[Exeunt all but the Old Man.
Bazulto remains, till Hieronimo enters again, who staring him in the face speaks.
Hieronimo.
And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth,
To ask for justice in this upper earth,
To tell thy father thou art unreveng'd,
To wring more tears from Isabella's eyes,
Whose lights are dimm'd with overlong laments?
Go back, my son, complain to Æacus,
For here's no justice; gentle boy, be gone,
For justice is exiled from the earth:
Hieronimo will bear thee company.
Thy mother cries on righteous Rhadamant
For just revenge against the murderers.
Senex.
Alas! my lord, whence springs this troubled speech?
Hieronimo.
But let me look on my Horatio.
Sweet boy, how[246] art thou[247] chang'd in death's black shade!
Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth,
But suffer'd thy fair crimson-colour'd spring
With withered winter to be blasted thus?
Horatio, thou art older[248] than thy father:
Ah, ruthless father, that favour thus transforms!
Bazulto.
Ah, my good lord! I am not your young son.