Chapter: [Spain: the palace]

                Enter HORATIO and BEL-IMPERIA.

  BEL.  Signior Horatio, this is the place and hour
    Wherein I must entreat thee to relate
    The circumstance of Don Andrea's death,
    Who living was my garland's sweetest flower,
    And in his death hath buried my delights.

  HOR.  For love of him and service to yourself,
    I'll not refuse this heavy doleful charge;
    Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me.
    When both our armies were enjoin'd in fight,
    Your worthy cavalier amidst the thickest,
    For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest,
    Was at the last by young Don Balthazar
    Encounter'd hand-to-hand.  Their fight was long,
    Their hearts were great, their clamours menacing,
    Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous;
    But wrathful Nemesis, that wicked power,
    Envying at Andrea's praise and worth,
    Cut short his life to end his praise and worth.
    She, she herself, disguis'd in armour's mask,
    As Pallas was before proud Pergamus,
    Brought in a fresh supply of halberdiers,
    Which punch'd his horse and ding'd him to the ground.
    Then young Don Balthazar, with ruthless rage,
    Taking advantage of his foe's distress,
    Did finish what his halberdiers begun;
    And left not till Andrea's life was done.
    Then, though too late, incens'd with just remorse,
    I with my band set forth against the prince,
    And brought him prisoner from his halberdiers.

  BEL.  Would thou hadst slain him that so slew my love!
    But then was Don Andrea's carcass lost?

  HOR.  No; that was it for which I chiefly strove,
    Nor stepp'd I back till I recover'd him.
    I took him up, and wound him in mine arms,
    And, wielding him unto my private tent,
    There laid him down and dew'd him with my tears,
    And sigh'd and sorrow'd as became a friend.
    But neither friendly sorrow, sighs and tears
    Could win pale Death from his usurped right.
    Yet this I did, and less I could not do:
    I saw him honour'd with due funeral.
    This scarf I pluck'd from off his lifeless arm,
    And wear it in remembrance of my friend.

  BEL.  I know the scarf: would he had kept it still!
    For, had he liv'd, he would have kept it still,
    And worn it for his Bel-imperia's sake;
    For 'twas my favour at his last depart.
    But now wear thou it both for him and me;
    For, after him, thou hast deserv'd it best.
    But, for thy kindness in his life and death,
    Be sure, while Bel-imperia's life endures,
    She will be Don Horatio's thankful friend.

  HOR.  And, madame, Don Horatio will not slack
    Humbly to serve fair Bel-imperia.
    But now, if your good liking stand thereto,
    I'll crave your pardon to go seek the prince;
    For so the duke, your father, gave me charge.

                Exit.

  BEL.  Aye, go, Horatio; leave me here alone,
    For solitude best fits my cheerless mood.--
    Yet what avails to wail Andreas death,
    From whence Horatio proves my second love?
    Had he not lov'd Andrea as he did,
    He could not sit in Bel-imperia's thoughts.
    But how can love find harbour in my breast,
    Till I revenge the death of my belov'd?
    Yes, second love shall further my revenge:
    I'll love Horatio, my Andrea's friend,
    The more to spite the prince that wrought his end;
    And, where Don Balthazar, that slew my love,
    Himself now pleads for favor at my hands,
    He shall, in rigour of my just disdain,
    Reap long repentance for his murderous deed,--
    For what was't else but murderous cowardice,
    So many to oppress one valiant knight,
    Without respect of honour in the fight?
    And here he comes that murder'd my delight.

                Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR.

  LOR.  Sister, what means this melancholy walk?

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

  LOR.  But here the prince is come to visit you.

  BEL.  That argues that he lives in liberty.

  BAL.  No madam, but in pleasing servitude.

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

  BAL.  Aye, by conceit my freedom is enthrall'd.

  BEL.  Then with conceit enlarge yourself again.

  BAL.  What if conceit have laid my heart to gage?

  BEL.  Pay that you borrow'd, and recover it.

  BAL.  I die if it return from whence it lies.

  BEL.  A heartless man, and live?  A miracle!

  BAL.  Aye, lady, love can work such miracles.

  LOR.  Tush, tush, my lord!  let go these ambages,
    And in plain terms acquaint her with your love.

  BEL.  What boots complaint, when there's no remedy?

  BAL.  Yes, to your gracious self must I complain,
    In whose fair answer lies my remedy,
    On whose perfection all my thoughts attend,
    On whose aspect mine eyes find beauty's bower,
    In whose translucent breast my heart is lodg'd.

  BEL. Alas, my lord! These are but words of course,
    And but devis'd to drive me from this place.

                She, going in, lets fall her glove, which
                HORATIO, coming out, takes up.

  HOR.  Madame, your glove.

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

                [BEL-IMPERIA exits.]

  BAL.  Signior Horatio stoop'd in happy time!

  HOR.  I reap'd more grace that I deserv'd or hop'd.

  LOR.  My lord, be not dismay'd for what is past;
    You know that women oft are humorous:
    These clouds will overblow with little wind;
    Let me alone, I'll scatter them myself.
    Meanwhile let us devise to spend the time
    In some delightful sports and revelling.

  HOR.  The king, my lords, is coming hither straight
    To feast the Portingal ambassador;
    Things were in readiness before I came.

  BAL.  Then here it fits us to attend the king,
    To welcome hither our ambassador,
    And learn my father and my country's health.

                Enter the banquet, TRUMPETS, the KING,
                and AMBASSADOR.

  KING.  See, lord ambassador, how Spain entreats
    Their prisoner Balthazar, thy viceroy's son:
    We pleasure more in kindness than in wars.

  AMBASS.  Sad is our king, and Portingal laments,
    Supposing that Don Balthazar is slain.

  BAL. [aside]  So am I, slain by beauty's tyranny!--
    You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slain:
    I frolic with the Duke of Castille's son,
    Wrapp'd every hour in pleasures of the court,
    And grac'd with favours of his Majesty.

  KING.  Put off your greetings till our feast be done;
    Now come and sit with us, and taste our cheer.

                Sit to the banquet.

    Sit down, young prince, you are our second guest;
    Brother, sit down; and nephew, take your place.
    Signior Horatio, wait thou upon our cup,
    For well thou hast deserved to be honour'd.
    Now, lordings, fall too: Spain is Portugal,
    And Portugal is Spain; we both are friends;
    Tribute is paid, and we enjoy our right.
    But where is old Hieronimo, our marshall?
    He promis'd us, in honour of our guest,
    To grace our banquet with some pompous jest.

                Enter HIERONIMO with a DRUM, three KNIGHTS,
                each with scutcheon; then he fetches three
                KINGS; they take their crowns and them
                captive.

    Hieronimo, this makes content mine eye,
    Although I sound not well the mystery.

  HIERO.  The first arm'd knight that hung his scutcheon up

                He takes the scutcheon and gives it to
                the KING.

    Was English Robert, Earle of Gloucester,
    Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,
    Arriv'd with five and twenty thousand men
    In Portingal, and, by success of war,
    Enforc'd the king, then but a Saracen,
    To bear the yoke of the English monarchy.

  KING.  My lord of Portingal, by this you see
    That which may comfort both your king and you,
    And make your late discomfort seem the less.
    But say, Hieronimo:  what was the next?

  HIERO.  The second knight that hung his scutcheon up

                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 walls,
    And took the king of Portingal in fight,--
    For which, and other such service done,
    He after was created Duke of York.

  KING.  This is another special argument
    That Portingal may deign to bear our yoke,
    When it by little England hath been yok'd.
    But now, Hieronimo, what were the last?

  HIERO.  The third and last, not least in our account,

                Doing as before.

    Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman,
    Brave John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster,
    As by his scutcheon plainly may appear:
    He with a puissant army came to Spain
    And took our King of Castille prisoner.

  AMBASS.  This is an argument for our viceroy
    That Spain may not insult for her success,
    Since English warriors likewise conquer'd Spain
    And made them bow their knees to Albion.

  KING.  Hieronimo, I drink to thee for this device,
    Which hath pleas'd both the ambassador and me:
    Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou love the king!

                Takes the cup of HORATIO.

    My lord, I fear we sit but over-long,
    Unless our dainties were more delicate,--
    But welcome are you to the best we have.
    Now let us in, that you may be dispatch'd;
    I think our council is already set.

                Exeunt omnes.

                [CHORUS.]

  ANDREA.  Come we for this from depth of under ground,--
    To see him feast that gave me my death's wound?
    These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soul:
    Nothing but league and love and banqueting!

  REVENGE.  Be still, Andrea;  ere we go from hence,
    I'll turn their friendship into fell despite,
    Their love to mortal hate, their day to night,
    Their hope into despair, their peace to war,
    Their joys to pain, their bliss to misery.

 The scene shifts to Portugal, where the Viceroy laments his misfortune in front of two noblemen, Alexandro and Villuppo. After confirming that an ambassador has been sent to Spain with the required tribute, the Viceroy prostrates himself on the ground. This way, he declares, his fortunes can no fall no further. The Viceroy continues to grieve over his misfortunes and in particular over the loss of his son - if only he himself could have been killed, instead of Balthazar. Alexandro hastens to inform the King that his son is most likely still alive: the prince has been taken prisoner, and his ransom will probably assure his life. Villuppo, however, tells a different tale. After insuring against the King's wrath for being the messenger of bad news, Villuppo claims that he saw Balthazar engaged in battle with the Spanish General, whereupon Alexandro shot the prince in the back. Despite Alexandro's vehement protest, the Viceroy is inclined to believe Villuppo. His nightly dreams, the Viceroy says, have confirmed Villuppo's claim that the Spanish dragged Balthazar's body to their tents. The Viceroy thus turns to Alexandro and accuses him of treachery, speculating that he was blinded by either the Spanish gold or his eventual claim to the throne. The Viceroy takes his crown off and puts it on again, declaring that he will wear it until Alexandro's blood has been spilled. He sends Alexandro to prison and promises Villuppo a reward. The latter delivers a short soliloquy to conclude the scene, revealing desire for a reward as his motive for treachery

