Away, Lorenzo, hinder me no more,
For thou hast made me bankrupt of my bliss.
Give me my son; you shall not ransom him.
Away! I'll rip the bowels of the earth,
[He diggeth with his dagger.
And ferry over to the Elysian plains,
And bring my son to show his deadly wounds.
Stand from about me, I'll make a pickaxe of my poniard,
And here surrender up my marshalship;
For I'll go marshal up the[217] fiends in hell,
To be avenged on you all for this.
King.
What means this outrage?
Will none of you restrain his fury?
Hieronimo.
Nay, soft and fair, you shall not need to strive:
Needs must he go, that [all] the devils drive. [Exit.
King.
What accident hath happ'd[218] Hieronimo?
I have not seen him to demean him so.
Lorenzo.
My gracious lord, he is with extreme pride
Conceiv'd of young Horatio his son,
And covetous of having to himself
The ransom of the young prince Balthazar,
Distract, and in a manner lunatic.