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SCENE IV
Enter Horatio, Bellimperia, and Pedringano.
Hor. Now that the night begins with sable wings
To overcloud the brightness of the sun,
And that in darkness pleasures may be done:
Come, Bellimperia, let us to the bow'r,
And there in safety pass a pleasant hour.
Bel. I follow thee, my love, and will not back,
Although my fainting heart controls my soul.
Hor. Why, make you doubt of Pedringano's faith?
Bel. No, he is as trusty as my second self.
Go, Pedringano, watch without the gate,
And let us know if any make approach.
Ped. [Aside]. Instead of watching, I 'll deserve more gold
By fetching Don Lorenzo to this match.
[Exit Pedringano.
Hor. What means my love?
Bel. I know not what myself;
And yet my heart foretells me some mischance.
Hor. Sweet, say not so; fair fortune is our friend,
And heav'ns have shut up day to pleasure us.
The stars, thou see'st, hold back their twinkling shine,
And Luna hides herself to pleasure us.
Bel. Thou hast prevail'd; I 'll conquer my misdoubt,
And in thy love and counsel drown my fear.
I fear no more; love now is all my thoughts.
Why sit we not? for pleasure asketh ease.
Hor. The more thou sit'st within these leafy bowers,
The more will Flora deck it with her flowers.
Bel. Ay, but if Flora spy Horatio here,
Her jealous eye will think I sit too near.
Hor. Hark, madam, how the birds record by night,
For joy that Bellimperia sits in sight.
Bel. No, Cupid counterfeits the nightingale,
To frame sweet music to Horatio's tale.
Hor. If Cupid sing, then Venus is not far:
Ay, thou art Venus, or some fairer star.
Bel. If I be Venus, thou must needs be Mars;
And where Mars reigneth, there must needs be wars.
Hor. Then thus begin our wars: put forth thy hand,
That it may combat with my ruder hand.
Bel. Set forth thy foot to try the push of mine.
Hor. But first my looks shall combat against thine.
Bel. Then ward thyself: I dart this kiss at thee.
Hor. Thus I retort the dart thou threw'st at me.
Bel. Nay, then to gain the glory of the field,
My twining arms shall yoke and make thee yield.
Hor. Nay, then my arms are large and strong withal:
Thus elms by vines are compass'd, till they fall.
Bel. O, let me go; for in my troubled eyes
Now may'st thou read that life in passion dies.
Hor. O, stay a while, and I will die with thee;
So shall thou yield, and yet have conquer'd me.
Bel. Who's there? Pedringano! we are betray'd!
Enter Lorenzo, Balthazar, Serberine, Pedringano, disguised.
Lor. My lord, away with her, take her aside.—
O, sir, forbear: your valour is already tried.
Quickly despatch, my masters.
[They hang him in the arbour.
Hor. What, will you murder me?
Lor. Ay, thus, and thus: these are the fruits of love.
[They stab him.
Bel. O, save his life, and let me die for him!
O, save him, brother; save him, Balthazar:
I lov'd Horatio; but he lov'd not me.
Bal. But Balthazar loves Bellimperia.
Lor. Although his life were still ambitious-proud.
Yet is he at the highest now he is dead.
Bel. Murder! murder! Help, Hieronimo, help!
Lor. Come, stop her mouth; away with her.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V
Enter Hieronimo in his shirt, etc.
Hier. What outcries pluck me from my naked bed,
And chill my throbbing heart with trembling fear,
Which never danger yet could daunt before?
Who calls Hieronimo? speak, here I am.
I did not slumber; therefore 'twas no dream.
No, no, it was some woman cried for help;
And here within this garden did she cry;
And in this garden must I rescue her.—
But stay, what murd'rous spectacle is this?
A man h'ang'd up and all the murd'rers gone!
And in my bower, to lay the guilt on me!
This place was made for pleasure, not for death.
[He cuts him down.
Those garments that he wears I oft have seen—:
Alas, it is Horatio, my sweet son!
O no, but he that whilom was my son!
O, was it thou that call'dst me from my bed?
O speak, if any spark of life remain:
I am thy father; who hath slain my son?
What savage monster, not of human kind,
Hath here been glutted with thy harmless blood,
And left thy bloody corpse dishonour'd here,
For me, amidst these dark and deathful shades,
To drown thee with an ocean of my tears?
O heav'ns, why made you night to cover sin?
By day this deed of darkness had not been.
O earth, why didst thou not in time devour
The vild profaner of this sacred bow'r?
O poor Horatio, what hadst thou misdone,
To leese thy life, ere life was new begun?
O wicked butcher, whatsoe'er thou wert,
How could thou strangle virtue and desert?
Ay me most wretched, that have lost my joy,
In leesing my Horatio, my sweet boy!
Enter Isabella.
Isab. My husband's absence makes my heart to throb:—
Hieronimo!
Hier. Here, Isabella, help me to lament;
For sighs are stopp'd, and all my tears are spent.
Isab. What world of grief! my son Horatio!
O, where's the author of this endless woe?
Hier. To know the author were some ease of grief;
For in revenge my heart would find relief.
Isab. Then is he gone? and is my son gone too?
O, gush out, tears, fountains and floods of tears;
Blow, sighs, and raise an everlasting storm;
For outrage fits our cursèd wretchedness.
Hier. Sweet, lovely rose, ill-pluck'd before thy time,
Fair, worthy son, not conquer'd, but betray'd,
I'll kiss thee now, for words with tears are stay'd.
Isab. And I'll close up the glasses of his sight,
For once these eyes were only my delight.
Hier. See'st thou this handkercher besmear'd with blood?
It shall not from me, till I take revenge.
See'st thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh?
I'll not entomb them, till I have revenge.
Then will I joy amidst my discontent;
Till then my sorrow never shall be spent.
Isab. The heav'ns are just; murder cannot be hid:
Time is the author both of truth and right,
And time will bring this treachery to light.
Hier. Meanwhile, good Isabella, cease thy plaints,
Or, at the least, dissemble them awhile:
So shall we sooner find the practice out,
And learn by whom all this was brought about.
Come, Isabel, now let us take him up,
[They take him up.
And bear him in from out this cursèd place.
I'll say his dirge; singing fits not this case.
O aliquis mihi quas pulchrum ver educat herbas,
[Hieronimo sets his breast unto his sword.
Misceat, & nostro detur medicina dolori;
Aut, si qui faciunt annorum oblivia, succos
Praebeat; ipse metam magnum quaecunque per orbem
Gramina Sol pulchras effert in luminis oras;
Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni,
Quicquid & herbarum vi caeca nenia nectit:
Omnia perpetiar, lethum quoque, dum semel omnis
Noster in extincto moriatur pectore sensus.—
Ergo tuos oculos nunquam, mea vita, videbo,
Et tua perpetuus sepelivit lumina somnus?
Emoriar tecum: sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras.—
Attamen absistam properato cedere letho,
Ne mortem vindicta tuam tarn nulla sequatur.
[Here he throws it from him
and bears the body away
SCENE VI
Ghost of Andrea, Revenge.
Andrea. Brought'st thou me hither to increase my pain?
I look'd that Balthazar should have been slain:
But 'tis my friend Horatio that is slain,
And they abuse fair Bellimperia,
On whom I doted more than all the world,
Because she lov'd me more than all the world
Revenge. Thou talk'st of harvest, when the corn is green:
The end is crown of every work well done;
The sickle comes not, till the corn be ripe.
Be still; and ere I lead thee from this place,
I'll show thee Balthazar in heavy case.
