Chapter: [The DUKE's castle.]

                Enter BEL-IMPERIA and HIERONIMO.

  BEL-IMPERIA.  Is this the love thou bear'st Horatio?
    Is this the kindness that thou counterfeit'st,
    Are these the fruits of thine incessant tears?
    Hieronimo, are these thy passions,
    Thy protestations and thy deep laments,
    That thou wert wont to weary men withal?
    O unkind father!  O deceitful world!
    With what excuses canst thou show thyself,--
    With what dishonour, and the hate of men,--
    Thus to neglect the loss and life of him
    Whom both my letters and thine own belief
    Assures thee to be causeless slaughtered?
    Hieronimo!  for shame, Hieronimo,
    Be not a history to after times
    Of such ingratitude unto thy son!
    Unhappy mothers of such children then!
    But monstrous fathers, to forget so soon
    The death of those whom they with care and cost
    Have tender'd so, thus careless should be lost!
    Myself, a stranger in respect to thee,
    So lov'd his life as still I wish their deaths.
    Nor shall his death be unreveng'd by me.
    Although I bear it out for fashion's sake;
    For here I swear in sight of heav'n and earth,
    Shouldst thou neglect the love thou shouldst retain
    And give it over and devise no more,
    Myself should send their hateful souls to hell
    That wrought his downfall with extremest death!

  HIE.  But may it be that Bel-imperia
    Vows such revenge as she hath deign'd to say?
    Why then, I see that heav'n applies our drift,
    And all the saints do sit soliciting
    For vengeance on those cursed murtherers.
    Madame, 'tis true, and now I find it so.
    I found a letter, written in your name,
    And in that letter, how Horatio died.
    Pardon, O pardon, Bel-imperia,
    My fear and care in not believing it!
    Nor think I thoughtless think upon a mean
    To let his death be unreveng'd at full.
    And here I vow, so you but give consent
    And will conceal my resolution,
    I will ere long determine of their deaths
    That causeless thus have murdered my son.

  BEL.  Hieronimo, I will consent, conceal,
    And aught that may effect for thine avail,
    Join with thee to revenge Horatio's death.

  HIER.  On then, and whatsoever I devise,
    Let me entreat you grace my practice,
    For-why the plot's already in mine head.--
    Here they are!

                Enter BALTHAZAR and LORENZO.

  BAL.          How now, Hieronimo?
    What, courting Bel-imperia?

  HIERO.                Aye, my lord,
    Such courting as, I promise you,
    She hath my heart, but you, my lord, have hers.

  LOR.  But now, Hieronimo, or never
    We are to entreat your help.

  HIE.           My help?
   Why, my good lords, assure yourselves of me;
    For you have giv'n me cause,--
    Aye, by my faith, have you!

  BAL.                         It pleased you
    At the entertainment of the ambassador,
    To grace the King so much as with a show;
    Now were your study so well furnished
    As, for the passing of the first night's sport,
    To entertain my father with the like,
    Or any such like pleasing motion,
    Assure yourself it would content them well.

  HIERO.  Is this all?

  BAL.  Aye, this is all.

  HIERO.  Why then I'll fit you; say no more.
    When I was young I gave my mind
    And plied myself to fruitless poetry,
    Which, though it profit the professor naught,
    Yet is it passing pleasing to the world.

  LOR.  And how for that?

  HIERO.                Marry, my good lord, thus.--
    And yet, me thinks, you are too quick with us!--
    When in Toledo there I studied,
    It was my chance to write a tragedy,--
    See here, my lords,--

                He shows them a book.

    Which, long forgot, I found this other day.
    Nor would your lordships favour me so much
    As but to grace me with your acting it,
    I mean each one of you to play a part.
    Assure you it will prove most passing strange
    And wondrous plausible to that assembly.

  BAL.  What, would you have us play a tragedy?

  HIERO.  Why, Nero thought it no disparagement,
    And kings and emperors have ta'en delight
    To make experience of their wit in plays!

  LOR.  Nay, be not angry, good Hieronimo;
    The prince but ask'd a question.

  BAL.  In faith, Hieronimo, and you be in earnest,
    I'll make one.

  LOR.          And I another.

  HIERO.  Now, my good lord, could you entreat,
    Your sister, Bel-imperia, to make one,--
    For what's a play without a woman in it?

  BEL.  Little entreaty shall serve me, Hieronimo,
    For I must needs be employed in your play.

  HIERO.  Why, this is well!  I tell you, lordings,
    It was determined to have been acted,
    By gentlemen and scholars too,
    Such as could tell what to speak.

  BAL.                  And now
    It shall be play'd by princes and courtiers,
    Such as can tell how to speak,
    If, as it is our country manner,
    You will but let us know the argument.

  HIERO.  That shall I roundly.  The chronicles of Spain
    Record this written of a knight of Rhodes;
    He was betroth'd, and wedded at the length,
    To one Perseda, an Italian dame,
    Whose beauty ravish'd all that her beheld,
    Especially the soul of Suleiman,
    Who at the marriage was the chiefest guest.
    By sundry means sought Suleiman to win
    Perseda's love, and could not gain the same.
    Then 'gan he break his passions to a friend,
    One of his bashaws whom he held full dear.
    Her has this bashaw long solicited,
    And saw she was not otherwise to be won
    But by her husband's death, this knight of Rhodes,
    Whom presently by treachery he slew.
    She, stirr'd with an exceeding hate therefore,
    As cause of this, slew Sultan Suleiman,
    And, to escape the bashaw's tyranny,
    Did stab herself.  And this is the tragedy.

  LOR.  O, excellent!

  BEL.                  But say, Hieronimo:
    What then became of him that was the bashaw?

  HIERO.
                         Marry thus:
   Moved with remorse of his misdeeds,
    Ran to a mountain top and hung himself.

  BAL.  But which of us is to perform that part?

  HIERO.  O, that will I, my lords; make no doubt of it;
    I'll play the murderer, I warrant you;
    For I already have conceited that.

  BAL.  And what shall I?

  HIERO.  Great Suleiman, the Turkish emperor.

  LOR.  And I?

  HIERO.        Erastus, the knight of Rhodes.

  BEL. And I?

  HIERO.  Perseda, chaste and resolute.
    And here, my lords, are several abstracts drawn,
    For each of you to note your several parts.
    And act it as occasion's offer'd you.
    You must provide you with a Turkish cap,
    A black moustache and a fauchion.

                Gives paper to BALTHAZAR.

    You with a cross, like a knight of Rhodes.

                Gives another to LORENZO.

    And, madame, you must then attire yourself

                He giveth BEL-IMPERIA another.

    Like Phoebe, Flora, or the huntress Dian,
    Which to your discretion shall seem best.
    And as for me, my lords, I'll look to one,
    And with the ransom that the viceroy sent
    So furnish and perform this tragedy
    As all the world shall say Hieronimo
    Was liberal in gracing of it so.

  BAL. Hieronimo, methinks a comedy were better.

  HIERO.  A comedy?  fie!  comedies are fit for common wits;
    But to present a kingly troupe withal,
    Give me a stately-written tragedy,--
    Tragedia cothurnata, fitting kings,
    Containing matter, and not common things!
    My lords, all this our sport must be perform'd,
    As fitting for the first night's revelling.
    The Italian tragedians were so sharp
    Of wit that in one hour's meditation
    They would perform any-thing in action.

  LOR.  And well it may, for I have seen the like
    In Paris, 'mongst the French tragedians.

  HIERO.  In Paris? mass, and well remembered!--
    There's one thing more that rests for us to do.

  BAL. What's that, Hieronimo?
    Forget not anything.

  HIERO.                Each one of us
    Must act his part in unknown languages,
    That it may breed the more variety:
    As you, my lord, in Latin, I in Greek,
    You in Italian, and, for-because I know
    That Bel-imperia hath practised the French,
    In courtly French shall all her phrases be.

  BEL.  You mean to try my cunning then, Hieronimo!

  BAL. But this will be a mere confusion,
    And hardly shall we all be understood.

  HEIRO.  It must be so; for the conclusion
    Shall prove the invention and all was good;
    And I myself in an oration,
    That I will have there behind a curtain,
    And with a strange and wondrous show besides,
    Assure yourself, shall make the matter known.
    And all shall be concluded in one scene,
    For there's no pleasure ta'en in tediousness.

  BAL.  [to LOR.]  How like you this?

  LOR. Why thus, my lord, we must resolve,
    To soothe his humors up.

  BAL.  On then, Hieronimo; farewell till soon!

  HIERO.  You'll ply this gear?

  LOR.  I warrant you.

                Exeuent all but HIERONIMO.

  HIERO.  Why, so!  now shall I see the fall of Babylon
    Wrought by the heav'ns in this confusion.
    And, if the world like not this tragedy,
    Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo.

                Exit.                [HIERONIMO's garden.]

                Enter ISABELLA with a weapon.

  [ISA.]  Tell me no more!  O monstrous homicides!
    Since neither piety nor pity moves
    The king to justice or compassion,
    I will revenge myself upon this place,
    Where thus they murder'd my beloved son.

                She cuts down the arbour.

    Down with these branches and these loathsome boughs
    On this unfortunate and fatal pine!
    Down with them, Isabella; rent them up,
    And burns the roots from whence the rest is sprung!
    I will leave not a root, a stalk, a tree,
    A bough, a branch, a blossom, nor a leaf,--
    Not, not an herb within this garden plot,
    Accursed complot of my misery!
    Fruitless forever may this garden be,
    Barren the earth, and blissless whosoever
    Imagines not to keep it unmanur'd!
    An eastern wind comix'd with noisome airs
    Shall blast the plants and young saplings here,
    The earth with serpents shall be pestered,
    And passengers, for fear to be infect,
    Shall stand aloof, and, looking at it, tell
    There, murder'd, died the son of Isabell.
    Aye, here he died, and here I him embrace!
    See where his ghost solicits with his wounds
    Revenge on her that should revenge his death!
    Hieronimo, make haste to see thy son,
    For Sorrow and Despair hath 'cited me
    To hear Horatio plead with Radamant.
    Make haste, Hieronimo, to hold excus'd
    Thy negligence in pursuit of their deaths
    Whose hateful wrath bereav'd him of his breath.
    Ah, nay;  thou dost delay their deaths,
    Forgiv'st the murd'rers of thy noble son;
    And none but I bestir me,--to no end!
    And, as I curse this tree from further fruit,
    So shall my womb be cursed for his sake;
    And with this weapon will I wound this breast,--
    That hapless breast that gave Horatio suck!

                She stabs herself.                [The DUKE's castle.]

                Enter HIERONIMO; he knocks up the curtain.
                Enter the DUKE OF CASTILE.

  CAS.  How now, Hieronimo?  where's your fellows,
    That you take all this pain?

  HIERO.  O sir, it is for the author's credit
    To look that all things may go well.
    But, good my lord, let me entreat your Grace
    To give the king the copy of the play:
    This is the argument of what we show.

  CAS.  I will, Hieronimo.

  HIERO.          One more thing, my good lord.

  CAS. What's that?

  HIERO.         Let me entreat your Grace
    That, when the train are pass'd into the gallery,
    You would vouchsafe to throw me down the key.

  CAS.  I will Hieronimo.

                Exit CAS[TILE].

  HIERO.  What, are you ready, Balthazar?
    Bring a chair and a cushion for the king.

                Enter BALTHAZAR with a chair.

    Well done, Balthazar; hang up the title:
    Our scene is Rhodes.   What, is your beard on?

  BAL.  Half on, the other is in my hand.

  HIERO.  Dispatch, for shame!  are you so long?

                Exit BALTHAZAR.

    Bethink thyself, Hieronimo,
    Recall thy wits, recompt thy former wrongs
    Thou hast receiv'd by murder of thy son,
    And lastly, but not least, how Isabell,
    Once his mother and my dearest wife,
    All woe-begone for him, hath slain herself.
    Behooves thee then, Hieronimo, to be
    Reveng'd!  The plot is laid of dire revenge:
    On then, Hieronimo; pursue revenge,
    For nothing wants but acting of revenge!

                Exit HIERONIMO.

                Enter SPANISH KING, VICEROY, the DUKE
                OF CASTILE, and their train, to the gallery.

  KING.  Now, viceroy, shall we see the tragedy
    Of Suleiman, the Turkish emperor,
    Perform'd by pleasure by your son the prince,
    My nephew Don Lorenzo, and my niece.

  VICE.  Who?  Bel-imperia?

  KING.  Aye; and Hieronimo our marshall,
    At whose request they deign to do't themselves.
    These be our pastimes in the court of Spain.
    Here, brother, you shall be the book-keeper:
    This is the argument of that they show.

                He giveth him a book.

[Gentlemen, this play of Hieronimo in sundry languages was thought
good to be set down in English more largely, for the easier
understanding to every publique reader.]

                Enter BALTHAZAR, BEL-IMPERIA, and
                HIERONIMO.

  BALTHAZAR. [acting]  Bashaw, that Rhodes is ours yield
    Heav'ns the honour
    And holy Mahomet, our sacred prophet!
    And be thou grac'd with every excellence
    That Suleiman can give or thou desire!
    But thy desert in conquering Rhodes is less
    Then in reserving this fair Christian nymph,
    Perseda, blissful lamp of excellence,
    Whose eyes compel, like powerful adamant,
    The warlike heart of Suleiman to wait.

  KING.  See, viceroy, that is Balthazar your son,
    That represents the Emperor Suleiman:
    How well he acts his amorous passion!

  VICE.  Aye; Bel-imperia hath taught him that.

  CASTILE:  That's because his mind runs all on Bel-imperia.

  HIERO. [acting]  Whatever joy earth yields betide your Majesty!

  BALT. [acting]  Earth yields no joy without Perseda's love.

  HIERO. [acting]  Let then Perseda on your Grace attend.

  BALT.  [acting]  She shall not wait on me, but I on her!
    Drawn by the influence of her lights, I yield.
    But let my friend, the Rhodian knight, come forth,--
    Erasto, dearer than my life to me,--
    That he may see Perseda, my belov'd.

                Enter ERASTO [LORENZO].

  KING.  Here comes Lorenzo: look upon the plot
    And tell me, brother, what part plays he.

  BEL. [acting]  Ah, my Erasto!  Welcome to Perseda!

  LO. [acting]  Thrice happy is Erasto that thou livest!
    Rhodes' loss is nothing to Erasto's joy;
    Sith his Perseda lives, his life survives.

  BALT. [acting]  Ah, bashaw, here is love between Erasto
    And fair Perseda, sovereign of my soul!

  HIERO. [acting]  Remove Erasto, mighty Suleiman,
    And then Perseda will be quickly won.

  BALT. [acting]  Erasto is my friend; and, while he lives,
    Perseda never will remove her love.

  HIERO. [acting]  Let not Erasto live to grieve great Suleiman!

  BALT. [acting]  Dear is Erasto in our princely eye.

  HIERO. [acting]  But, if he be your rival, let him die!

  BALT. [acting]  Why, let him die!  so love commaundeth me.
    Yet grieve I that Erasto should so die.

  HIERO. [acting]  Erasto, Suleiman saluteth thee,
    And lets thee wit by me his Highness' will,
    Which is, thou should'st be thus employ'd.

                Stabs him.

  BEL. [acting]  Ay, me, Erasto!  See, Suleiman, Erasto's slain!

  BALT. [acting]  Yet liveth Suleiman to comfort thee.
    Fair queen of beauty, let not favour die,
    But with a gracious eye behold his grief,
    That with Perseda's beauty is increas'd,
    If by Perseda grief be not releas'd.

  BEL. [acting]  Tyrant, desist soliciting vain suits;
    Relentless are mine ears to thy laments
    As thy butcher is pitiless and base
    Which seiz'd on my Erasto, harmless knight.
    Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command,
    And to thy power Perseda doth obey;
    But, were she able, thus she would revenge
    Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince;

                Stabs him.

    And on herself she would be thus revengd.

                Stabs herself.

  KING.  Well said, old marshall!  this was bravely done!

  HIERO.  But Bel-imperia plays Perseda well.

  VICE.  Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia,
    You would be better to my son than so.

  KING.  But now what follows for Hieronimo?

  HIERO.  Marry, this follows for Hieronimo!
    Here break we off our sundry languages,
    And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue:
    Haply you think--but bootless are your thoughts--
    That this is fabulously counterfeit,
    And that we do as all tragedians do,--
    To die today, for fashioning our scene,
    The death of Ajax, or some Roman peer,
    And, in a minute starting up again,
    Revive to please tomorrow's audience.
    No, princes; know I am Hieronimo,
    The hopeless father of a hapless son,
    Whose tongue is tun'd to tell his latest tale,
    Not to excuse gross errors in the play.
    I see your looks urge instance of these words:
    Behold the reason urging me to this!

                Shows his dead son.

    See here my show; look on this spectacle!
    Here lay my hope, and here my hope hath end;
    Here lay my heart, and here my heart was slain;
    Here lay my treasure, here my treasure lost;
    Here lay my bliss, and here my bliss bereft.
    But hope, heart, treasure, joy and bliss,--
    All fled, fail'd, died, yea, all decay'd with this.
    From forth these wounds came breath that gave me life;
    They murder'd me that made these fatal marks.
    The cause was love whence grew this mortal hate:
    The hate, Lorenzo and young Balthazar;
    The love, my son to Bel-imperia.
    But night, the cov'rer of accursed crimes,
    With pitchy silence hush'd these traitors' harms,
    And lent them leave--for they had sorted leisure--
    To take advantage in my garden plot
    Upon my son, my dear Horatio.
    There merciless they butcher'd up my boy,
    In black, dark night, to pale, dim, cruel death!
    He shrieks; I heard--and yet, methinks, I hear--
    His dismal out-cry echo in the air;
    With soonest speed I hasted to the noise,
    Where, hanging on a tree, I found my son
    Through-girt with wounds and slaughter'd, as you see.
    And griev'd I, think you, at this spectacle?
    Speak, Portuguese, whose loss resembles mine!
    If thou canst weep upon thy Balthazar,
    'Tis like I wail'd for my Horatio.
    And you, my lord, whose reconciled son
    March'd in a net and thought himself unseen,
    And rated me for a brainsick lunacy,
    With "God amend that mad Hieronimo!"--
    How can you brook our play's catastrophe?
    And here behold this bloody handkerchief,
    Which at Horatio's death I weeping dipp'd
    Within the river of his bleeding wounds!
    It as propitious, see, I have reserv'd,
    And never hath it left my bloody heart,
    Soliciting remembrance of my vow
    With these, O these accursed murderers!
    Which now perform'd, my heart is satisfied.
    And to this end the bashaw I became,
    That might revenge me on Lorenzo's life,
    Who therefore was appointed to the part
    And was to represent the knight of Rhodes,
    That I might kill him more conveniently.
    So, viceroy, was this Balthazar thy son--
    That Suleiman which Bel-imperia
    In person of Perseda murdered,--
    Solely appointed to that tragic part,
    That she might slay him that offended her.
    Poor Bel-imperia miss'd her part in this:
    For, though the story saith she should have died,
    Yet I, of kindness and of care for her,
    Did otherwise determine of her end.
    But love of him whom they did hate too much
    Did urge her resolution to be such.
    And princes, now behold Hieronimo,
    Author and actor in this tragedy,
    Bearing his latest fortune in his fist;
    And will as resolute conclude his part
    As any of the actors gone before.
    And, gentles, thus I end my play!
    Urge no more words, I have no more to say.

                He runs to hang himself.

  KING.  O hearken, viceroy; hold Hieronimo!
    Brother, my nephew and thy son are slain!

  VICE.  We are betray'd!  my Balthazar is slain!
    Break ope the doors; run save Hieronimo!
    Hieronimo, do but inform the king of these events;
    Upon mine honour, thou shalt have no harm!

  HIERO.  Viceroy, I will not trust thee with my life,
    Which I this day have offer'd to my son:
    Accursed wretch, why stayst thou him that was resolv'd to die?

  KING.  Speak, traitor!  damned, bloody murd'rer, speak!--
    For, now I have thee, I will make thee speak!
    Why hast thou done this undeserving deed?

  VICE.  Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?

  CAS.  Why hast thou butcher'd both my children thus?

  HIERO.  O good words!  As dear to me was Horatio
    As yours, or yours, my lord, to you.
    My guiltless son was by Lorenzo slain;
    And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar
    Am I at last revenged thoroughly,--
    Upon whose souls may Heav'n be yet aveng'd
    With greater far than these afflictions!

  CAS.  But who were thy confederates in this?

  VICE.  That was thy daughter Bel-imperia;
    For by her hand my Balthazar was slain,--
    I saw her stab him.

  KING.         Why speak'st thou not?

  HIERO.  What lesser liberty can kings afford
    Than harmless silence?  Then afford it me!
    Sufficeth I may not nor I will not tell thee.

  KING.  Fetch forth the tortures!
         Traitor as thou art, I'll make thee tell!

  HIERO.                Indeed?
    Thou mayst torment me as his wretched son
    Hath done in murd'ring my Horatio;
    But never shalt thou force me to reveal
    The thing which I have vow'd inviolate.
    And therefore, in despite of all thy threats,
    Pleas'd with their deaths, and eas'd with their revenge,
    First take my tongue, and afterwards my heart!

                He bites out his tongue.

  KING. O monstrous resolution of a wretch!
    See, Viceroy, he hath bitten forth his tongue
    Rather than reveal what we require'd.

  CAS.  Yet can he write.

  KING.  And if in this he satisfy us not,
    We will devise th' extremest kind of death
    That ever was invented for a wretch.

                Then he makes signs for a knife to mend his pen.

  CAS.  O, he would have a knife to mend his pen.

  VICE.  Here; and advise thee that thou write the troth,--
    Look to my brother!  save Hieronimo!

                He with a knife stabs the DUKE and himself.

  KING.  What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds?
    My brother and the whole succeeding hope
    That Spain expected after my decease.
    Go bear his body hence, that we may mourn
    The loss of our beloved brother's death,
    That he may be entomb'd. Whate'er befall,
    I am the next, the nearest, last of all.

  VICE.  And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for us:
    Take up our hapless son untimely slain;
    Set me up with him, and he with woeful me,
    Upon the main-mast of a ship unmann'd,
    And let the wind and tide hale me along
    To Scylla's barking and untamed gulf
    Or to the loathsome pool of Acheron,
    To weep my want for my sweet Balthazar.
    Spain hath no refuge for a Portingale!

                The trumpets sound a dead march, the KING OF SPAIN
                mourning after his brother's body, and the KING OF
                PORTINGAL bearing the body of his son.


[CHORUS.]

                Enter GHOST and REVENGE.

  GHOST.  Aye; now my hopes have end in their effects,
    When blood and sorrow finish my desires:
    Horatio murder'd in his father's bower,
    Vile Serberine by Pedrigano slain,
    False Pedrigano hang'd by quaint device,
    Fair Isabella by herself misdone,
    Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabb'd,
    The Duke of Castile and his wicked son
    Both done to death by old Hieronimo,
    My Bel-imperia fallen as Dido fell,
    And good Hieronimo slain by himself!
    Aye, these were spectacles to please my soul.
    Now will I beg at lovely Proserpine
    That, by the virtue of her princely doom,
    I may consort my friends in pleasing sort,
    And on my foes work just and sharp revenge.
    I'll lead my friend Horatio through those fields
    Where never-dying wars are still inur'd;
    I'll lead fair Isabella to that train
    Where pity weeps but never feeleth pain;
    I'll lead my Bel-imperia to those joys
    That vestal virgins and fair queens possess;
    I'll lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plays,
    Adding sweet pleasure to eternal days.
    But say, Revenge,--for thou must help or none,--
    Against the rest how shall my hate be shown?

  REVENGE.  This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,
    Where none but furies, bugs and tortures dwell.

  GHOST.  Then, sweet Revenge, do this at my request:
    Let me judge and doom them to unrest;
    Let loose poor Titius from the vulture's gripe,
    And let Don Ciprian supply his room;
    Place Don Lorenzo on Ixion's wheel,
    And let the lovers' endless pains surcease,
    Juno forget old wrath and grant him ease;
    Hang Balthazar about Chimera's neck,
    And let him there bewail his bloody love,
    Repining at our joys that are above;
    Let Serberine go roll the fatal stone
    And take from Sisyphus his endless moan;
    False Pedringano, for his treachery,
    Let him be dragg'd through boiling Acheron,
    And there live dying still in endless flames,
    Blaspheming gods and all their holy names.

  REVENGE.  Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes;
    To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes.
    For here though death doth end their misery,
    I'll there begin their endless tragedy.

                Exeunt.

 Bellimperia berates Hieronimo for his inaction thus far: why has he neglected to avenge his son's murder? Hieronimo excuses himself, stating that he was previously unsure as to whether Bellimperia's letter contained the truth. For him, Bellimperia's desire for revenge now represents a sign from heaven: "all the saints do sit soliciting / For vengeance on those cursed murderers." He declares his resolve to exact revenge, and Bellimperia agrees to help him carry out his plot. Balthazar and Lorenzo arrive, asking Hieronimo to provide the night's entertainment for the King. The Marshall readily agrees. A play that he wrote in his youth shall be performed - by none other than the two men, Hieronimo himself, and Bellimperia. The plot involves a knight and his wife Perseda, the Turkish emperor Soliman, and one of his Bashaws. Hoping to arrange a marriage between Soliman and Perseda, the Bashaw kills the knight. In retribution, Perseda kills Soliman and then commits suicide. Hieronimo will play the Bashaw, Balthazar will be Soliman, Lorenzo will act the knight, and Bellimperia, naturally, will play Perseda. Balthazar calls for a comedy instead, but Hieronimo rejects the suggestion. He moreover stipulates that each character should speak in a different language. The play will thus be performed in Latin, Greek, Italian, and French. Balthazar once again objects, stating that such a mixture would only result in confusion. To this, Hieronimo promises that he will deliver an oration - and reveal a surprise - that will resolve everything in the last scene. Act 4, Scene 2 Isabella stands at Horatio's deathplace, weapon in hand. Seeing that "neither piety nor pity moves / The king to justice or compassion," she vows to avenge herself on the very spot where her son was murdered. She cuts down the arbor where Horatio was /'/hanged and delivers a soliloquy, cursing the garden and apostrophizing Hieronimo before stabbing herself. Act 4, Scene 3 Hieronimo enters with the Duke of Castile, who surveys Hieronimo's earnest preparations for the evening. Upon Hieronimo's request, the Duke agrees to give the king a copy of the play, as well as toss Hieronimo the key to the gallery once the royal train has entered. Balthazar passes through briefly to help with the setup. Alone on stage, Hieronimo prepares himself mentally for the evening: Bethink thyself, Hieronimo, Recall thy wits. . . The plot is laid of dire revenge On, then, Hieronimo, pursue revenge; For nothing wants but acting of revenge. Act 4, Scene 4 The King arrives with the Viceroy and the Duke of Castile. The King hands the Viceroy a copy of the play, translated into English for easier understanding. The play is performed as previously summarized by Hieronimo. Hieronimo's character stabs Balthazar's, after which Bellimperia's character stabs Lorenzo's and herself. The play ends to the enthusiastic applause of the King and the Viceroy. Hieronimo then delivers the final speech: while the play may have seemed "fabulously counterfeit," he explains, it was in fact a very real spectacle. Hieronimo reveals Horatio's corpse on stage and declaims his accomplished revenge scheme, as well as his motives therein. Finally, "Hieronimo / Author and actor in this tragedy" runs to hang himself. The King and the Viceroy break the locked doors and rush to detain Hieronimo. Along with the Duke of Castile, they demand to know Hieronimo's motives for orchestrating the murders. Hieronimo says in few words that he sought revenge for his son, then refuses to speak any more on the subject. The King calls for torturers, but Hieronimo bites out his tongue. The King and the Duke insist that he can still write. Hieronimo gestures for a knife to mend his pen, with he uses to stab both the Duke and himself. The King and the Viceroy exit in mourning. Act 4, Scene 5 The Ghost declares his desires satisfied. He arranges with Revenge to have Bellimperia and Horatio treated well; in contrast, Lorenzo, Balthazar, Serberine, and Pedringano will be sent to the worst parts of hell. The two return to the underworld with Revenge's last words: Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes: To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes; For here though death hath end their misery, I'll there begin their endless tragedy.

