ANDREA. Brought'st thou me hither to increase my pain?
I look'd that Balthazar should have been slain;
But 'tis my friend Horatio that is slain,
And they abuse fair Bel-imperia,
On whom I doted more then all the world,
Because she lov'd me more then all the world.
REVENGE. Thou talk'st of harvest, when the corn is green;
The end is crown of every work well done;
The sickle comes not till the corn be ripe.
Be still, and, ere I lead thee from this place,
I'll show thee Balthazar in heavy case.
ACTUS TERTIUS.
[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
[The Portuguese court.]
Enter VICEROY OF PORTINGAL, NOBLES, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO.
VICEROY. Infortunate condition of kings,
Seated amidst so many helpless doubts!
First, we are plac'd upon extremest height,
And oft supplanted with exceeding hate,
But ever subject to the wheel of chance;
And at our highest never joy we so
As we doubt and dread our overthrow.
So striveth not the waves with sundry winds
As fortune toileth in the affairs of kings,
That would be fear'd, yet fear to be belov'd,
Sith fear and love to kings is flattery.
For instance, lordings, look upon your king,
By hate deprived of his dearest son,
The only hope of our successive line.
NOB. I had not thought that Alexandro's heart
Had been envenom'd with such extreme hate;
But now I see that words have several works,
And there's no credit in the countenance.
VIL. No, for, my lord, had you beheld the train
That feigned love had colour'd in his looks
When he in camp consorted Balthazar,
Far more inconstant had you thought the sun,
That hourly coasts the center of the earth,
Then Alexandro's purpose to the prince.
VICE. No more, Villuppo! thou hast said enough,
And with thy words thou slay'st our wounded thoughts.
Nor shall I longer dally with the world,
Procrastinating Alexandro's death.
Go, some of you, and fetch the traitor forth,
That, as he is condemned, he may die.