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HIERO.

Vice-roy, I will not trust thee with my life,

Which I this day haue offered to my sonne:

Accursed wretch, why staiest thou him that was resolued to die?

KING.

Speak, traitor! damned, bloudy murderer, speak!—

For, now I haue thee, I wil make thee speak!

Why hast thou done this vndeseruing deed?

VICE.

Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?

CAS.

Why hast thou butchered both my children thus?

HIERO.

O good words! As deare to me was Horatio

As yours, or yours, my l[ord], to you.

My guitles sonne was by Lorenzo slaine;

And by Lorenzo and that Balthazar

Am I at last reuenged thorowly,—

Vpon whole soules may Heauens be yet auenged

With far greater far then these afflictions!

CAS.

But who were thy confederates in this?

VICE.

That was thy daughter Bel-imperia;

For by her hand my Balthazar was slaine,—

I saw her stab him.

KING.

Why speakest thou not?

HIERO.

What lesser libertie can kings affoord

Then harmles silence? That afford it me!

Sufficeth I may not nor I will not tell thee.

KING.

Fetch forth the tortures! Traitor as thou art, Ile make thee tell!

HIERO.Indeed?

Thou maiest torment me as his wretched sonne

Hath done in murdring my Horatio;

But neuer shalt thou force me to reueale

The thing which I haue vowed inviolate.

And therefore, in despight of all thy threats,

Pleasde with their deaths, and easde with their reuenge,

First take my tung, and afterwards my hart!

He bites out his tongue.

KING.

O monstrous resolution of a wretch!

See, Vice-Roy, he hath bitten foorth his tung

Rather than reueale what we requirde.

CAS.

Yet can he write.

KING.

And if in this he satisfie vs not,

We will deuise the 'xtreamest kinde of death

That euer was inuented for a wretch.

Then he makes signes for a knife to mend his pen.

CAS.

O, he would haue a knife to mend his pen.

VICE.

Here; and aduise thee that thou write the troth,—

Look to my brother! saue Hieronimo!

He with a knife stabs the DUKE and himself.

KING.

What age hath euer heard such monstrous deeds?

My brother and the whole succeeding hope

That Spaine expected after my dicease.

Go beare his body hence, that we may mourne

The losse of our beloued brothers death,

That he may be entom'd, what-ere befall.

I am the next, the neerest, last of all.

VICE.

And thou, Don Pedro, do the like for vs:

Take vp our haples sonne vntimely slaine;

Set me vp with him, and he with wofull me,

Vpon the maine-mast of a ship vnmand,

And let the winde and tide [hale] me along

To Sillas barking and vntamed gulfe

Or to the lothsome poole of Archeron,

To weepe my want for my sweet Balthazar.

Spaine hath no refuge for a Portingale!

The trumpets sound a dead march, the KING OF SPAINE

mourning after his brothers body, and the KING OF

PORTINGALE bearing the body of his sonne.

[CHORUS.]

Enter GHOAST and REUENGE.

GHOAST.

I; now my hopes haue end in their effects,

When blood and sorrow finnish my desires:

Horatio murdered in his Fathers bower,

Vilde Serberine by Pedrigano slaine,

False Pedrigano hang'd by quaint deuice,

Faire Isabella by her-selfe misdone,

Prince Balthazar by Bel-imepria stabd,

The Duke of Castile an his wicked sonne

Both done to death by olde Hieronimo,

My Bel-imperia falne as Dido fell,

And good Hieronimo slaine by himselfe!

I, these were spectacles to please my soule.

Now will I beg at louely Proserpine

That, by the vertue of her princely doome,

I may consort my freends in pleasing sort,

And on my foes work iust and sharpe reuenge.

Ile lead my freend Horatio through those feeldes

Where neuer-dying warres are still inurde;

Ile lead faire Isabella to that traine

Where pittie weepes but neuer feeleth paine;

Ile lead my Bel-imperia to those ioyes

That vestal virgins and faire queenes possess;

Ile lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plaies,

Adding sweet pleasure to eternall daies.

But say, Reuenge,—for thou must helpe or none,—

Against the rest how shall my hate be showne?

REUENGE.

This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell,

Where none but furies,