Chapter: [HIERONIMO's house.]

                Enter HIERONIMO.

HIER.  Where shall I run to breath abroad my woes,--
    My woes whose weight hath wearied the earth,
    Or mine exclaims that have surcharg'd the air
    With ceaseless plaints for my deceased son?
    The blust'ring winds, conspiring with my words,
    At my lament have mov'd to leafless trees,
    Disrob'd the meadows of their flower'd green,
    Made mountains marsh with spring-tides of my tears,
    And broken through the brazen gates of hell;
    Yet still tormented is my tortur'd soul
    With broken sighs and restless passions,
    That, winged, mount, and hovering in the air,
    Beat at the windows of the brightest heav'ns,
    Soliciting for justice and revenge.
    But they are plac'd in those empyreal heights,
    Where, countermur'd with walls of diamond,
    I find the place impregnable, and they
    Resist my woes and give my words no way.

                Enter HANGMAN with a letter.

  HANG.  O Lord, sir!  God bless you, sir!  The man, sir,--
    Petergade, sir:  he that was so full of merry conceits--

  HIER.  Well, what of him?

  HANG.  O Lord, sir!  he went the wrong way; the fellow
    had a fair commission to the contrary.  Sir, here is his
    passport, I pray you, sir;  we have done him wrong.

  HIERO.  I warrant thee; give it me.

  HANG.  You will stand between the gallows and me?

  HIERO. Aye, aye!

  HANG.  I thank your lord's worship.

                Exit HANGMAN.

  HIERO.  And yet, though somewhat nearer me concerns
    I will, to ease the grief that I sustain,
    Take truce with sorrow while I read on this.
    [Reads]  "My lord, I writ, as mine extremes requir'd,
    That you would labour my delivery:
    If you neglect, my life is desperate,
    And in my death I shall reveal the troth.
    You know, my lord, I slew him for your sake,
    And was confed'rate with the prince and you;
    Won by rewards and hopeful promises,
    I holp to murder Don Horatio too."--
    Holp he to murder mine Horatio?
    And actors in th' accursed tragedy
    Wast thou, Lorenzo?  Balthazar and thou,
    Of whom my son, my son deserv'd so well?
    What have I heard?  what have mine eyes beheld?
    O sacred heav'ns, may it come to pass
    That such a monstrous and detested deed,
    So closely smoother'd and so long conceal'd,
    Shall thus by this be venged or reveal'd?
    Now see I what I durst not then suspect,
    That Bel-imperia's letter was not feign'd,
    Nor feigned she, though falsely they have wrong'd
    Both her, myself, Horatio and themselves.
    Now may I make compare 'twixt hers and this
    Of every accident.  I ne'er could find
    Till now, and now I feelingly perceive,
    They did what Heav'n unpunish'd should not leave.
    O false Lorenzo!  are these thy flattering looks?
    Is this the honour that thou didst my son?
    And, Balthazar,--bane to thy soul and me!--
    What this the ransom he reserv'd for thee?
    Woe to the cause of these constrained wars!
    Woe to thy baseness and captivity!
    Woe to thy birth, thy body and thy soul,
    Thy cursed father, and thy conquer'd self!
    And bann'd with bitter execrations be
    The day and place where he did pity thee!
    But wherefore waste I mine unfruitful words,
    When naught but blood will satisfy my woes?
    I will go plain me to my lord the king,
    And cry aloud for justice through the court,
    Wearing the flints with these my wither'd feet,
    And either purchase justice by entreats
    Or tire them all with my revenging threats.

                Exit.

 Hieronimo is once again alone, deploring the weight of his sufferance. His "tortured soul" has so far has been unable to reach the "empyreal heights" of justice and revenge. The hangman enters frantically with a letter in hand, claiming that they should not have killed Pedringano. Hieronimo sends him away with a promise to protect him from harm and opens the letter: Pedringano has written his final words to Lorenzo, threatening to reveal the truth before he is hanged. From the letter, Hieronimo deduces that it was Lorenzo and Balthazar who murdered his son. He now realizes the truth behind Bellimperia's letter and resolves to demand justice in front of the King

