Now, tragedy, thou minion of the night,
Rhamnusia's[77] pew-fellow, to thee I'll sing
Upon a harp made of dead Spanish bones,
The proudest instrument the world affords;
When thou in crimson jollity shalt bathe
Thy limbs, as black as mine, in springs of blood
Still gushing from the conduit-head of Spain.
To thee, that never blushest, though thy cheeks
Are full of blood—O Saint Revenge, to thee
I consecrate my murders, all my stabs,
My bloody labours, tortures, stratagems,
The volume of all wounds that wound from me;
Mine is the stage, thine is the tragedy.
Where am I now? O, at the prison; true.
Zarack and Balthazar, come hither; see,
Survey my library. I study, ha,
Whilst you two sleep; marry, 'tis villany.
Here's a good book, Zarack, behold it well,
It's deeply written, for 'twas made in hell:
Now, Balthazar, a better book for thee;
But for myself, this, this, the best of all;
And therefore do I claim it every day,
For fear the readers steal the art away.
Where thou stand'st now, there must Hortenzo hang,
Like Tantalus in a maw-eating pang.
There, Balthazar, must Prince Philip stand,
Like damn'd Prometheus; and to act his part,
Shall have a dagger sticking at his heart.
But in my room I'll set the cardinal,
And he shall preach repentance to them all.
Ha, ha, ha!
Phil. Damnation tickles him; he laughs again.
Philip must stand there, and bleed to death.
Well, villain, I only laugh to see
That we shall live to outlaugh him and thee.
Ele. O, fit, fit, fit! stay, a rare jest, rare jest!
Zarack, suppose thou art Hortenzo now;
I pray thee stand in passion of a pang,
To see, by thee, how quaintly he would hang.
Hor. I am Hortenzo; tut, tut, fear not, man;
Thou lookest like Zarack.
[Aside.
Ele. Ay, Hortenzo,
He shall hang here, i' faith; come, Zarack, come,
And, Balthazar, take thou Philippo's room:
First let me see you plac'd.
Phil. We're plac'd.
Ele. Slaves; ha, ha, ha!
You are but players, that[78] must end the play;
How like Hortenzo and Philippo! ha!
Stand my two slaves, were they as black as you.
Well, Zarack, I'll unfix thee first of all,
Thou shalt help me to play the cardinal:
This iron engine on his head I'll clap,
Like a pope's mitre or a cardinal's cap;
Then manacle his hands, as thou dost mine;
So, so, I pray thee, Zarack, set him free,
That both of you may stand and laugh at me.
Phil. 'Tis fine, i' faith; call in more company;
Alvero, Roderigo, and the rest:
Who will not laugh at Eleazar's jest?
Ele. What? Zarack, Balthazar!