The Spanish Tragedy Part 16

[A street.]

Enter two PORTINGALES, and HIERONIMO meets them.

I PORT. By your leave, sir.

HIERO. Good leave have you; nay, I pray you go, For I'll leave you, if you can leave me so.

II PORT. Pray you, which is the next way to my lord the duke's?

HIERO. The next way from me.

I PORT. To the house, we mean.

HIERO. O hard by; 'tis yon house that you see.

II PORT. You could not tell us if his son were there?

HIERO. Who? my lord Lorenzo?

I PORT. Aye, sir.

He goeth in at one door and comes out at another.

HIERO. Oh, forbear, For other talk for us far fitter were!

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 That leadeth from a guilty conscience Unto a forest of distrust and fear,-- A darksome place and dangerous to pa.s.s,-- There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts Whose baleful humours if you but behold, 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 worlds of iniquities, Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes,-- Not far from thence where murderers have built A habitation for their cursed souls, There, in a brazen caldron fix'd by Jove In his fell wrath upon a sulfur flame, Yourselves shall find Lorenzo bathing him In boiling lead and blood of innocents.

I PORT. Ha, ha, ha!

HIERO. Ha, ha, ha! why, ha, ha, ha! Farewell, good ha, ha, ha!

Exit.

II PORT. Doubtless this man is pa.s.sing lunatic, Or imperfection of his age doth make him dote.

Come, let's away to seek my lord the duke.

[Exeunt.]

[ACT III. SCENE 12.]

[The Spanish court.]

Enter HIERONIMO with a ponyard in one hand, and a rope in the other.

HIERO. Now, sir, perhaps I come to see the king, The king sees me, and fain would hear my suit: Why, is this not a strange and seld-seen thing That standers-by with toys should strike me mute?

Go to, I see their s.h.i.+fts, and say no more; Hieronimo, 'tis 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 bra.s.s, And 'twixt his teeth he holds a fire-brand, That leads unto the lake where he 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.

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 murther then!

No, no; fie, no! pardon me, I'll none of that:

He flings away the dagger & halter.

This way I'll take; and this way comes the king,

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; And thee, Lorenzo! Here's the king; nay, stay!

And here,--aye, here,--there goes the hare away!

Enter KING, AMBa.s.sADOR, CASTILLE, and LORENZO.

KING. Now show, amba.s.sador, what our viceroy saith: Hath he receiv'd the articles we sent?

HIERO. Justice! O, justice to Hieronimo!

LOR. Back! see'st thou not the king is busy?

HIERO. O! is he so?

KING. Who is he that interrupts our business?

HIERO. Not I! [aside] Hieronimo, beware! go by, go by!

AMBa.s.s. Renown'd 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, 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 Then myrrh or incense to the offended Heav'ns.

In person, therefore, will be come himself To see the marriage rites solemnized And in the presence of the court of Spain To knit a sure inextricable band 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?

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.

AMBa.s.s. Now last, dread lord, here hath his Highness sent-- Although he send not that his son return-- His ransom due to Don Horatio.

HIERO. Horatio? who calls Horatio?

KING. And well remember'd, thank his Majesty!

Here, see it given to Horatio.

HIERO. Justice! O justice! justice, gentle king!

KING. Who is that? Hieronimo?