdon may befall desert,
To him we yield the armour of the prince. 190
How likes Don Balthazar of this device?

_Bal._ Right well, my liege, if this proviso were,
That Don Horatio bear us company,
Whom I admire and love for chivalry.

_King._ Horatio, leave him not that loves thee so.— 195
Now let us hence to see our soldiers paid,
And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][736]

_Enter_ VICEROY, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO.

_Vic._ Is our ambassador despatch’d for Spain?

_Alex._ Two days, my liege, are past since his depart.

_Vic._ And tribute-payment gone along with him?

_Alex._ Ay, my good lord. 4

_Vic._ Then rest we here awhile in our unrest,
And feed our sorrows with some inward sighs,
For deepest cares break never into tears.
But wherefore sit I in a regal throne?
This better fits a wretch’s endless moan.
_Falls to the ground._
Yet this is higher than my fortunes reach, 10
And therefore better than my state deserves.
Ay, ay, this earth, image of melancholy,
Seeks him whom fates adjudge to misery.
Here let me lie; now am I at the lowest.
_Qui jacet in terra, non habet unde cadat. 15
In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo;
Nil superest ut jam possit obesse magis._[737]
Yes, Fortune may bereave me of my crown:
Here, take it now;—let Fortune do her worst,
She will not rob me of this sable weed. 20
O no, she envies none but pleasant things.
Such is the folly of despiteful chance!
Fortune is blind, and sees not my deserts;
So is she deaf, and hears not my laments;
And could she hear, yet is she wilful-mad, 25
And therefore will not pity my distress.
Suppose that she could pity me, what then?
What help can be expected at her hands
Whose foot [is] standing on a rolling stone,
And mind more mutable than fickle winds? 30
Why wail I, then, where’s hope of no redress?
O yes, complaining makes my grief seem less.
My late ambition hath distain’d my faith;
My breach of faith occasion’d bloody wars;
Those bloody wars have spent my treasury;[738] 35
And with my treasury[738] my people’s blood;
And with their blood, my joy and best belov’d,
My best belov’d, my sweet and only son.
O, wherefore went I not to war myself?
The cause was mine; I might have died for both. 40
My years were mellow, his but young and green;
My death were natural, but his was forc’d.

_Alex._ No doubt, my liege, but still the prince survives.

_Vic._ Survives! Ay, where?

_Alex._ In Spain, a prisoner by mischance of war. 45

_Vic._ Then they have slain him for his father’s fault.

_Alex._ That were a breach to common law of arms.

_Vic._ They reck no laws that meditate revenge.

_Alex._ His ransom’s worth will stay from foul revenge.

_Vic._ No; if he liv’d, the news would soon be here. 50

_Alex._ Nay, evil news fly faster still than good.

_Vic._ Tell me no more of news, for he is dead.

_Vil._ My sovereign, pardon the author of ill news,
And I’ll bewray[739] the fortune of thy son.

_Vic._ Speak on, I’ll guerdon thee, whate’er it be. 55
Mine ear is ready to receive ill news;
My heart grown hard ’gainst mischief’s battery.
Stand up, I say, and tell thy tale at large.

_Vil._ Then hear that truth which these mine eyes have seen.
When both the armies were in battle join’d, 60
Don Balthazar, amidst the thickest troops,
To win renown did wondrous feats of arms.
Amongst the rest, I saw him, hand to hand,
In single fight with their lord-general;
Till Alexandro, that here counterfeits 65
Under the colour of a duteous friend,
Discharg’d his pistol at the prince’s back
As though he would have slain their general:
But therewithal Don Balthazar fell down;
And when he fell, then we began to fly: 70
But, had he liv’d, the day had sure been ours.

_Alex._ O wicked forgery! O traitorous miscreant!

_Vic._ Hold thou thy peace! But now, Villuppo, say,
Where then became[740] the carcase of my son?

_Vil._ I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.

_Vic._ Ay, ay, my nightly dreams have told me this.— 76
Thou false, unkind, unthankful, traitorous beast,
Wherein had Balthazar offended thee,
That thou shouldst thus betray him to our foes?
Was’t Spanish gold that bleared so thine eyes 80
That thou couldst see no part of our deserts?
Perchance, because thou art Terceira’s[741] lord,
Thou hadst some hope to wear this diadem,
If first my son and then myself were slain;
But thy ambitious thought shall break thy neck. 85
Ay, this was it that made thee spill his blood;
_Takes the crown and puts it on again._
But I’ll now wear it till thy blood be spilt.

_Alex._ Vouchsafe, dread sovereign, to hear me speak.

_Vic._ Away with him! His sight is second hell.
Keep him till we determine of his death: 90
[_They take him out._][742]
If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live.
Villuppo, follow us for thy reward. _Exit Viceroy._

_Vil._ Thus have I with an envious, forged tale
Deceiv’d the king, betray’d mine enemy,
And hope for guerdon of my villany. _Exit._ 95

[SCENE IV.][743]

_Enter_ HORATIO _and_ BEL-IMPERIA.

_Bel._ Signior Horatio, this is the place and hour,
Wherein I must entreat thee to relate
The circumstance of Don Andrea’s death,
Who, living, was my garland’s sweetest flower,
And in his death hath buried my delights. 5

_Hor._ For love of him and service to yourself,
I nill[744] refuse this heavy doleful charge;
Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me.
When both our armies were enjoin’d in fight,
Your worthy chevalier amidst the thick’st, 10
For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest,
Was at the last by young Don Balthazar
Encount’red hand to hand. Their fight was long,
Their hearts were great, their clamours menacing,
Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous, 15
But wrathful Nemesis, that wicked power,
Envying at Andrea’s praise and worth,
Cut short his life, to end his praise and worth.
She, she herself, disguis’d in armour’s mask—
As Pallas was before proud Pergamus— 20
Brought in a fresh supply of halberdiers,
Which paunch’d[745] his horse, and ding’d[746] him to the ground.
Then young Don Balthazar with ruthless rage,
Taking advantage of his foe’s distress,
Did finish what his halberdiers begun, 25
And left not, till Andrea’s life was done.
Then, though too late, incens’d with just remorse,[747]
I with my band set forth against the prince,
And brought him prisoner from his halberdiers.

_Bel._ Would thou hadst slain him that so slew my love! 30
But then was Don Andrea’s carcase lost?

_Hor._ No, that was it for which I chiefly strove,
Nor stepp’d I back till I recover’d him.
I took him up, and wound him in mine arms;
And wielding[748] him unto my private tent, 35
There laid him down, and dew’d him with my tears,
And sigh’d and sorrowed as became a friend.
But neither friendly sorrow, sighs, nor tears
Could win pale Death from his usurped right.
Yet this I did, and less I could not do: 40
I saw him honoured with due funeral.
This scarf I pluck’d from off his lifeless arm,
And wear it in remembrance of my friend.

_Bel._ I know the scarf: would he had kept it still!
For had he liv’d, he would have kept it still, 45
And worn it for his Bel-imperia’s sake;
For ’t was my favour at his last depart.
But now wear thou it both for him and me;
For after him thou hast deserv’d it best.
But for thy kindness in his life and death, 50
Be sure, while Bel-imperia’s life endures,
She will be Don Horatio’s thankful friend.

_Hor._ And, madam, Don Horatio will not slack
Humbly to serve fair Bel-imperia.
But now, if your good liking stand thereto, 55
I’ll crave your pardon to go seek the prince;
For so the duke, your father, gave me charge.

_Bel._ Ay, go, Horatio, leave me here alone;
For solitude best fits my cheerless mood. _Exit_ HORATIO.
Yet what avails to wail Andrea’s death, 60
From whence Horatio proves my second love?
Had he not lov’d Andrea as he did,
He could not sit in Bel-imperia’s thoughts.
But how can love find harbour in my breast
Till I revenge the death of my belov’d? 65
Yes, second love shall further my revenge!
I’ll love Horatio, my Andrea’s friend,
The more to spite the prince that wrought his end;
And where Don Balthazar, that slew my love,
Himself now pleads for favour at my hands, 70
He shall, in rigour of my just disdain,
Reap long repentance for his murderous deed.
For what was’t else but murderous cowardice,
So many to oppress one valiant knight,
Without respect of honour in the fight? 75
And here he comes that murd’red my delight.

_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ BALTHAZAR.

_Lor._ Sister, what means this melancholy walk?

_Bel._ That for a while I wish no company.

_Lor._ But here the prince is come to visit you.

_Bel._ That argues that he lives in liberty. 80

_Bal._ No, madam, but in pleasing servitude.

_Bel._ Your prison then, belike, is your conceit.

_Bal._ Ay, by conceit my freedom is enthrall’d.

_Bel._ Then with conceit enlarge yourself again.

_Bal._ What, if conceit have laid my heart to gage? 85

_Bel._ Pay that you borrowed, and recover it.

_Bal._ I die, if it return from whence it lies.

_Bel._ A heartless man, and live? A miracle!

_Bal._ Ay, lady, love can work such miracles.

_Lor._ Tush, tush, my lord! let go these ambages,[749] 90
And in plain terms acquaint her with your love.

_Bel._ What boots complaint, when there’s no remedy?

_Bal._ Yes, to your gracious self must I complain,
In whose fair answer lies my remedy,
On whose perfection all my thoughts attend, 95
On whose aspect mine eyes find beauty’s bower,
In whose translucent breast my heart is lodg’d.

_Bel._ Alas, my lord, these are but words of course.[750]
And but devis’d[751] to drive me from this place.

_She, in going in, lets fall her glove, which_ HORATIO, _coming out, takes up_.

_Hor._ Madam, your glove. 100

_Bel._ Thanks, good Horatio; take it for thy pains.

_Bal._ Signior Horatio stoop’d in happy time!

_Hor._ I reap’d more grace than I deserv’d or hop’d.

_Lor._ My lord, be not dismay’d for what is past;
You know that women oft are humorous.[752] 105
These clouds will overblow with little wind;
Let me alone, I’ll scatter them myself.
Meanwhile, let us devise to spend the time
In some delightful sports and revelling.

_Hor._ The king, my lords, is coming hither straight, 110
To feast the Portingal ambassador;
Things were in readiness before I came.

_Bal._ Then here it fits us to attend the king,
To welcome hither our ambassador, 114
And learn my father and my country’s health.

[SCENE V.][753]

_Enter the Banquet_, _Trumpets_, _the_ KING, _and_ Ambassador.

_King._ See, lord Ambassador, how Spain entreats
Their prisoner Balthazar, thy viceroy’s son.
We pleasure more in kindness than in wars.

_Amb._ Sad is our king, and Portingale laments,
Supposing that Don Balthazar is slain. 5

_Bal._ So am I!—slain by beauty’s tyranny.
You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slain:
I frolic with the Duke of Castile’s son,
Wrapp’d every hour in pleasures of the court,
And grac’d with favours of his majesty. 10

_King._ Put off your greetings, till our feast be done;
Now come and sit with us, and taste our cheer.
_Sit to the banquet._
Sit down, young prince, you are our second guest;
Brother, sit down; and, nephew, take your place.
Signior Horatio, wait thou upon our cup; 15
For well thou hast deserved to be honoured.
Now, lordings, fall to; Spain is Portugal,
And Portugal is Spain: we both are friends;
Tribute is paid, and we enjoy our right.
But where is old Hieronimo, our marshal? 20
He promis’d us, in honour of our guest,
To grace our banquet with some pompous[754] jest.

_Enter_ HIERONIMO, _with a drum, three knights, each his scutcheon; then he fetches three kings; they take their crowns and them captive._

Hieronimo, this masque contents mine eye,
Although I sound not well the mystery.

_Hier._ The first arm’d knight, that hung his scutcheon up, 25
_He takes the scutcheon and gives it to the_ KING.
Was English Robert, Earl of Gloucester,
Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,
Arriv’d with five and twenty thousand men
In Portingale, and by success of war
Enforc’d the king, then but a Saracen, 30
To bear the yoke of the English monarchy.

_King._ My lord of Portingale, by this you see
That which may comfort both your king and you,
And make your late discomfort seem the less.
But say, Hieronimo, what was the next? 35

_Hier._ The second knight, that hung his scutcheon up,
_He doth as he did before._
Was Edmund, Earl of Kent in Albion,
When English Richard wore the diadem.
He came likewise, and razed Lisbon walls,
And took the King of Portingale in fight; 40
For which and other such-like service done
He after was created Duke of York.

_King._ This is another special argument,
That Portingale may deign to bear our yoke,
When it by little England hath been yok’d. 45
But now, Hieronimo, what were the last?

_Hier._ The third and last, not least, in our account,
_Doing as before._
Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman,
Brave John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster,
As by his scutcheon plainly may appear. 50
He with a puissant army came to Spain,
And took our King of Castile prisoner.

_Amb._ This is an argument for our viceroy
That Spain may not insult for her success,
Since English warriors likewise conquered Spain, 55
And made them bow their knees to Albion.

_King._ Hieronimo, I drink to thee for this device,
Which hath pleas’d both the ambassador and me:
Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou love the king.
_Takes the cup of Horatio._
My lord, I fear we sit but over-long, 60
Unless our dainties were more delicate;
But welcome are you to the best we have.
Now let us in, that you may be despatch’d:
I think our council is already set. _Exeunt omnes._

[CHORUS.]

_Andrea._ Come we for this from depth of underground, 65
To see him feast that gave me my death’s wound?
These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soul:
Nothing but league, and love, and banqueting?

_Revenge._ Be still, Andrea; ere we go from hence,
I’ll turn their friendship into fell despite, 70
Their love to mortal hate, their day to night,
Their hope into despair, their peace to war,
Their joys to pain, their bliss to misery.