And yet, though somewhat nearer me concerns,
I will, to ease the grief that I sustain,
Take truce with sorrow, while I read on this.

My lord, I write as mine extremes requir'd,
That you would labour my delivery:
If you neglect, my life is desperate;
And in my death I shall reveal the troth.
You know, my lord, I slew him for your sake,
And was confederate with the prince and you:
Won by rewards and hopeful promises,
I holp to murder Don Horatio too.

Holp he to murder mine Horatio?
And actors in the accursed tragedy
Wast thou, Lorenzo, Balthazar and thou,
Of whom my son, my son deserv'd so well?
What have I heard? what have mine eyes beheld?
O sacred heavens! may it come to pass
That such a monstrous and detested deed,
So closely smother'd and so long conceal'd,
Shall thus by this be venged[185] or reveal'd?
Now see I what I durst not then suspect,
That Bell'-Imperia's letter was not feign'd;
Nor feigned she, though falsely they have wrong'd
Both her, myself, Horatio, and themselves.
Now may I make compare 'twixt hers and this,
Of every accident I ne'er could find
Till now, and now I feelingly perceive
They did what heaven unpunish'd would[186] not leave.
O false Lorenzo! are these thy flattering looks?
Is this the honour that thou didst my son?
And Balthazar, bane to thy soul and me,
Was this the ransom he reserv'd thee for?[187]
Woe to the cause of these constrained wars!
Woe to thy baseness and captivity!
Woe to thy birth, thy body and thy soul,
Thy cursed father and thy conquer'd self!
And ban'd with bitter execrations be
The day and place, where he did pity thee!
But wherefore waste I mine unfruitful words,
When nought but blood will satisfy my woes?
I will go plain me to my lord the king,
And cry aloud for justice through the court,
Wearing the flints with these my wither'd feet;
And either purchase justice by entreats,
Or tire them all with my revenging threats.

[Exit.

FOOTNOTES:

[135] The harvest, 1618, '23, '33.

[136] Growne, ditto.

[137] [The scene again changes to Portugal.]

[138] Mr Reed printed the line as follows, without any authority, and to the injury of the metre:—

"Unfortunate condition of great kings."