Viceroy.
Here; and advise thee, that thou write the troth.
Look to my brother, save Hieronimo.
[He with the knife stabs the duke and himself.
King.
What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds?
My brother, and the whole succeeding hope
That[331] Spain expected after my decease!
Go bear his body hence, that we may mourn
The loss of our beloved brother's death,
That he may be entomb'd whate'er befall:
I am the next, the nearest—last of all.
Viceroy.
And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for us:
Take up our hapless son, untimely slain;
Set me with him, and he with woeful me,
Upon the main-mast of a ship unmann'd,
And let the wind and tide hale me along
To Scylla's barking and untamed gulph;
Or to the loathsome pool of Acheron,
To weep my want for[332] my sweet Balthazar:
[Exeunt.
[The trumpets sound a dead march; the King Of Spain mourning after his brother's body, and the King of Portingal bearing the body of his son.
Enter Ghost and Revenge.