GHOST OF ANDREA |
REVENGE | the Chorus.
KING OF SPAIN.
VICEROY OF PORTUGAL.
DON PEDRO, the viceroy's brother.
DON CIPRIAN, duke of Castile.
HIERONIMO, knight-marshall of Spain.
BALTHAZAR, the Viceroy's son.
LORENZO, Don Ciprian's son [and Bel-imperia's brother].
HORATIO, Hieronimo's son.
ALEXANDRO |
VILLUPPO | lords of Portugal.
PEDRINGANO, servant of Bel-imperia.
SERBERINE, servant of Balthazar.
Spanish General, Portuguese Ambassador,
Hangman, Soldiers, Attendants, &c.
BEL-IMPERIA, Lorenzo's sister.
ISABELLA, Hieronimo's wife.
PAGE.
MESSENGER.
CHRISTOPHEL.
SERVANT.
SENEX (DON BAZULTO).
CITIZENS.
[Prologue]
Enter the GHOST OF ANDREA, and with him REVENGE.
GHOST. When this eternal substance of my soul
Did live imprison'd in my wanton flesh,
Each in their function serving others' need,
I was a courtier in the Spanish court:
My name was Don Andrea; my descent,
Though not ignoble, yet inferior far
To gracious fortunes of my tender youth,
For there, in prime and pride of all my years,
By duteous service and deserving love,
In secret I possess'd a worthy dame,
Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.
But in the harvest of my summer joys
Death's winter nipped the blossoms of my bliss,
Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me;
For in the late conflict with Portingal
My valour drew me into danger's mouth
Till life to death made passage through my wounds.
When I was slain, my soul descended straight
To pass the flowing stream of Acheron;
But churlish Charon, only boatman there,
Said that, my rites of burial not perform'd,
I might not sit amongst his passengers.
Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis' lap,
And slak'd his smoking chariot in her flood,
By Don Horatio, our knight-marshall's son,
My funerals and obsequies were done.
Then was the ferryman of hell content
To pass me over to the slimy strand
That leads to fell Avernus' ugly waves.
There, pleasing Cerberus with honeyed speech,
I passed the perils of the foremost porch.
Not far from hence, amidst ten thousand souls,
Sat Minos, Eacus and Rhadamant;
To whom no sooner 'gan I make approach,
To crave a passport for my wandering ghost,
But Minos in graven leaves of lottery
Drew forth the manner of my life and death.
"This knight," quoth he, "both liv'd and died in love;
And for his love tried fortune of the wars;
And by war's fortune lost both love and life."
"Why then," said Eacus, "convey him hence
To walk with lovers in our field of love
And the course of everlasting time
Under green myrtle-trees and cypress shades."
"No, no!" said Rhadamant, "it were not well
With loving souls to place a martialist.
He died in war, and must to martial fields,
Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain,
And Achilles' Myrmidons do scour the plain."
Then Minos, mildest censor of the three,
Made this device, to end the difference:
"Send him," quoth he, "to our infernal king,
To doom him as best seems his Majesty."
To this effect my passport straight was drawn.
In keeping on my way to Pluto's court
Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night,
I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell
Or pens can write or mortal hearts can think.
Three ways there were: that on the right hand side
Was ready way unto the 'foresaid fields
Where lovers live and bloody martialists,
But either sort contain'd within his bounds;
The left hand path, declining fearfully,
Was ready downfall to the deepest hell,
Where bloody Furies shake their whips of steel,
And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel,
Where usurers are chok'd with melting gold,
And wantons are embrac'd with ugly snakes,
And murderers groan with never-killing wounds,
And perjur'd wights scalded in boiling lead,
And all foul sins with torments overwhelm'd;
'Twixt these two ways I trod the middle path,
Which brought me to the fair Elysian green,
In midst whereof there stands a stately tower,
The walls of brass, the gates of adamant.
Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine,
I show'd my passport, humbled on my knee.
Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile,
And begg'd that only she might give me doom.
Pluto was pleas'd, and seal'd it with a kiss.
Forthwith, Revenge, she rounded thee in th' ear,
And bad thee lead me though the gates of horn,
Where dreams have passage in the silent night.
No sooner had she spoke but we were here,
I wot not how, in the twinkling of an eye.
REVENGE. Then know, Andrea, that thou arriv'd
Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,
Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingal,
Depriv'd of life by Bel-imperia:
Here sit we down to see the mystery,
And serve for Chorus in this tragedy.
[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
[The Spanish Court]
Enter SPANISH KING, GENERAL, CASTILLE, HIERONIMO.
KING. Now say, lord general: how fares our camp?
GEN. All well, my sovereign liege, except some few
That are deceas'd by fortune of the war.
KING. But what portends thy cheerful countenance
And posting to our presence thus in haste?
Speak, man: hath fortune given us victory?
GEN. Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.
KING. Our Portugals will pay us tribute then?
GEN. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithal.
KING. Then blest be Heav'n, and Guider of the heav'ns,
From whose fair influence such justice flows!
CAST. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,
Et conjuratae curvato poplite gentes
Succumbunt: recti soror est victoria juris!
KING. Thanks to my loving brother of Castille.
But, general, unfold in brief discourse
Your form of battle and your war's success,
That, adding all the pleasure of thy news
Unto the height of former happiness,
With deeper wage and gentle dignity
We may reward thy blissful chivalry.
GEN. Where Spain and Portingal do jointly knit
Their frontiers, leaning on each other's bound,
There met our armies in the proud array:
Both furnish'd well, both full of hope and fear,
Both menacing alike with daring shows,
Both vaunting sundry colours of device,
Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes,
Both raising dreadful clamors to the sky,
That valleys, hills, and rivers made rebound
And heav'n itself was frighted with the sound.
Our battles both were pitch'd in squadron form,
Each corner strongly fenc'd with wings of shot;
But, ere we join'd and came to push of pike,
I brought a squadron of our readiest shot
From out our rearward to begin the fight;
They brought another wing to encounter us;
Meanwhile our ordnance play'd on either side,
And captains strove to have their valours try'd.
Don Pedro, their chief horsemen's colonel,
Did with his cornet bravely make attempt
To break the order of our battle ranks;
But Don Rogero, worthy man of war,
March'd forth against him with our musketeers
And stopp'd the malice of his fell approach.
While they maintain hot skirmish to and fro,
Both battles join and fall to handy blows,
Their violent shot resembling th' oceans rage
When, roaring loud and with a swelling tide,
It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks,
And gapes to swallow neighbor-bounding lands.
Now, while Bellona rageth here and there,
Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail,
And shiver'd lances dark the troubled air;
Pede pes & cuspide cuspis,
Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro;
On every side drop captains to the ground,
And soldiers, some ill-maim'd, some slain outright:
Here falls a body sunder'd from his head;
There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass,
Mingled with weapons and unbowel'd steeds,
That scattering over-spread the purple plain.
In all this turmoil, three long hours and more
The victory to neither part inclin'd,
Till Don Andrea with his brave lancers
In their main battle made so great a breach
That, half dismay'd, the multitude retir'd.
But Balthazar, the Portingales' young prince,
Brought rescue and encourag'd them to stay.
Here-hence the fight was eagerly renew'd,
And in that conflict was Andrea slain,—
Brave man-at-arms, but weak to Balthazar.
Yet, while the prince, insulting over him,
Breath'd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproach,
Friendship and hardy valour join'd in one
Prick'd forth Horatio, our knight-marshall's son,
To challenge forth that prince in single fight.
Not long between these twain the fight endur'd,
But straight the prince was beaten from his horse
And forc'd to yield him prisoner to his foe.
When he was taken, all the rest fled,
And our carbines pursu'd them to death,
Till, Phoebus waning to the western deep,
Our trumpeters were charg'd to sound retreat.
KING. Thanks, good lord general, for these good news!
And, for some argument of more to come,
Take this and wear it for thy sovereign's sake.
Give him his chain.
But tell me now: hast thou confirm'd a peace?
GEN. No peace, my liege, but peace conditional,
That, if with homage tribute be well paid,
The fury of your forces will be stay'd.
And to this peace their viceroy hath subscrib'd,
Give the King a paper.
And made a solemn vow that during life
His tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.
KING. These words, these deeds become thy person well.
But now, knight-marshall, frolic with thy king,
For 'tis thy son that wins this battle's prize.
HIERO. Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege!
And soon decay unless he serve my liege!
A trumpet afar off.
KING. Nor thou nor he shall die without reward.
What means this warning of this trumpet's sound?
GEN. This tells me that your Grace's men of war,
Such as war's fortune hath reserv'd from death,
Come marching on towards your royal seat,
To show themselves before your Majesty;
For so gave I in charge at my depart.
Whereby by demonstration shall appear
That all, except three hundred or few more,
Are safe return'd and by their foes enrich'd.
The army enters, BALTHAZAR between LORENZO
and HORATIO, captive.
KING. A gladsome sight! I long to see them here.
They enter and pass by.
Was that the warlike prince of Portingal
That by our nephew was in triumph led?
GEN. It was, my liege, the prince of Portingal.
KING. But what was he that on the other side
Held him by th' arm as partner of the prize?
HIERO. That was my son, my gracious sovereign;
Of whom though from his tender infancy
My loving thoughts did never hope but well,
He never pleasd his father's eyes till now,
Nor fill'd my heart with overcloying joys.
KING. Go, let them march once more about these walls,
That staying them we may confer and talk
With our brave prisoner and his double guard.
[Exit a MESSENGER.]
Hieoronimo, it greatly pleaseth us
That in our victory thou have a share
By virtue of thy worthy son's exploit.
Enter again.
Bring hither the young prince of Portingal!
The rest march on, but, ere they be dismiss'd,
We will bestow on every soldier
Two ducats, and on every leader ten,
That they may know our largesse welcomes them.
Exeunt all [the army] but BAL[THAZAR],
LOR[ENZO], and HOR[ATIO].
KING. Welcome, Don Balthazar! Welcome nephew!
And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too!
Young prince, although thy father's hard misdeeds
In keeping back the tribute that he owes
Deserve but evil measure at our hands,
Yet shalt thou know that Spain is honourable.
BALT. The trespass that my father made in peace
Is now controll'd by fortune of the wars;
And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so.
His men are slain,—a weakening to his realm;
His colours seiz'd,—a blot unto his name;
His son distress'd,—a corsive to his heart;
These punishments may clear his late offence.
KING. Aye, Balthazar, if he observe this truce,
Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars.
Meanwhile live thou, though not in liberty,
Yet free from bearing any servile yoke;
For in our hearing thy deserts were great.
And in our sight thyself art gracious.
BALT. And I shall study to deserve this grace.
KING. But tell me,—for their holding makes me doubt:
To which of these twain art thou prisoner?
LOR. To me, my liege.
HOR. To me, my sovereign.
LOR. This hand first took his courser by the reins.
HOR. But first my lance did put him from his horse.
LOR. I seiz'd the weapon and enjoy'd it first.
HOR. But first I forc'd him lay his weapons down.
KING. Let go his arm, upon my privilege!
Let him go.
Say, worthy prince: to whether didst thou yield?