The Spanish Tragedy

Produced by Richard Schwarz
1587
By Thomas Kyd
Containing the lamentable end of DON HORATIO, and BEL-IMPERIA: with the pitiful death of old HIERONIMO.
Newly corrected and amended of such gross faults as passed in the first impression.
At London
Printed by Edward Allde, for
Edward White
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.