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Strikes cares upon their heads with his mad ryots,

Makes them looke old before they meet with age.—

This is a son! And what a losse were this,

Considered truely! Oh, but my Horatio

Grew out of reach of those insatiate humours:

He lovd his loving parents, he was my comfort

And his mothers joy, the very arme that did

Hold up our house, our hopes were stored up in him.

None but a damned murderer could hate him!

He had not seene the backe

Of nineteene yeere, when his strong arme unhorst

The proud prince Balthazar; and his great minde,

Too full of honour tooke him unto mercy,

That valient but ignoble Portingale.

Well! Heaven is Heaven still! And there's Nemesis, and Furies,

And things called whippes, and they sometimes doe meet

With murderers! They doe not alwayes scape,—

That is some comfort! I, I, I; and then

Time steales on, and steales and steales, till violence

Leapes foorth like thunder wrapt in a ball of fire,

And so doth bring confusion to them all.

[End of insertion.]

Good leaue haue you; nay, I pray you goe,

For Ile leaue you, if you can leaue me so.

II PORT.

Pray you, which is the next way to my l[ord]

the dukes?

HIERO.

The next way from me.

I PORT. To the house, we meane.

HIERO.

O hard by; tis yon house that you see.

II PORT.

You could not tell vs if his sonne were there?

HIERO.

Who? my lord Lorenzo?

I PORT. I, sir.

He goeth in at one doore and comes out at another.

HIERO.Oh, forbeare,

For other talke for vs far fitter were!

But, if you be importunate to know

The way to him and where to finde him out,

Then list to me, and Ile resolue your doubt:

There is a path vpon your left hand side

That leadeth from a guiltie conscience

Vnto a forrest of distrust and feare,—

A darksome place and dangerous to passe,—

There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts

Whose balefull humours if you but [behold],

It will conduct you to dispaire and death:

Whose rockie cliffes when you haue once behelde,

Within a hugie dale of lasting night,

That, kindled with worlds of iniquities,

Doth cast vp filthy and detested fumes,—

Not far from thence where murderers haue built

A habitation for their cursed soules,

There, in a brazen caldron fixed by Iove

In his fell wrath vpon a sulpher flame,

Your-selues shall finde Lorenzo bathing him

In boyling lead and blood of innocents.

I PORT. Ha, ha, ha!

HIERO.

Ha, ha, ha! why, ha, ha, ha! Farewell, good ha,

ha, ha!

Exit.

II PORT.

Doubtles this man is passing lunaticke,

Or imperfection of his age doth make him dote.

Come, lets away to seek my lord the duke.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III. SCENE 12.

[The Spanish court.]

Enter HIERONIMO with a ponyard in one hand,

and a rope in the other.

HIERO.

Now, sir, perhaps I come to see the king,

The king sees me, and faine would heare my sute:

Why, is this not a strange and seld-seene thing

That standers by with toyes should strike me mute?

Go too, I see their shifts, and say no more;

Hieronimo, tis time for thee to trudge!

Downe by the dale that flowes with purple gore

Standeth a firie tower; there sits a iudge

Vpon a seat of steele and molten brasse,

And twixt his teeth he holdes afire-brand,

That leades vnto the lake where he doth stand.

Away, Hieronimo; to him be gone:

Heele doe thee iustice for Horatios death.

Turne down this path, thou shalt be with him straite;

Or this, and then thou needst not take thy breth.

This way, or that way? Soft and faire, not so!

For, if I hang or kill my-selfe, lets know

Who will reuenge Horatios murther then!

No, no; fie, no! pardon me, ile none of that:

He flings away the dagger & halter.

This way Ile take; and this way comes the king,

He takes them up againe.

And heere Ile haue a fling at him, thats flat!

And, Balthazar, Ile be with thee to bring;

And thee, Lorenzo! Heeres the king; nay, stay!

And heere,—I, heere,—there goes the hare away!

Enter KING, EMBASSADOR, CASTILLE, and

LORENZO.

KING.

Now shew, embassadour, what our viceroy saith:

Hath hee receiu'd the articles we sent?