The Spanish Tragedie. Thomas Kyd

best fits my cheereles mood.—

       Yet what auailes to waile Andreas death,

       From whence Horatio proues my second loue?

       Had he not loued Andrea as he did,

       He could not sit in Bel-imperias thoughts.

       But how can loue finde harbour in my brest,

       Till I reuenge the death of my beloued?

       Yes, second loue shall further my reuenge:

       Ile loue Horatio, my Andreas freend,

       The more to spight the prince that wrought his end;

       And, where Don Balthazar, that slew my loue,

       He shall, in rigour of my iust disdaine,

       Reape long repentance for his murderous deed,—

       For what wast els but murderous cowardise,

       So many to oppresse one valiant knight,

       Without respect of honour in the fight?

       And heere he comes that murdred my delight.

       Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR.

       LOR. Sister, what meanes this melanchollie walke?

       BEL. That for a-while I wish no company.

       LOR. But heere the prince is come to visite you.

       BEL. That argues that he liues in libertie.

       BAL. No madam, but in pleasing seruitude.

       BEL. Your prison then, belike, is your conceit.

       BAL. I, by conceite my freedome is enthralde.

       BEL. Then with conceite enlarge your-selfe againe.

       BAL. What if conceite haue laid my hart to gage?

       BEL. Pay that you borrowed, and recouer it.

       BAL. I die if it returne from whence it lyes.

       BEL. A hartles man, and liue? A miracle!

       BAL. I, lady, loue can work such miracles.

       LOR. Tush, tush, my lord! let goe these ambages,

       And in plaine tearmes acquaint her with your loue.

       BEL. What bootes complaint, when thers no remedy?

       BAL. Yes, to your gracios selfe must I complaine,

       In whose faire answere lyes my remedy,

       On whose perfection all my thoughts attend,

       On whose aspect mine eyes finde beauties bowre,

       In whose translucent brest my hart is lodgde.

       BEL. Alas, my lord! there but words of course,

       And but deuise to driue me from this place.

       She, going in, lets fall her gloue, which

       HORATIO, comming out, takes vp.

       HOR. Madame, your gloue.

       BEL. Thanks, good Horatio; take it for thy paines.

       [BEL-IMPERIA exits.]

       BAL. Signior Horatio stoopt in happie time!

       HOR. I reapt more grace that I deseru'd or hop'd.

       LOR. My lord, be not dismaid for what is past;

       You know that women oft are humerous:

       These clouds will ouerblow with little winde;

       Let me alone, Ill scatter them my-selfe.

       Meane-while let vs deuise to spend the time

       In some delightfull sports and reuelling.

       HOR. The king, my lords, is comming hither straight

       To feast the Portingall embassadour;

       Things were in readiness before I came.

       BAL. Then heere it fits vs to attend the king,

       To welcome hither our embassadour,

       And learne my father and my countries health.

       Enter the banquet, TRUMPETS, the KING,

       and EMBASSADOUR.

       KING. See, lord embassador, how Spaine intreats

       Their prisoner Balthazar, thy viceroyes sonne:

       We pleasure more in kindenes than in warres.

       EMBASS. Sad is our king, and Portingale laments,

       Supposing that Don Balthazar is slaine.

       BAL. [aside] So am I, slaine by beauties tirannie!—

       You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slaine:

       I frolike with the Duke of Castilles sonne,

       Wrapt euery houre in pleasures of the court,

       And graste with fauours of his Maiestie.

       KING. Put off your greetings till our feast be done;

       Now come and sit with vs, and taste our cheere.

       Sit to the banquet.

       Sit downe, young prince, you are our second guest;

       Brother, sit downe; and nephew, take your placel

       Signior Horatio, waite thou vpon our cup,

       For well thou hast deserued to be honored.

       Now, lordings, fall too: Spaine is Portugall,

       And Portugall is Spaine; we both are freends;

       Tribute is paid, and we enioy our right.

       But where is olde Hieronimo, our marhsall?

       He promised vs, in honor of our guest,

       To grace our banquet with some pompous iest.

       Enter HIERONIMO with a DRUM, three KNIGHTS,

       each with scutchin; then he fethces three

       KINGS; they take their crownes and them

       captiue.

       Hieronimo, this makes contents mine eie,

       Although I sound well not the misterie.

       HIERO. The first arm'd knight that hung his scutchin vp

       He takes the scutchin ahd giues it to

       the KING.

       Was English Robert, Earle of Glocester,

       Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,

       Arriued with fiue and twenty thousand men

       In Portingale, and, by successe of warre,

       Enforced the king, then but a Sarasin,

       To beare the yoake of the English monarchie.

       KING. My lord of Portingale, by this you see

       That which may comfort both your king and you,

       And make your late discomfort seeme the lesse.

       But say, Hieronimo: what was the next?

       HIERO. The second knight that hung his scutchin vp

       He doth as he did before.

       Was Edmond, Earle of Kent in Albion.

       When English Richard wore the diadem,

       He came likewise and razed Lisbon walles,

       And tooke the king of Portingale in fight,—

       For which, and other suche seruice done,

       He after was created Duke of Yorke.

       KING. This is another speciall argument

       That Portingale may daine to beare our yoake,

       When it by little England hath beene yoakt.

       But now,