Chapter XXVII: Act III: Scene I.775 (1)

_Enter_ VICEROY OF PORTINGALE, Nobles, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO.

_Vic._ Infortunate condition of kings.
Seated amidst so many helpless doubts!
First we are plac’d upon extremest height,
And oft supplanted with exceeding hate,
But ever subject to the wheel of chance; 5
And at our highest never joy we so
As we both doubt and dread our overthrow.
So striveth not the waves with sundry winds
As Fortune toileth in the affairs of kings,
That would be fear’d, yet fear to be belov’d, 10
Sith fear or love to kings is flattery.
For instance, lordings, look upon your king,
By hate deprived of his dearest son,
The only hope of our successive line.

_Nob._ I had not thought that Alexandro’s heart 15
Had been envenom’d with such extreme hate;
But now I see that words have several works,
And there’s no credit in the countenance.

_Vil._ No; for, my lord, had you beheld the train[776]
That feigned love had colour’d in his looks, 20
When he in camp consorted[777] Balthazar,
Far more inconstant had you thought the sun,
That hourly coasts[778] the centre of the earth,
Than Alexandro’s purpose to the prince.

_Vic._ No more, Villuppo, thou hast said enough, 25
And with thy words thou slay’st our wounded thoughts.
Nor shall I longer dally with the world,
Procrastinating Alexandro’s death.
Go some of you, and fetch the traitor forth,
That, as he is condemned, he may die. 30

_Enter_ ALEXANDRO _with a_ Nobleman _and halberts_.

_Nob._ In such extremes will nought but patience serve.

_Alex._ But in extremes what patience shall I use?
Nor discontents it me to leave the world,
With whom there nothing can prevail but wrong.

_Nob._ Yet hope the best.

_Alex._ ’T is heaven is my hope. 35
As for the earth, it is too much infect
To yield me hope of any of her mould.

_Vic._ Why linger ye? Bring forth that daring fiend.
And let him die for his accursed deed.

_Alex._ Not that I fear the extremity of death
(For nobles cannot stoop to servile fear) 41
Do I, O king, thus discontented live.
But this, O this, torments my labouring soul,
That thus I die suspected of a sin
Whereof, as heav’ns have known my secret thoughts, 45
So am I free from this suggestion.

_Vic._ No more, I say! to the tortures! When?[779]
Bind him, and burn his body in those flames.
_They bind him to a stake._
That shall prefigure those unquenched fires
Of Phlegethon, prepared for his soul. 50

_Alex._ My guiltless death will be aveng’d on thee,
On thee, Villuppo, that hath malic’d[780] thus,
Or for thy meed hast falsely me accus’d.

_Vil._ Nay, Alexandro, if thou menace me,
I’ll lend a hand to send thee to the lake 55
Where those thy words shall perish with thy works,
Injurious traitor! monstrous homicide!

_Enter_ AMBASSADOR.

_Amb._ Stay, hold a while;
And here—with pardon of his majesty—
Lay hands upon Villuppo.

_Vic._ Ambassador, 60
What news hath urg’d this sudden entrance?

_Amb._ Know, sovereign lord, that Balthazar
doth live.

_Vic._ What say’st thou? Liveth Balthazar our son?

_Amb._ Your highness’ son, Lord Balthazar, doth live;
And, well entreated in the court of Spain, 65
Humbly commends him to your majesty.
These eyes beheld; and these my followers,
With these, the letters of the king’s commends,
_Gives him letters._
Are happy witnesses of his highness’ health.
_The King looks on the letters, and proceeds._

_Vic._ “Thy son doth live, your tribute is receiv’d; 70
Thy peace is made, and we are satisfied.
The rest resolve upon as things propos’d
For both our honours and thy benefit.”

_Amb._ These are his highness’ farther articles.
_He gives him more letters._

_Vic._ Accursed wretch, to intimate these ills 75
Against the life and reputation
Of noble Alexandro! Come, my lord, unbind him.—
Let him unbind thee, that is bound to death.
To make a quital[781] for thy discontent.
_They unbind him._

_Alex._ Dread lord, in kindness[782] you could do no less 80
Upon report of such a damned fact;
But thus we see our innocence hath sav’d
The hopeless life which thou, Villuppo, sought
By thy suggestions to have massacred.

_Vic._ Say, false Villuppo, wherefore didst thou thus 85
Falsely betray Lord Alexandro’s life?
Him whom thou know’st that no unkindness else
But even the slaughter of our dearest son
Could once have mov’d us to have misconceiv’d.

_Alex._ Say, treacherous Villuppo, tell the king: 90
Wherein[783] hath Alexandro us’d thee ill?

_Vil._ Rent with remembrance of so foul a deed,
My guilty soul submits me to thy doom;
For not for Alexandro’s injuries,
But for reward and hope to be preferr’d, 95
Thus have I shamelessly hazarded his life.

_Vic._ Which, villain, shall be ransom’d with thy death;
And not so mean[784] a torment as we here
Devis’d for him who, thou said’st, slew our son,
But with the bitt’rest torments and extremes 100
That may be yet invented for thine end.
ALEXANDRO _seems to entreat_.
Entreat me not; go, take the traitor hence:
_Exit_ VILLUPPO.
And, Alexandro, let us honour thee
With public notice of thy loyalty.—
To end those things articulated here 105
By our great lord, the mighty King of Spain,
We with our council will deliberate.
Come, Alexandro, keep us company. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][785]

_Enter_ HIERONIMO.

_Hier._ O eyes! no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears;
O life! no life, but lively form of death;
O world! no world, but mass of public wrongs,
Confus’d and fill’d with murder and misdeeds!
O sacred heav’ns! if this unhallowed deed, 5
If this inhuman and barbarous attempt,
If this incomparable murder thus
Of mine, but now no more my son,
Shall unreveal’d and unrevenged pass,
How should we term your dealings to be just, 10
If you unjustly deal with those that in your justice trust?
The night, sad secretary to my moans,
With direful visions wake my vexed soul,
And with the wounds of my distressful son
Solicit me for notice of his death. 15
The ugly fiends do sally forth of hell,
And frame my steps to unfrequented paths,
And fear my heart with fierce inflamed thoughts.
The cloudy day my discontents records,
Early begins to register my dreams, 20
And drive me forth to seek the murderer.
Eyes, life, world, heav’ns, hell, night, and day,
See, search, shew, send some man, some mean, that may—
_A letter falleth._
What’s here? a letter? Tush! it is not so!—
A letter written to Hieronimo! _Red ink._ 25
“For want of ink, receive this bloody writ.
Me hath my hapless brother hid from thee;
Revenge thyself on Balthazar and him:
For these were they that murdered thy son.
Hieronimo, revenge Horatio’s death, 30
And better fare than Bel-imperia doth.”
What means this unexpected miracle?
My son slain by Lorenzo and the prince!
What cause had they Horatio to malign?
Or what might move thee, Bel-imperia, 35
To accuse thy brother, had he been the mean?
Hieronimo, beware!—thou art betray’d,
And to entrap thy life this train is laid.
Advise thee therefore, be not credulous:
This is devised to endanger thee, 40
That thou, by this, Lorenzo shouldst accuse;
And he, for thy dishonour done, should draw
Thy life in question and thy name in hate.
Dear was the life of my beloved son,
And of his death behoves me be reveng’d; 45
Then hazard not thine own, Hieronimo,
But live t’ effect thy resolution.
I therefore will by circumstances[786] try,
What I can gather to confirm this writ;
And, heark’ning near the Duke of Castile’s house, 50
Close, if I can, with Bel-imperia,
To listen more, but nothing to bewray.
_Enter_ PEDRINGANO.
Now, Pedringano!

_Ped._ Now, Hieronimo!

_Hier._ Where ’s thy lady?

_Ped._ I know not; here ’s my lord.

_Enter_ LORENZO.

_Lor._ How now, who’s this? Hieronimo?

_Hier._ My lord.

_Ped._ He asketh for my lady Bel-imperia. 56

_Lor._ What to do, Hieronimo? The duke, my father, hath
Upon some disgrace awhile remov’d her hence;
But, if it be ought I may inform her of,
Tell me, Hieronimo, and I’ll let her know it. 60

_Hier._ Nay, nay, my lord, I thank you; it shall not need.
I had a suit unto her, but too late,
And her disgrace makes me unfortunate.

_Lor._ Why so, Hieronimo? Use me.

_Hier._ O no, lord, I dare not; it must not be. 65
I humbly thank your lordship.

[787][Hier. _Who? You, my lord?
I reserve your favour for a greater honour;
This is a very toy, my lord, a toy._

Lor. _All’s one, Hieronimo, acquaint me with it_.

Hier. _I’ faith, my lord, it is an idle thing; 70
I must confess I ha’ been too slack, too tardy,
Too remiss unto your honour._

Lor. _How now, Hieronimo?_

Hier. _In troth, my lord, it is a thing of nothing:
The murder of a son, or so——
A thing of nothing, my lord!_]

_Lor._ Why then, farewell. 75

_Hier._ My grief no heart, my thoughts no tongue can tell. _Exit._

_Lor._ Come hither, Pedringano, see’st thou this?

_Ped._ My lord, I see it, and suspect it too.

_Lor._ This is that damned villain Serberine
That hath, I fear, reveal’d Horatio’s death. 80

_Ped._ My lord, he could not, ’t was so lately done;
And since he hath not left my company.

_Lor._ Admit he have not, his condition’s such,
As fear or flattering words may make him false.
I know his humour, and therewith repent 85
That e’er I us’d him in this enterprise.
But, Pedringano, to prevent the worst,
And ’cause I know thee secret as my soul,
Here, for thy further satisfaction, take thou this,
_Gives him more gold._
And hearken to me—thus it is devis’d: 90
This night thou must (and, prithee, so resolve),
Meet Serberine at Saint Luigi’s Park—
Thou know’st ’t is here hard by behind the house;
There take thy stand, and see thou strike him sure,
For die he must, if we do mean to live. 95

_Ped._ But how shall Serberine be there, my lord?

_Lor._ Let me alone; I ’ll send to him to meet
The prince and me, where thou must do this deed.

_Ped._ It shall be done, my lord, it shall be done;
And I ’ll go arm myself to meet him there. 100

_Lor._ When things shall alter, as I hope they will,
Then shalt thou mount for this; thou know’st my mind.
_Exit_ PEDRINGANO.
_Che le Ieron_![788]

_Enter_ PAGE.

_Page._ My lord?

_Lor._ Go, sirrah,
To Serberine, and bid him forthwith meet
The prince and me at Saint Luigi’s Park, 105
Behind the house; this evening, boy!

_Page._ I go, my lord.

_Lor._ But, sirrah, let the hour be eight o’clock:
Bid him not fail.

_Page._ I fly, my lord. _Exit._

_Lor._ Now to confirm the complot thou hast cast
Of all these practices, I ’ll spread the watch, 110
Upon precise commandment from the king,
Strongly to guard the place where Pedringano
This night shall murder hapless Serberine.
Thus must we work that will avoid distrust;
Thus must we practise to prevent mishap, 115
And thus one ill another must expulse.
This sly enquiry of Hieronimo
For Bel-imperia breeds suspicion,
And this suspicion bodes a further ill.
As for myself, I know my secret fault, 120
And so do they; but I have dealt for them:
They that for coin their souls endangered,
To save my life, for coin shall venture theirs;
And better it ’s that base companions[789] die
Than by their life to hazard our good haps. 125
Nor shall they live, for me to fear their faith:
I ’ll trust myself, myself shall be my friend;
For die they shall,—
Slaves are ordained to no other end. _Exit._

[SCENE III.][790]

_Enter_ PEDRINGANO, _with a pistol_.

_Ped._ Now, Pedringano, bid thy pistol hold,
And hold on, Fortune! once more favour me;
Give but success to mine attempting spirit,
And let me shift for taking of mine aim.
Here is the gold: this is the gold propos’d; 5
It is no dream that I adventure for,
But Pedringano is possess’d thereof.
And he that would not strain his conscience
For him that thus his liberal purse hath stretch’d,
Unworthy such a favour, may he fail, 10
And, wishing, want when such as I prevail.
As for the fear of apprehension,
I know, if need should be, my noble lord
Will stand between me and ensuing harms;
Besides, this place is free from all suspect: 15
Here therefore will I stay and take my stand.

_Enter the_ Watch.

_1 Watch._ I wonder much to what intent it is
That we are thus expressly charg’d to watch.

_2 Watch._ ’T is by commandment in the king’s own name.

_3 Watch._ But we were never wont to watch and ward 20
So near the duke his brother’s house before.

_2 Watch._ Content yourself, stand close, there ’s somewhat in ’t.

_Enter_ SERBERINE.

_Ser._ Here, Serberine, attend and stay thy pace;
For here did Don Lorenzo’s page appoint
That thou by his command shouldst meet with him. 25
How fit a place—if one were so dispos’d—
Methinks this corner is to close with one.

_Ped._ Here comes the bird that I must seize upon.
Now, Pedringano, or never, play the man!

_Ser._ I wonder that his lordship stays so long, 30
Or wherefore should he send for me so late?

_Ped._ For this, Serberine!—and thou shalt ha ’t.
_Shoots the dag._[791]
So, there he lies; my promise is perform’d.

_The_ Watch.

_1 Watch._ Hark, gentlemen, this is a pistol shot.

_2 Watch._ And here ’s one slain;—stay the murderer. 35

_Ped._ Now by the sorrows of the souls in hell.
_He strives with the_ Watch.
Who first lays hand on me, I ’ll be his priest.[792]

_3 Watch._ Sirrah, confess, and therein play the priest,
Why hast thou thus unkindly kill’d the man?

_Ped._ Why? Because he walk’d abroad so late. 40

_3 Watch._ Come, sir, you had been better kept your bed,
Than have committed this misdeed so late.

_2 Watch._ Come, to the marshal’s with the murderer!

_1 Watch._ On to Hieronimo’s! help me here
To bring the murd’red body with us too. 45

_Ped._ Hieronimo? Carry me before whom you will.
Whate’er he be, I’ll answer him and you;
And do your worst, for I defy you all. _Exeunt._

[SCENE IV.][793]

_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ BALTHAZAR.

_Bal._ How now, my lord, what makes you rise so soon?

_Lor._ Fear of preventing our mishaps too late.

_Bal._ What mischief is it that we not mistrust?

_Lor._ Our greatest ills we least mistrust, my lord,
And inexpected harms do hurt us most. 5

_Bal._ Why, tell me, Don Lorenzo, tell me, man,
If ought concerns our honour and your own.

_Lor._ Nor you, nor me, my lord, but both in one;
For I suspect—and the presumption’s great—
That by those base confederates in our fault 10
Touching the death of Don Horatio,
We are betray’d to old Hieronimo.

_Bal._ Betray’d, Lorenzo? Tush! it cannot be.

_Lor._ A guilty conscience, urged with the thought
Of former evils, easily cannot err. 15
I am persuaded—and dissuade me not—
That all ’s revealed to Hieronimo.
And therefore know that I have cast it thus:—
_Enter_ Page.
But here’s the page. How now? what news with thee?

_Page._ My lord, Serberine is slain.

_Bal._ Who? Serberine, my man? 20

_Page._ Your highness’ man, my lord.

_Lor._ Speak, page, who murdered him?

_Page._ He that is apprehended for the fact.[794]

_Lor._ Who?

_Page._ Pedringano.

_Bal._ Is Serberine slain, that lov’d his lord so well?
Injurious villain, murderer of his friend! 25

_Lor._ Hath Pedringano murdered Serberine?
My lord, let me entreat you to take the pains
To exasperate and hasten his revenge
With your complaints unto my lord the king.
This their dissension breed a greater doubt. 30

_Bal._ Assure thee, Don Lorenzo, he shall die,
Or else his highness hardly shall deny.[795]
Meanwhile I’ll haste the marshal-sessions,
For die he shall for this his damned deed.
_Exit_ BALTHAZAR.

_Lor._ Why so, this fits our former policy, 35
And thus experience bids the wise to deal.
I lay the plot; he prosecutes the point:
I set the trap; he breaks the worthless twigs,
And sees not that wherewith the bird was lim’d.[796]
Thus hopeful men, that mean to hold their own, 40
Must look like fowlers to their dearest friends.
He runs to kill whom I have holp[797] to catch,
And no man knows it was my reaching fetch.[798]
’T is hard to trust unto a multitude,
Or any one, in mine opinion, 45
When men themselves their secrets will reveal.
_Enter a_ Messenger _with a letter._
Boy!

_Page._ My lord.

_Lor._ What’s he?

_Mes._ I have a letter to your lordship.

_Lor._ From whence?

_Mes._ From Pedringano that’s imprison’d.

_Lor._ So he is in prison then?

_Mes._ Ay, my good lord. 50

_Lor._ What would he with us?—He writes us here,
To stand good lord, and help him in distress.—
Tell him I have his letters, know his mind;
And what we may, let him assure him of.
Fellow, begone; my boy shall follow thee. 55
_Exit_ Messenger.
This works like wax; yet once more try thy wits.
Boy, go, convey this purse to Pedringano;
Thou know’st the prison, closely[799] give it him,
And be advis’d that none be there about.
Bid him be merry still, but secret; 60
And though the marshal-sessions be to-day,
Bid him not doubt of his delivery.
Tell him his pardon is already sign’d,
And thereon bid him boldly be resolv’d:
For, were he ready to be turned off—[800] 65
As ’t is my will the uttermost be tried—
Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still.
Show him this box, tell him his pardon ’s in ’t;
But open ’t not, an if thou lov’st thy life,
But let him wisely keep his hopes unknown. 70
He shall not want while Don Lorenzo lives.
Away!

_Page._ I go, my lord, I run.

_Lor._ But, sirrah, see that this be cleanly[801] done.
_Exit_ Page.
Now stands our fortune on a tickle point,
And now or never ends Lorenzo’s doubts. 75
One only thing is uneffected yet,
And that’s to see the executioner.
But to what end? I list not trust the air
With utterance of our pretence[802] therein,
For fear the privy whisp’ring of the wind 80
Convey our words amongst unfriendly ears,
That lie too open to advantages.
_E quel che voglio io, nessun lo sa;
Intendo io: quel mi basterà._ _Exit._

[Scene V.][803]

_Enter_ Boy _with the box_.

_Boy._ My master hath forbidden me to look in this box; and, by my
troth, ’t is likely, if he had not warned me, I should not have had
so much idle time; for we men’s-kind in our minority are like women
in their uncertainty: (5) that they are most forbidden, they will
soonest attempt: so I now.——By my bare honesty, here’s nothing but
the bare empty box! Were it not sin against secrecy, I would say it
were a piece of gentlemanlike knavery. I must go (10) to Pedringano,
and tell him his pardon is in this box; nay, I would have sworn it,
had I not seen the contrary. I cannot choose but smile to think how
the villain will flout the gallows, scorn the audience, and descant
on the (15) hangman, and all presuming of his pardon from hence. Will
’t not be an odd jest for me to stand and grace every jest he makes,
pointing my finger at this box, as who would say, “Mock on, here’s
thy warrant.” Is ’t not a scurvy jest (20) that a man should jest
himself to death? Alas! poor Pedringano, I am in a sort sorry for
thee; but if I should be hanged with thee, I cannot weep. _Exit._

[SCENE VI.][804]

_Enter_ HIERONIMO _and the_ Deputy.

_Hier._ Thus must we toil in other men’s extremes,
That know not how to remedy our own;
And do them justice, when unjustly we,
For all our wrongs, can compass no redress.
But shall I never live to see the day, 5
That I may come, by justice of the heavens,
To know the cause that may my cares allay?
This toils my body, this consumeth age,
That only I to all men just must be,
And neither gods nor men be just to me. 10

_Dep._ Worthy Hieronimo, your office asks
A care to punish such as do transgress.

_Hier._ So is ’t my duty to regard his death
Who, when he liv’d, deserv’d my dearest blood.
But come, for that we came for: let’s begin, 15
For here lies that which bids me to be gone.

_Enter_ Officers, Boy, _and_ PEDRINGANO, _with a letter in his hand, bound._

_Dep._ Bring forth the prisoner, for the court is set.

_Ped._ Gramercy, boy, but it was time to come;
For I had written to my lord anew
A nearer matter that concerneth him, 20
For fear his lordship had forgotten me.
But sith he hath rememb’red me so well—
Come, come, come on, when shall we to this gear?[805]

_Hier._ Stand forth, thou monster, murderer of men.
And here, for satisfaction of the world, 25
Confess thy folly, and repent thy fault;
For there’s thy place of execution.

_Ped._ This is short work. Well, to your marshalship
First I confess—nor fear I death therefore—
I am the man, ’t was I slew Serberine. 30
But, sir, then you think this shall be the place,
Where we shall satisfy you for this gear?

_Dep._ Ay, Pedringano.

_Ped._ Now I think not so.

_Hier._ Peace, impudent; for thou shalt find it so; 34
For blood with blood shall, while I sit as judge,
Be satisfied, and the law discharg’d.
And though myself cannot receive the like,
Yet will I see that others have their right.
Despatch: the fault’s approved[806] and confess’d,
And by our law he is condemn’d to die. 40

_Hangm._ Come on, sir, are you ready?

_Ped._ To do what, my fine, officious knave?

_Hangm._ To go to this gear.

_Ped._ O sir, you are too forward: thou wouldst fain furnish me with
a halter, to (45) disfurnish me of my habit.[807] So I should go out
of this gear, my raiment, into that gear, the rope. But, hangman, now
I spy your knavery, I’ll not change without boot,[808] that’s flat.

_Hangm._ Come, sir. 50

_Ped._ So, then, I must up?

_Hangm._ No remedy.

_Ped._ Yes, but there shall be for my coming down.

_Hangm._ Indeed, here’s a remedy for that. 55

_Ped._ How? Be turn’d off?

_Hangm._ Ay, truly. Come, are you ready? I pray, sir, despatch; the
day goes away.

_Ped._ What, do you hang by the hour? If you do, I may chance to
break your old custom. (61)

_Hangm._ Faith, you have reason; for I am like to break your young
neck.

_Ped._ Dost thou mock me, hangman? Pray God, I be not preserved to
break your knave’s pate for this. (66)

_Hangm._ Alas, sir! you are a foot too low to reach it, and I hope
you will never grow so high while I am in the office.

_Ped._ Sirrah, dost see yonder boy with (70) the box in his hand?

_Hangm._ What, he that points to it with his finger?

_Ped._ Ay, that companion.

_Hangm._ I know him not; but what of (75) him?

_Ped._ Dost thou think to live till his old doublet will make thee a
new truss?

_Hangm._ Ay, and many a fair year after, to truss up many an honester
man than either thou or he. 81

_Ped._ What hath he in his box, as thou think’st?

_Hangm._ Faith, I cannot tell, nor I care not greatly; methinks you
should rather hearken to your soul’s health. 85

_Ped._ Why, sirrah, hangman, I take it that that is good for the body
is likewise good for the soul: and it may be, in that box is balm
for both. 90

_Hangm._ Well, thou art even the merriest piece of man’s flesh that
e’er groan’d at my office door!

_Ped._ Is your roguery become an office with a knave’s name? 95

_Hangm._ Ay, and that shall all they witness that see you seal it
with a thief’s name.

_Ped._ I prithee, request this good company to pray with me.

_Hangm._ Ay, marry, sir, this is a good motion. My masters, you see
here’s a good fellow. 101

_Ped._ Nay, nay, now I remember me, let them alone till some other
time; for now I have no great need.

_Hier._ I have not seen a wretch so impudent.
O monstrous times, where murder’s set so light, 106
And where the soul, that should be shrin’d in heaven,
Solely delights in interdicted things,
Still wand’ring in the thorny passages,
That intercepts itself of[809] happiness. 110
Murder! O bloody monster! God forbid
A fault so foul should ’scape unpunished.
Despatch, and see this execution done!—
This makes me to remember thee, my son. _Exit_ HIERONIMO.

_Ped._ Nay, soft, no haste. 115

_Dep._ Why, wherefore stay you? Have you hope of life?

_Ped._ Why, ay!

_Hangm._ As how?

_Ped._ Why, rascal, by my pardon from the king.

_Hangm._ Stand you on that? Then you shall off with this.
_He turns him off._

_Dep._ So, executioner;—convey him hence;
But let his body be unburied: 121
Let not the earth be choked or infect
With that which heav’n contemns, and men neglect. _Exeunt._

[SCENE VII.][810]

_Enter_ HIERONIMO.

_Hier._ Where shall I run to breathe abroad my woes,
My woes, whose weight hath wearied the earth?
Or mine exclaims, that have surcharg’d the air
With ceaseless plaints for my deceased son?
The blust’ring winds, conspiring with my words, 5
At my lament have mov’d the leafless trees,
Disrob’d the meadows of their flow’red green,
Made mountains marsh with spring-tides of my tears,
And broken through the brazen gates of hell.
Yet still tormented is my tortured soul 10
With broken sighs and restless passions,
That, winged, mount; and, hovering in the air,
Beat at the windows of the brightest heavens,
Soliciting for justice and revenge:
But they are plac’d in those empyreal[811] heights, 15
Where, countermur’d[812] with walls of diamond,
I find the place impregnable; and they
Resist my woes, and give my words no way.

_Enter_ Hangman _with a letter._

_Hangm._ O lord, sir! God bless you, sir! the man, sir, Petergade,
sir, he that was so full (20) of merry conceits—

_Hier._ Well, what of him?

_Hangm._ O lord, sir, he went the wrong way; the fellow had a fair
commission to the contrary. Sir, here is his passport; I pray you,
sir, we (25) have done him wrong.

_Hier._ I warrant thee, give it me.

_Hangm._ You will stand between the gallows and me?

_Hier._ Ay, ay.

_Hangm._ I thank your lord worship. 30
_Exit_ Hangman.

_Hier._ And yet, though somewhat nearer me concerns,
I will, to ease the grief that I sustain,
Take truce with sorrow while I read on this.
“My lord, I write,[813] as mine extremes requir’d,
That you would labour my delivery: 35
If you neglect, my life is desperate,
And in my death I shall reveal the troth.
You know, my lord, I slew him for your sake,
And was confed’rate with the prince and you;
Won by rewards and hopeful promises, 40
I holp to murder Don Horatio too.”—
Holp he to murder mine Horatio?
And actors in th’ accursed tragedy
Wast thou, Lorenzo, Balthazar and thou,
Of whom my son, my son deserv’d so well? 45
What have I heard, what have mine eyes beheld?
O sacred heavens, may it come to pass
That such a monstrous and detested deed,
So closely smother’d, and so long conceal’d,
Shall thus by this be venged or reveal’d? 50
Now see I what I durst not then suspect,
That Bel-imperia’s letter was not feign’d.
Nor feigned she, though falsely they have wrong’d
Both her, myself, Horatio, and themselves.
Now may I make compare ’twixt hers and this,
Of every accident I ne’er could find 55
Till now, and now I feelingly perceive
They did what heav’n unpunish’d would not leave.
O false Lorenzo! are these thy flattering looks?
Is this the honour that thou didst my son? 60
And Balthazar—bane to thy soul and me!—
Was this the ransom he reserv’d thee for?
Woe to the cause of these constrained wars!
Woe to thy baseness and captivity,
Woe to thy birth, thy body, and thy soul, 65
Thy cursed father, and thy conquer’d self!
And bann’d with bitter execrations be
The day and place where he did pity thee!
But wherefore waste I mine unfruitful words,
When nought but blood will satisfy my woes? 70
I will go plain me to my lord the king,
And cry aloud for justice through the court,
Wearing the flints with these my withered feet;
And either purchase justice by entreats,
Or tire them all with my revenging threats. 75
_Exit._

[SCENE VIII.][814]

_Enter_ ISABELLA _and her_ Maid.

_Isab._ So that you say this herb will purge the eye,
And this, the head?—
Ah!—but none of them will purge the heart!
No, there ’s no medicine left for my disease,
Nor any physic to recure the dead. 5
_She runs lunatic._
Horatio! O, where ’s Horatio?

_Maid._ Good madam, affright not thus yourself
With outrage[815] for your son Horatio:
He sleeps in quiet in the Elysian fields.

_Isab._ Why, did I not give you gowns and goodly things, 10
Bought you a whistle and a whipstalk too,
To be revenged on their villanies?

_Maid._ Madam, these humours do torment my soul.

_Isab._ My soul—poor soul, thou talk’st[816] of things
Thou know’st not what—my soul hath silver wings, 15
That mounts me up unto the highest heavens;
To heaven? Ay, there sits my Horatio,
Back’d with a troop of fiery Cherubins,
Dancing about his newly healed wounds, 19
Singing sweet hymns and chanting heav’nly notes,
Rare harmony to greet his innocence,
That died, ay died, a mirror in our days.
But say, where shall I find the men, the murderers,
That slew Horatio? Whither shall I run
To find them out that murdered my son? 25
_Exeunt._

[SCENE IX.][817]

BEL-IMPERIA _at a window._

_Bel._ What means this outrage that is off’red me?
Why am I thus sequest’red from the court?
No notice! Shall I not know the cause
Of these my secret and suspicious ills?
Accursed brother, unkind murderer, 5
Why bend’st[818] thou thus thy mind to martyr me?
Hieronimo, why writ I of thy wrongs,
Or why art thou so slack in thy revenge?
Andrea, O Andrea! that thou saw’st
Me for thy friend Horatio handled thus, 10
And him for me thus causeless murdered!—
Well, force perforce, I must constrain myself
To patience, and apply me[819] to the time,
Till heaven, as I have hop’d, shall set me free.

_Enter_ CHRISTOPHIL.

_Chris._ Come, madam Bel-imperia, this may not be. _Exeunt._ 15

[SCENE X.][820]

_Enter_ LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, _and the_ Page.

_Lor._ Boy, talk no further; thus far things go well.
Thou art assur’d that thou sawest him dead?

_Page._ Or else, my lord, I live not.

_Lor._ That’s enough.
As for his resolution in his end,
Leave that to him with whom he sojourns now. 5
Here, take my ring and give it Christophil,
And bid him let my sister be enlarg’d,
And bring her hither straight.— _Exit_ Page.
This that I did was for a policy,
To smooth and keep the murder secret, 10
Which, as a nine-days’ wonder, being o’erblown,
My gentle sister will I now enlarge.

_Bal._ And time, Lorenzo: for my lord the duke,
You heard, enquired for her yester-night.

_Lor._ Why, and my lord, I hope you heard me say 15
Sufficient reason why she kept away;
But that’s all one. My lord, you love her?

_Bal._ Ay.

_Lor._ Then in your love beware; deal cunningly:
Salve all suspicions, only soothe[821] me up;
And if she hap to stand on terms[822] with us— 20
As for her sweetheart and concealment so—
Jest with her gently: under feigned jest
Are things conceal’d that else would breed unrest.
But here she comes.
_Enter_ BEL-IMPERIA.
Now, sister,—

_Bel._ Sister? No!
Thou art no brother, but an enemy; 25
Else wouldst thou not have us’d thy sister so:
First, to affright me with thy weapons drawn,
And with extremes abuse my company;[823]
And then to hurry me, like whirlwind’s rage,
Amidst a crew of thy confederates, 30
And clap me up where none might come at me,
Nor I at any to reveal my wrongs.
What madding fury did possess thy wits?
Or wherein is ’t that I offended thee?

_Lor._ Advise you better, Bel-imperia, 35
For I have done you no disparagement;
Unless, by more discretion than deserv’d,
I sought to save your honour and mine own.

_Bel._ Mine honour? Why, Lorenzo, wherein is’t
That I neglect my reputation so, 40
As you, or any, need to rescue it?

_Lor._ His highness and my father were resolv’d
To come confer with old Hieronimo
Concerning certain matters of estate
That by the viceroy was determined. 45

_Bel._ And wherein was mine honour touch’d in that?

_Bal._ Have patience, Bel-imperia; hear the rest.

_Lor._ Me, next in sight, as messenger they sent
To give him notice that they were so nigh:
Now when I came, consorted with the prince, 50
And unexpected in an arbour there
Found Bel-imperia with Horatio—

_Bel._ How then?

_Lor._ Why, then, remembering that old disgrace,
Which you for Don Andrea had endur’d, 55
And now were likely longer to sustain,
By being found so meanly accompanied,
Thought rather—for I knew no readier mean—
To thrust Horatio forth my father’s way.

_Bal._ And carry you obscurely somewhere else, 60
Lest that his highness should have found you there.

_Bel._ Ev’n so, my lord? And you are witness
That this is true which he entreateth of?
You, gentle brother, forg’d this for my sake,
And you, my lord, were made his instrument?
A work of worth, worthy the noting too! 66
But what’s the cause that you conceal’d me since?

_Lor._ Your melancholy, sister, since the news
Of your first favourite Don Andrea’s death,
My father’s old wrath hath exasperate. 70

_Bal._ And better was’t for you, being in disgrace,
To absent yourself, and give his fury place.

_Bel._ But why had I no notice of his ire?

_Lor._ That were to add more fuel to your fire,
Who burnt like Aetna for Andrea’s loss. 75

_Bel._ Hath not my father then enquir’d for me?

_Lor._ Sister, he hath, and thus excus’d I thee.
_He whispereth in her ear._
But Bel-imperia, see the gentle prince;
Look on thy love, behold young Balthazar,
Whose passions by thy presence are increas’d; 80
And in whose melancholy thou may’st see
Thy hate, his love; thy flight, his following thee.

_Bel._ Brother, you are become an orator—
I know not, I, by what experience—
Too politic for me, past all compare, 85
Since last I saw you; but content yourself:
The prince is meditating higher things.

_Bal._ ’T is of thy beauty, then, that conquers kings;
Of those thy tresses, Ariadne’s twines,
Wherewith my liberty thou hast surpris’d; 90
Of that thine ivory front, my sorrow’s map,
Wherein I see no haven to rest my hope.

_Bel._ To love and fear, and both at once, my lord,
In my conceit, are things of more import
Than women’s wits are to be busied with. 95

_Bal._ ’T is I that love.

_Bel._ Whom?

_Bal._ Bel-imperia.

_Bel._ But I that fear.

_Bal._ Whom?

_Bel._ Bel-imperia.

_Lor._ Fear yourself?

_Bel._ Ay, brother.

_Lor._ How?

_Bel._ As those
That what they love are loth and fear to lose.

_Bal._ Then, fair, let Balthazar your keeper be. 100

_Bel._ No, Balthazar doth fear as well as we:
_Et[824] tremulo metui pavidum junxere timorem—
Est[825] vanum stolidae proditionis opus._

_Lor._ Nay, and you argue things so cunningly,
We’ll go continue this discourse at court. 105

_Bal._ Led by the loadstar of her heavenly looks,
Wends poor oppressed Balthazar,
As o’er the mountains walks the wanderer,
Incertain to effect his pilgrimage. _Exeunt._

[SCENE XI.][826]

_Enter two_ PORTINGALES, _and_ HIERONIMO _meets them._

_1 Port._ By your leave, sir.

Hier. [827][_’T is neither as you think, nor as you think,
Nor as you think: you’re wide all.
These slippers are not mine, they were my son Horatio’s.
My son? and what’s a son? A thing begot 5
Within a pair of minutes—thereabout;
A lump bred up in darkness, and doth serve
To ballace[828] these light creatures we call women:
And, at nine months’ end, creeps forth to light.
What is there yet in a son, 10
To make a father dote, rave, or run mad?
Being born, it pouts, cries, and breeds teeth.
What is there yet in a son? He must be fed,
Be taught to go, and speak. Ay, or yet
Why might not a man love a calf as well? 15
Or melt in passion o’er a frisking kid,
As for a son? Methinks, a young bacon,
Or a fine little smooth horse colt,
Should move a man as much as doth a son:
For one of these, in very little time, 20
Will grow to some good use, whereas a son,
The more he grows in stature and in years,
The more unsquar’d, unbevell’d,[829] he appears,
Reckons his parents among the rank of fools,
Strikes care upon their heads with his mad riots, 25
Makes them look old before they meet with age.
This is a son!—And what a loss were this,
Consider’d truly?—O, but my Horatio
Grew out of reach of these insatiate humours:
He lov’d his loving parents: 30
He was my comfort, and his mother’s joy,
The very arm that did hold up our house:
Our hopes were stored up in him,
None but a damned murderer could hate him.
He had not seen the back of nineteen year, 35
When his strong arm unhors’d
The proud Prince Balthazar, and his great mind,
Too full of honour, took him unto[830] mercy.
That valiant, but ignoble Portingale!
Well, heaven is heaven still! 40
And there is Nemesis, and Furies,
And things call’d whips,
And they sometimes do meet with murderers:
They do not always scape, that is some comfort.
Ay, ay, ay: and then time steals on, 45
And steals, and steals, till violence leaps forth
Like thunder wrapt in a ball of fire,
And so doth bring confusion to them all._]
Good leave have you: nay, I pray you go,
For I’ll leave you, if you can leave me so. 50

_2 Port._ Pray you, which is the next way to my lord the duke’s?

_Hier._ The next way from me.

_1 Port._ To his house, we mean.

_Hier._ O, hard by: ’t is yon house that you see.

_2 Port._ You could not tell us if his son were there?

_Hier._ Who, my Lord Lorenzo?

_1 Port._ Ay, sir.
_He goeth in at one door and comes out at another._

_Hier._ O, forbear!
For other talk for us far fitter were. 56
But if you be importunate to know
The way to him, and where to find him out,
Then list to me, and I’ll resolve your doubt.
There is a path upon your left-hand side 60
That leadeth from a guilty conscience
Unto a forest of distrust and fear—
A darksome place, and dangerous to pass:
There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts,
Whose haleful humours if you but uphold, 65
It will conduct you to despair and death—
Whose rocky cliffs when you have once beheld,
Within a hugy dale of lasting night,
That, kindled with the world’s iniquities,
Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes:— 70
Not far from thence, where murderers have built
A habitation for their cursed souls,
There, in a brazen cauldron, fix’d by Jove,
In his fell wrath, upon a sulphur flame,
Yourselves shall find Lorenzo bathing him 75
In boiling lead and blood of innocents.

_1 Port._ Ha, ha, ha!

_Hier._ Ha, ha, ha! Why, ha, ha, ha! Farewell, good ha, ha, ha!
_Exit._

_2 Port._ Doubtless this man is passing lunatic,
Or imperfection of his age doth make him dote.
Come, let ’s away to seek my lord the duke. 81
_Exeunt._

[SCENE XII.][831]

_Enter_ HIERONIMO, _with a poniard in one hand and a rope in the other_.

_Hier._ Now, sir, perhaps I come and see the king;
The king sees me, and fain would hear my suit:
Why, is not this a strange and seld-seen[832] thing,
That standers-by with toys should strike me mute?
Go to, I see their shifts, and say no more. 5
Hieronimo, ’t is time for thee to trudge.
Down by the dale that flows with purple gore
Standeth a fiery tower; there sits a judge
Upon a seat of steel and molten brass,
And ’twixt his teeth he holds a fire-brand, 10
That leads unto the lake where hell doth stand.
Away, Hieronimo! to him be gone;
He’ll do thee justice for Horatio’s death.
Turn down this path: thou shalt be with him straight;
Or this, and then thou need’st not take thy breath: 15
This way or that way?——Soft and fair, not so:
For if I hang or kill myself, let’s know
Who will revenge Horatio’s murder then?
No, no! fie, no! pardon me, I’ll none of that.
_He flings away the dagger and halter._
This way I’ll take, and this way comes the king: 20
_He takes them up again._
And here I’ll have a fling at him, that’s flat;
And, Balthazar, I’ll be with thee to bring,[833]
And thee, Lorenzo! Here’s the king—nay, stay;
And here, ay here—there goes the hare away.[834]

_Enter_ KING, AMBASSADOR, CASTILE, _and_ LORENZO.

_King._ Now show, ambassador, what our viceroy saith: 25
Hath he receiv’d the articles we sent?

_Hier._ Justice, O justice to Hieronimo.

_Lor._ Back! see’st thou not the king is busy?

_Hier._ O, is he so?

_King._ Who is he that interrupts our business?

_Hier._ Not I. [_Aside._] Hieronimo, beware! go by, go by! 30

_Amb._ Renowned King, he hath receiv’d and read
Thy kingly proffers, and thy promis’d league;
And, as a man extremely over-joy’d
To hear his son so princely entertain’d,
Whose death he had so solemnly bewail’d, 35
This for thy further satisfaction
And kingly love he kindly lets thee know:
First, for the marriage of his princely son
With Bel-imperia, thy beloved niece,
The news are more delightful to his soul, 40
Than myrrh or incense to the offended heavens.
In person, therefore, will he come himself,
To see the marriage rites solemnized,
And, in the presence of the court of Spain,
To knit a sure inexplicable[835] band 45
Of kingly love and everlasting league
Betwixt the crowns of Spain and Portingal.
There will he give his crown to Balthazar,
And make a queen of Bel-imperia.

_King._ Brother, how like you this our viceroy’s love? 50

_Cast._ No doubt, my lord, it is an argument
Of honourable care to keep his friend,
And wondrous zeal to Balthazar his son;
Nor am I least indebted to his grace,
That bends his liking to my daughter thus. 55

_Amb._ Now last, dread lord, here hath his highness sent
(Although he send not that his son return)
His ransom due to Don Horatio.

_Hier._ Horatio! who calls Horatio?

_King._ And well rememb’red: thank his majesty. 60
Here, see it given to Horatio.

_Hier._ Justice, O, justice, justice, gentle king!

_King._ Who is that? Hieronimo?

_Hier._ Justice, O, justice! O my son, my son!
My son, whom naught can ransom or redeem!

_Lor._ Hieronimo, you are not well-advis’d. 65

_Hier._ Away, Lorenzo, hinder me no more;
For thou hast made me bankrupt of my bliss.
Give me my son! you shall not ransom him!
Away! I’ll rip the bowels of the earth, 70
_He diggeth with his dagger._
And ferry over to th’ Elysian plains,
And bring my son to show his deadly wounds.
Stand from about me!
I’ll make a pickaxe of my poniard,
And here surrender up my marshalship; 75
For I’ll go marshal up the fiends in hell,
To be avenged on you all for this.

_King._ What means this outrage?
Will none of you restrain his fury?

_Hier._ Nay, soft and fair! you shall not need to strive. 80
Needs must he go that the devils drive. _Exit._

_King._ What accident hath happ’d Hieronimo?
I have not seen him to demean him so.

_Lor._ My gracious lord, he is with extreme pride,
Conceiv’d of young Horatio his son 85
And covetous of having to himself
The ransom of the young prince Balthazar,
Distract, and in a manner lunatic.

_King._ Believe me, nephew, we are sorry for ’t:
This is the love that fathers bear their sons. 90
But, gentle brother, go give to him this gold,
The prince’s ransom; let him have his due.
For what he hath, Horatio shall not want;
Haply Hieronimo hath need thereof.

_Lor._ But if he be thus helplessly distract, 95
’T is requisite his office be resign’d,
And giv’n to one of more discretion.

_King._ We shall increase his melancholy so.
’T is best that we see further in it first,
Till when, ourself will execute[836] the place. 100
And, brother, now bring in the ambassador,
That he may be a witness of the match
’Twixt Balthazar and Bel-imperia,
And that we may prefix a certain time,
Wherein the marriage shall be solemniz’d, 105
That we may have thy lord, the viceroy, here.

_Amb._ Therein your highness highly shall content
His majesty, that longs to hear from hence.

_King._ On, then, and hear you, lord ambassador—— _Exeunt._

[SCENE XIIa.][837]

[838][Enter JAQUES and PEDRO.

Jaq. _I wonder, Pedro, why our master thus
At midnight sends us with our torches light,
When man, and bird, and beast, are all at rest,
Save those that watch for rape and bloody murder._

Ped. _O Jaques, know thou that our matter’s mind 5
Is much distraught, since his Horatio died,
And—now his aged years should sleep in rest,
His heart in quiet—like a desperate man,
Grows lunatic and childish for his son.
Sometimes, as he doth at his table sit, 10
He speaks as if Horatio stood by him;
Then starting in a rage, falls on the earth,
Cries out, “Horatio, where is my Horatio?”
So that with extreme grief and cutting sorrow
There is not left in him one inch of man: 15
See, where he comes._

Enter HIERONIMO.

Hier. _I pry through every crevice of each wall,
Look on each tree, and search through every brake,
Beat at the bushes, stamp our grandam earth,
Dive in the water, and stare up to heaven, 20
Yet cannot I behold my son Horatio—
How now, who’s there? Spirits, spirits?_

Ped. _We are your servants that attend you, sir._

Hier. _What make you with your torches in the dark?_

Ped. _You bid us light them, and attend you here._

Hier. _No, no, you are deceiv’d! not I;—you are deceiv’d! 25
Was I so mad to bid you light your torches now?
Light me your torches at the mid of noon,
When-as the sun-god rides in all his glory;
Light me your torches then._

Ped. _Then we burn[839] daylight._

Hier. _Let it be burnt; Night is a murderous slut, 31
That would not have her treasons to be seen;
And yonder pale-fac’d Hecate there, the moon,
Doth give consent to that is done in darkness;
And all those stars that gaze upon her face, 35
Are aglets[840] on her sleeve, pins on her train;
And those that should be powerful and divine,
Do sleep in darkness when they most should shine._

Ped. _Provoke them not, fair sir, with tempting words:
The heav’ns are gracious, and your miseries 40
And sorrow makes you speak you know not what._

Hier. _Villain, thou liest! and thou dost nought
But tell me I am mad. Thou liest, I am not mad!
I know thee to be Pedro, and he Jaques. 44
I’ll prove it to thee: and were I mad, how could I?
Where was she that same night when my Horatio
Was murd’red? She should have shone: search thou the book.
Had the moon shone, in my boy’s face there was a kind of grace,
That I know—nay, I do know—had the murderer seen him, 49
His weapon would have fall’n and cut the earth,
Had he been fram’d of naught but blood and death.
Alack! when mischief doth it knows not what,
What shall we say to mischief?_

Enter ISABELLA.

Isab. _Dear Hieronimo, come in a-doors;
O, seek not means so to increase thy sorrow._ 55

Hier. _Indeed, Isabella, we do nothing here;
I do not cry: ask Pedro, and ask Jaques;
Not I indeed; we are very merry, very merry._

Isab. _How? be merry here, be merry here?
Is not this the place, and this the very tree, 60
Where my Horatio died, where he was murdered?_

Hier. _Was—do not say what: let her weep it out.
This was the tree: I set it of a kernel:
And when our hot Spain could not let it grow,
But that the infant and the human sap 65
Began to wither, duly twice a morning
Would I be sprinkling it with fountain-water.
At last it grew and grew, and bore and bore,
Till at the length
It grew a gallows, and did bear our son; 70
It bore thy fruit and mine—O wicked, wicked plant!_
One knocks within at the door.
_See, who knocks there._

Ped. _It is a painter, sir._

Hier. _Bid him come in, and paint some comfort,
For surely there’s none lives but painted comfort.
Let him come in!—One knows not what may chance: 75
God’s will that I should set this tree!—but even so
Masters ungrateful servants rear from nought,
And then they hate them that did bring them up._

Enter the Painter.

Paint. _God bless you, sir._ 79

Hier. _Wherefore? Why, thou scornful villain?
How, where, or by what means should I be bless’d?_

Isab. _What wouldst thou have, good fellow?_

Paint. _Justice, madam._

Hier. _O ambitious beggar!
Wouldst thou have that that lives not in the world?
Why, all the undelved mines cannot buy 85
An ounce of justice!
’T is a jewel so inestimable. I tell thee,
God hath engross’d all justice in his hands,
And there is none but what comes from him._

Paint. _O, then I see
That God must right me for my murd’red son._ 90

Hier. _How, was thy son murdered?_

Paint. _Ay, sir; no man did hold a son so dear._

Hier. _What, not as thine? That’s a lie,
As massy as the earth. I had a son
Whose least unvalued hair did weigh 95
A thousand of thy sons: and he was murdered._

Paint. _Alas, sir. I had no more but he._

Hier. _Nor I, nor I: but this same one of mine
Was worth a legion. But all is one.
Pedro, Jaques, go in a-doors; Isabella, go, 100
And this good fellow here and I
Will range this hideous orchard up and down,
Like to two lions reaved of their young.
Go in a-doors, I say._
[Exeunt. The painter and he sits down.
_Come, let’s talk wisely now.
Was thy son murdered?_

Paint. _Ay, sir._

Hier. _So was mine, 105
How dost take it? Art thou not sometimes mad?
Is there no tricks[841] that comes before thine eyes?_

Paint. _O Lord, yes, sir._

Hier. _Art a painter? Canst paint me a tear, or a wound, a groan, or
a sigh? Canst paint me such (110) a tree[842] as this?_

Paint. _Sir, I am sure you have heard of my painting: my name’s
Bazardo._

Hier. _Bazardo! Afore God, an excellent fellow. Look you, sir, do
you see? I’d have you paint me (115) [for] my gallery, in your
oil-colours matted,[843] and draw me five years younger than I
am—do ye see, sir, let five years go: let them go like the marshal
of Spain—my wife Isabella standing by me, with a speaking look to
my son Horatio, which should (120) intend to this or some such-like
purpose: “God bless thee, my sweet son,” and my hand leaning upon his
head, thus, sir: do you see? May it be done?_

Paint. _Very well, sir._

Hier. _Nay, I pray, mark me, sir. Then, sir, (125) would I have you
paint me this tree, this very tree. Canst paint a doleful cry?_

Paint. _Seemingly, sir._

Hier. _Nay, it should cry; but all is one. Well, sir, paint me a
youth run through and through (130) with villains’ swords, hanging
upon this tree. Canst thou draw a murderer?_

Paint. _I’ll warrant you, sir: I have the pattern of the most
notorious villains that ever lived in all Spain._ (135)

Hier. _O, let them be worse, worse: stretch thine art, and let their
beards be of Judas his own colour: and let their eye-brows jutty
over: in any case observe that. Then, sir, after some violent noise,
bring me forth in my shirt, and my gown under (140) mine arm, with my
torch in my hand, and my sword reared up, thus:—and with these words:
“What noise is this? Who calls Hieronimo?”
May it be done?_

Paint. _Yea, sir._ 145