O, hard by; 'tis yon house that you see.
2 Portingal.
You could not tell us if his son were there?
Hieronimo.
Who, my Lord Lorenzo?
1 Portingal.
Ay, sir.
[He goes in at one door, and comes out at another.
Hieronimo.
O, forbear!
For other talk for us far fitter were;
But if you be importunate[211] to know
The way to him, and where to find him out,
Then list to me, and I'll resolve your doubt.
There is a path upon your left-hand side,
That leadeth from a guilty conscience
Unto a forest of distrust and fear—
A darksome place, and dangerous to pass;
There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts,
Whose baleful humours if you but uphold,[212]
It will conduct you to despair and death;
Whose rocky cliffs when you have once beheld,
Within a hugy dale of lasting night,
That,[213] kindled with the world's iniquities,
Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes:
Not far from thence, where murderers have built
An habitation for their cursed souls,
There is a brazen cauldron, fix'd by Jove,
In his fell wrath, upon a sulphur flame,
Yourselves shall find Lorenzo bathing him
In boiling lead and blood of innocents.