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?