[ACT II. SCENE 2.]
[The Duke's Castle]
Enter HORATIO and BEL-IMPERIA.
HOR. Now, madame, since by fauour of your love
Our hidden smoke is turnd to open flame,
And that with lookes and words we feed our thought,—
Two chiefe contents where more cannot be had,—
Thus in the midst of loues faire blandeshments
Why shew you signe of inward languishments?
PEDRINGANO sheweth all to the PRINCE and
LORENZO, placing them in secret.
BEL. My hart, sweet freend, is like a ship at sea:
She wisheth port, where, riding all at ease,
She may repaire what stormie times haue worne,
And, leaning on the shore, may sing with ioy
That pleasure followes paine, and blisse annoy.
Possession of thy loue is th' onely port
Wherein my hart, with feares and hopes long tost,
Each howre doth wish and long to make resort,
There to repaire the ioyes that it hath lost,
And, sitting safe, to sing in Cupids quire
That sweetest blisse is crowne of loues desire.
BALTHAZAR, aboue.
BAL. O sleepe, mine eyes; see not my loue prophande!
Be deafe, my ears; heare not my discontent!
Dye, hart; another ioyes what thou deseruest!
LOR. Watch still, mine eyes, to see this loue disioyned!
Heare still, mine eares, to heare them both lament!
Liue, hart, to ioy at fond Horatios fall!
BEL. Why stands Horatio speecheles all this while?
HOR. The lesse I speak, the more I meditate.
BEL. But whereon doost thou cheifely meditate?
HOR. On dangers past and pleasures to ensue.
BAL. On pleasures past and dangers to ensue!
BEL. What dangers and what pleasures doost thou mean?
HOR. Dangers of warre and pleasures of our loue.
LOR. Dangers of death, but pleasures none at all!
BEL. Let dangers goe; thy warre shall be with me,
But such a [warre] as breakes no bond of peace.
Speake thou faire words, Ile crosse them with faire words;
Send thou sweet looks, Ile meet them with sweet looks;
Write louing lines, Ile answere louing lines;
Giue me a kisse, Ile counterchecke thy kisse:
Be this our warring peace, or peacefull warre.
HOR. But, gratious madame, then appoint the field
Where triall of this warre shall first be made.
BAL. Ambitious villaine, how his boldenes growes!
BEL. Then be thy fathers pleasant bower in the field,—
Where first we vowd a mutuall amitie.
The court were dangerous; that place is safe.
Our howre shalbe when Vesper ginnes to rise,
That summons home distresfull trauellers.
There none shall heare vs but the harmeles birds:
Happelie the gentle nightingale
Shall carroll vs a-sleepe ere we be ware,
And, singing wit the prickle at her breast,
Tell our delight and mirthfull dalliance.
Till then, each houre will seeme a yeere and more.
HOR. But, honie-sweet and honorable loue,
Returne we now into your fathers sight;
Dangerous suspition waits on our delight.
LOR. I, danger mixt with iealous despite
Shall send thy soule into eternalle night!
Exeunt.
[ACT II. SCENE 3.]
[The Spanish court.]
Enter the KING OF SPAINE, PORTINGALE
EMBASSADOUR, DON CIPRIAN, &c.
KING. Brother of Castille, to the princes loue
What saies your daughter Bel-imperia?
CIP. Although she coy it, as becomes her kinde,
And yet dissemble that she loues the prince,
I doubt not, I, but she will stoope in time;
And, were she froward,—which she will not be,—
Yet heerin shall she follow my aduice,
Which is to loue him or forgoe my loue.
KING. Then, lord embassadour of Portingale,
Aduise thy king to make this marriage vp
For strengthening of our late-confirmed league;
I know no better meanes to make vs freends.
Her dowry shall be large and liberall;
Besides that she is daughter and halfe heire
Vnto our brother heere, Don Ciprian,
And shall enioy the moitie of his land,
Ile grace her marriage with an vnckles gift,
And this is it: in case the match goe forward,
The tribute which you pay shalbe releast;
And, if by Balthazar she haue a sonne,
He shall enioy the kingdome after vs.
EMBAS. Ile make the motion to my soueraigne liege,
And worke it if my counsaile may preuaile.
KING. Doe so, my lord; and, if he giue consent,
I hope his presence heere will honour vs
In celebration of the nuptiall day,—
And let himselfe determine of the time.
EM. Wilt please your Grace command me ought besid?
KING. Commend me to the king; and so, farewell!
But wheres Prince Balthazar, to take his leaue?
EM. That is perfourmd alreadie, my good lord.
KING. Amongst the rest of what you haue in charge,
The princes raunsome must not be forgot:
Thats none of mine, but his that tooke him prisoner,—
And well his forwardnes deserues reward:
It was Horatio, our knight-marshalls sonne.
EM. Betweene vs theres a price already pitcht,
And shall be send with all conuenient speed.
KING. Then once againe farewell, my lord!
EM. Farwell, my lord of Castile, and the rest!
Exit.
KING. Now, brother, you must make some little paines
To winne faire Bel-imperia from her will;
Young virgins must be ruled by their freends.
The prince is amiable, and loues her well;
If she neglect him and forgoe his loue,
She both will wrong her owne estate and ours.
Therefore, whiles I doe entertaine the prince
With greatest pleasure that our court affoords,
Endeauor you to winne your daughters thought.
If she giue back, all this will come to naught.
Exeunt.
[ACT II. SCENE 4.]
[HORATIO's garden.]
Enter HORATIO, BEL-IMPERIA, and PEDRINGANO.
HOR. Now that the night begins with sable wings
To ouer-cloud the brightnes of the sunne,
And that in darkenes pleasures may be done,
Come, Bel-imperia, let vs to the bower,
And there is safetie passe a pleasant hower.
BEL. I follow thee, my loue, and will not backe,
Although my fainting hart controles my soule.
HOR. Why, make you doubt of Pedringanos faith?
BEL. No; he is as trustie as my second selfe.
Goe, Pedringano, watch without the gate,
And let vs known if any make approach.
PED. [aside] In-steed of watching, Ile deserue more golde
By fetching Don Lorenzo to this match.
Exit PED[RINGANO].
HOR. What means my loue?
BEL. I know not what, my-selfe;
And yet my hart foretels me some mischaunce.
HOR. Sweet, say not so; faire Fortune is our freend,
And heauens haue shut vp day to pleasure vs.
The starres, thou seest, holde back their twinckling shine
And Luna hides her-selfe to pleasure vs.
BEL. Thou hast preuailed! Ile conquer my misdoubt,
And in thy loue and councell drowne my feare.
I feare no more; loue now is all my thoughts!
Why sit we not? for pleasure asketh ease.
HOR. The more thou sitst within these leauy bowers,
The more will Flora decke it with her flowers.
BEL. I; but, if Flora spye Horatio heere,
Her iealous eye will think I sit too neere.
HOR. Harke, madame, how the birds record by night,
For ioy that Bel-imperia sits in sight!
BEL. No; Cupid counterfeits the nightingale,
To frame sweet musick to Horatios tale.
HOR. If Cupid sing, then Venus is not farre,—
I, thou art Venus, or some fairer starre!
BEL. If I be Venus, thou must needs be Mars;
And where Mars raigneth, there must needs be warres.
HOR. Then thus begin our wars: put forth thy hand,
That it may combat with my ruder hand.
BEL. Set forth thy foot to try the push of mine.
HOR. But, first, my lookes shall combat against thee.
BEL. Then ward thy-selfe! I dart this kiss as thee.
HOR. Thus I [return] the dart thou threwest at me!
BEL. Nay then, to gaine the glory of the field,
My twining armes shall yoake and make thee yeeld.
HOR. Nay then, my armes are large and strong withall:
Thus elmes by vines are compast till they fall.
BEL. O, let me goe, for in my troubled eyes
Now maist thou read that life in passion dies!
HOR. O, stay a-while, and I will dye with thee;
So shalt thou yeeld, and yet haue conquerd me.
BEL. Whose there? Pedringano? We are betraide!
Enter LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, CERBERIN,
PEDRINGANO, disguised.
LOR. My lord, away with her! take her aside!
O sir, forbeare, your valour is already tride.
Quickly dispatch, my maisters.
Th[e]y hang him in the arbor.
HOR. What, will you murder me?
LOR. I; thus! and thus! these are the fruits of loue!
They stab him.
BEL. O, saue his life, and let me dye for him!
O, saue him, brother! saue him, Balthazar!
I loued Horatio, but he loued not me.
BAL. But Balthazar loues Bel-imperia.
LOR. Although his life were still ambitious, proud,
Yet is he at the highest now he is dead.
BEL. Murder! murder! helpe! Hieronimo, helpe!
LOR. Come, stop her mouth! away with her!
Exeunt.
Enter HIERONIMO in his shirt, &c.
HIERO. What outcried pluck me from my naked bed,
And chill my throbbing hart with trembling feare,
Which neuer danger yet could daunt before?
Who cals Hieronimo? speak; heare I am!
I did not slumber; therefore twas no dreame.
No, no; it was some woman cride for helpe.
And heere within this garden did she crie,
And in this garden must I rescue her.
But stay! what murderous spectacle is this?
A man hanged vp, and all the murderers gone!
And in the bower, to lay the guilt on me!
This place was made for pleasure not for death.
He cuts him downe.
Those garments that he weares I oft haue seene,—
Alas! it is Horatio, my sweet sonne!
O, no; but he that whilome was my sonne!
O, was it thou that call'dst me from my bed?
O, speak, if any sparke of life remaine!
I am thy father. Who hath slaine my sonne?
What sauadge monster, not of humane kinde,
Hath heere beene glutted with thy harmeles blood,
And left they bloudie corpes dishonoured heere,
For me amidst these darke and dreadfull shades
To drowne thee with an ocean of my teares?
O heauens, why made you night, to couer sinne?
By day this deed of darknes had not beene.
O earth, why didst thou not in time deuoure
The [vile] prophaner of this sacred bower?
O poore Horatio, what hadst thou misdoone
To leese thy life ere life was new begun?
O wicked butcher, what-so-ere thou wert,
How could thou strangle vertue and desert?
Ay me, most wretched! that haue lost my ioy
In leesing my Horatio, my sweet boy!
Enter ISABELL.
ISA. My husbands absence makes my hart to throb.
Hieronimo!
HIERO. Heere, Isabella. Helpe me to lament;
For sighes are stopt, and all my teares are spent.
ISA. What worlde of griefe—my sonne Horatio!
O wheres the author of this endles woe?
HIERO. To know the author were some ease of greefe,
For in reuenge my hart would finde releefe.
ISA. Then is he gone? and is my sonne gone too?
O, gush out, teares! fountains and flouds of teares!
Blow, sighes, and raise and euerlasting storme;
For outrage fits our cursed wretchedness.
HIERO. Sweet louely rose, ill pluckt before thy time!
Faire, worthy sonne, not conquerd, but betraid!
Ile kisse thee now, for words with teares are [stainde].
ISA. And Ile close vp the glasses of his sight;
For once these eyes were onely my delight.
HIERO. Seest thou this handkercher besmerd with blood?
It shall not from me till I take reuenge;
Seest thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh?
Ile not intombe them till I haue reueng'd:
Then will I ioy amidst my discontent,
Till then, my sorrow neuer shalbe spent.
ISA. The heauens are iust, murder cannot be hid;
Time is the author of both truth and right,
And time will bring this trecherie to light.
HIERO. Meane-while, good Isabella, cease thy plaints,
Or, at the least, dissemble them awhile;
So shall we sooner finde the practise out,
And learne by whome all this was brought about.
Come, Isabell, now let vs take him vp.
They take him vp.
And beare him in from out this cursed place.
Ile say his dirge,—singing fits not this case.
O aliquis mihi quas pulchrum ver educet herbas
HIERO[NIMO] sets his brest vnto his sword.
Misceat, et nostro detur medicina dolori;
Aut siqui faciunt annorum obliuia succos
Prebeat; ipse metam megnum quaecunque per orbem
Gramina sol pulchras eiecit lucis in oras.
Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni,
Quicquid et irarum ui caeca nenia nectit.
Omnia perpetiar, lethum quoque, dum semel omnis
Nost in extincto moriatur pectore sensus.
Ergo tua perpetuus speeliuit limunia somnus?
Emoriar tecum: sic, sic iuuat ire sub vmbras!
Attamen absistam properato cedere letho,
Ne mortem vindicta tuam tum nulla sequatur.
Heere he throwes it from him and beares the
body away.
[CHORUS.]
ANDREA. Broughtst thou me hether to increase my paine?
I lookt that Balthazar should haue been slaine;
But tis my freend Horatio that is slaine,
And they abuse faire Bel-imperia,
On whom I doted more then all the world,
Because she lou'd me more then all the world.
REUENGE. Thou talkest of haruest, when the corne is greene;
The end is [growne] of euery worke well done;
The sickle comes not till the corne be ripe.
Be still, and, ere I lead thee from this place,
Ile shew thee Balthazar in heauy case.