Ghost.
Awake, Revenge; if love, as love hath had,
Have yet the power of prevalence in hell:
Hieronimo with Lorenzo is join'd in league,
And intercepts our passage to revenge:
Awake, Revenge, or we are woe-begone.
Revenge.
Thus worldlings ground what they have dream'd upon.
Content thyself, Andrea, though I sleep,
Yet is[269] my mood soliciting their souls:
Sufficeth thee that poor Hieronimo
Cannot forget his son Horatio;
Nor dies Revenge, although he sleep awhile:
For in unquiet quietness is feign'd,[270]
And slumb'ring is a common worldly wile.
Behold, Andrea, for an instance, how
Revenge hath slept, and then imagine thou,
What 'tis to be subject to destiny.
Enter a Dumb-Show.
Ghost.
Awake, Revenge, reveal this mystery.
Revenge.
The two first the nuptial torches bore
As brightly[271] burning as the mid-day's sun:
But after them doth Hymen hie as fast,
Clothed in sable and a saffron robe,
And blows them out, and quencheth them with blood,
As discontent that things continue so.
Ghost.