Chapter: [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.

 This very brief scene shows Hieronimo preparing the stage for his play, making his last vows to execute his revenge, and lamenting his wife's suicide.

