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SCENE III
Enter Pedringano, with a pistol.
Ped. Now, Pedringano, bid thy pistol hold,
And hold on, Fortune! once more favour me;
Give but success to mine attempting spirit,
And let me shift for taking of mine aim.
Here is the gold: this is the gold propos'd;
It is no dream that I adventure for,
But Pedringano is possess'd thereof!
And he that would not strain his conscience
For him that thus his liberal purse hath stretch'd,
Unworthy such a favour, may he fail,
And, wishing, want, when such as I prevail.
As for the fear of apprehension,
I know, if need should be, my noble lord
Will stand between me and ensuing harms;
Besides, this place is free from all suspect:
Here therefore will I stay and take my stand.
Enter the Watch.
1. I wonder much to what intent it is
That we are thus expressly charged to watch.
2. 'Tis by commandment in the king's own name.
3. But we were never wont to watch and ward
So near the duke, his brother's, house before.
2. Content yourself, stand close, there's somewhat in 't.
Enter Serberine.
Ser. Here, Serberine, attend and stay thy pace;
For here did Don Lorenzo's page appoint
That thou by his command shouldst meet with him.
How fit a place—if one were so dispos'd—
Methinks this corner is to close with one.
Ped. Here comes the bird that I must seize upon:
Now, Pedringano, or never, play the man!
Ser. I wonder that his lordship stays so long,
Or wherefore should he send for me so late?
Ped. For this, Serberine! —and thou shalt ha't.
[Shoots the dag.
So, there he lies; my promise is perform'd.
The Watch.
1. Hark, gentlemen, this is a pistol shot.
2. And here's one slain;—stay the murderer.
Ped. Now by the sorrows of the souls in hell,
[He strives with the watch.
Who first lays hand on me, I'll be his priest.
3. Sirrah, confess, and therein play the priest,
Why hast thou thus unkindly kill'd the man?
Ped. Why? because he walk'd abroad so late.
3. Come, sir, you had been better kept your bed,
Than have committed this misdeed so late.
2. Come, to the marshal's with the murderer!
1. On to Hieronimo's! help me here
To bring the murder'd body with us too.
Ped. Hieronimo? carry me before whom you will:
Whatever he be, I'll answer him and you;
And do your worst, for I defy you all.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV
Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.
Bal. How now, my lord, what makes you rise so soon?
Lor. Fear of preventing our mishaps too late.
Bal. What mischief is it that we not mistrust?
Lor. Our greatest ills we least mistrust, my lord,
And inexpected harms do hurt us most.
Bal. Why, tell me, Don Lorenzo, tell me, man,
If ought concerns our honour and your own.
Lor. Nor you, nor me, my lord, but both in one:
For I suspect—and the presumption's great—
That by those base confed'rates in our fault
Touching the death of Don Horatio,
We are betray'd to old Hieronimo.
Bal. Betray'd, Lorenzo? tush! it cannot be.
Lor. A guilty conscience, urgèd with the thought
Of former evils, easily cannot err:
I am persuaded—and dissuade me not—
That all's revealed to Hieronimo.
And therefore know that I have cast it thus:—
Enter Page.
But here's the page. How now? what news with thee?
Page. My lord, Serberine is slain.
Bal. Who? Serberine, my man?
Page. Your highness' man, my lord.
Lor. Speak, page, who murder'd him?
Page. He that is apprehended for the fact.
Lor. Who?
Page. Pedringano.
Bal. Is Serberine slain, that lov'd his lord so well?
Injurious villain, murd'rer of his friend!
Lor. Hath Pedringano murder'd Serberine?
My lord, let me entreat you to take the pains
To exasperate and hasten his revenge
With your complaints unto my lord the king.
This their dissension breeds a greater doubt.
Bal. Assure thee, Don Lorenzo, he shall die,
Or else his highness hardly shall deny.
Meanwhile I'll haste the marshal-sessions:
For die he shall for this his damnèd deed.
[Exit Balthazar.
Lor. Why so, this fits our former policy,
And thus experience bids the wise to deal.
I lay the plot: he prosecutes the point;
I set the trap: he breaks the worthless twigs,
And sees not that wherewith the bird was lim'd.
Thus hopeful men, that mean to hold their own,
Must look like fowlers to their dearest friends.
He runs to kill whom I have holp to catch,
And no man knows it was my reaching fetch.
'Tis hard to trust unto a multitude,
Or any one, in mine opinion,
When men themselves their secrets will reveal.
Enter a Messenger with a letter.
Boy—
Page. My lord?
Lor. What's he?
Mes. I have a letter to your lordship.
Lor. From whence?
Mes. From Pedringano that's imprison'd.
Lor. So he is in prison then?
Mes. Ay, my good lord.
Lor. What would he with us?—He writes us here,
To stand good lord, and help him in distress.—
Tell him I have his letters, know his mind;
And what we may, let him assure him of.
Fellow, begone: my boy shall follow thee.
[Exit Messenger.
This works like wax; yet once more try thy wits.
Boy, go, convey this purse to Pedringano;
Thou know'st the prison, closely give it him,
And be advis'd that none be there about:
Bid him be merry still, but secret;
And though the marshal-sessions be to-day,
Bid him not doubt of his delivery.
Tell him his pardon is already sign'd,
And thereon bid him boldly be resolv'd:
For, were he ready to be turned off—
As 'tis my will the uttermost be tried—
Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still.
Show him this box, tell him his pardon's in't;
But open't not, and if thou lov'st thy life;
But let him wisely keep his hopes unknown:
He shall not want while Don Lorenzo lives.
Away!
Page. I go, my lord, I run.
Lor. But, sirrah, see that this be cleanly done.
[Exit Page.
Now stands our fortune on a tickle point,
And now or never ends Lorenzo's doubts.
One only thing is uneffected yet,
And that's to see the executioner.
But to what end? I list not trust the air
With utterance of our pretence therein,
For fear the privy whisp'ring of the wind
Convey our words amongst unfriendly ears,
That lie too open to advantages.
E quel che voglio io, nessun lo sa;
Intendo io: quel mi basterà.
SCENE V
Enter Page, with the box.
Page. My master hath forbidden me to look in this box; and, by my troth, 'tis likely, if he had not warned me, I should not have had so much idle time; for we men's-kind, in our minority, are like women in their uncertainty: that they are most forbidden, they will soonest attempt: so I now.——By my bare honesty, here's nothing but the bare empty box: were it not sin against secrecy, I would say it were a piece of gentlemanlike knavery. I must go to Pedringano, and tell him his pardon is in this box; nay, I would have sworn it, had I not seen the contrary. —I cannot choose but smile to think how the villain will flout the gallows, scorn the audience, and descant on the hangman, and all presuming of his pardon from hence. Will't not be an odd jest for me to stand and grace every jest he makes, pointing my finger at this box, as who would say: 'Mock on, here's thy warrant' Is 't not a scurvy jest that a man should jest himself to death? Alas! poor Pedringano, I am in a sort sorry for thee; but if I should be hanged with thee, I cannot weep.
[Exit.
