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SCENE IX
Bellimperia at a window.
Bel. What means this outrage that is offer'd me?
Why am I thus sequester'd from the court?
No notice! Shall I not know the cause
Of these my secret and suspicious ills?
Accursèd brother, unkind murderer,
Why bend'st thou thus thy mind to martyr me?
Hieronimo, why writ I of thy wrongs,
Or why art thou so slack in thy revenge?
Andrea, O Andrea! that thou saw'st
Me for thy friend Horatio handled thus,
And him for me thus causeless murderèd!—
Well, force perforce, I must constrain myself
To patience, and apply me to the time,
Till heav'n, as I have hop'd, shall set me free.
Enter Christophil.
Chris. Come, madam Bellimperia, this may not be.
[Exeunt.
SCENE X
Enter Lorenzo, Balthazar, and the Page.
Lor. Boy, talk no farther; thus far things go well.
Thou art assured that thou saw'st him dead?
Page. Or else, my lord, I live not.
Lor. That's enough.
As for his resolution in his end,
Leave that to him with whom he sojourns now.—
Here, take my ring and give it Christophil,
And bid him let my sister be enlarg'd,
And bring her hither straight—
[Exit Page.
This that I did was for a policy,
To smooth and keep the murder secret,
Which, as a nine-days' wonder, being o'erblown,
My gentle sister will I now enlarge.
Bal. And time, Lorenzo: for my lord the duke,
You heard, enquired for her yester-night.
Lor. Why, and my lord, I hope you heard me say
Sufficient reason why she kept away;
But that's all one. My lord, you love her?
Bal. Ay.
Lor. Then in your love beware; deal cunningly:
Salve all suspicions, only soothe me up;
And if she hap to stand on terms with us—
As for her sweetheart and concealment so—
Jest with her gently: under feignèd jest
Are things conceal'd that else would breed unrest.—
But here she comes.
Enter Bellimperia.
Now, sister?
Bel. Sister?—No!
Thou art no brother, but an enemy;
Else wouldst thou not have us'd thy sister so:
First, to affright me with thy weapons drawn,
And with extremes abuse my company;
And then to hurry me, like whirlwind's rage,
Amidst a crew of thy confederates,
And clap me up, where none might come at me,
Nor I at any, to reveal my wrongs.
What madding fury did possess thy wits?
Or wherein is 't that I offended thee?
Lor. Advise you better, Bellimperia,
For I have done you no disparagement;
Unless, by more discretion than deserv'd,
I sought to save your honour and mine own.
Bel. Mine honour? why, Lorenzo, wherein is 't
That I neglect my reputation so,
As you, or any, need to rescue it?
Lor. His highness and my father were resolved
To come confer with old Hieronimo,
Concerning certain matters of estate,
That by the viceroy was determined.
Bel. And wherein was mine honour touch'd in that?
Bal. Have patience, Bellimperia; hear the rest.
Lor. Me (next in sight) as messenger they sent,
To give him notice that they were so nigh:
Now when I came, consorted with the prince,
And unexpected, in an arbour there,
Found Bellimperia with Horatio—
Bel. How then?
Lor. Why, then, remembering that old disgrace,
Which you for Don Andrea had endur'd,
And now were likely longer to sustain,
By being found so meanly accompanied,
Thought rather—for I knew no readier mean—
To thrust Horatio forth my father's way.
Bal. And carry yon obscurely somewhere else,
Lest that his highness should have found you there.
Bel. Ev'n so, my lord? And you are witness
That this is true which he entreateth of?
You, gentle brother, forg'd this for my sake,
And you, my lord, were made his instrument?
A work of worth, worthy the noting too!
But what's the cause that you conceal'd me since?
Lor. Your melancholy, sister, since the news
Of your first favourite Don Andrea's death,
My father's old wrath hath exasperate.
Bal. And. better was 't for you, being in disgrace,
To absent yourself, and give his fury place.
Bel. But why had I no notice of his ire?
Lor. That were to add more fuel to your fire,
Who burnt like Ætna for Andrea's loss.
Bel. Hath not my father then enquired for me?
Lor. Sister, he hath, and thus excus'd I thee.
[He whispereth in her ear.
But, Bellimperia, see the gentle prince;
Look on thy love, behold young Balthazar,
Whose passions by thy presence are increased;
And in whose melancholy thou may'st see
Thy hate, his love; thy flight, his following thee.
Bel. Brother, you are become an orator—
I know not, I, by what experience—
Too politic for me, past all compare,
Since last I saw you; but content yourself:
The prince is meditating higher things.
Bal. 'Tis of thy beauty then that conquers kings;
Of those thy tresses, Ariadne's twines,
Wherewith, my liberty thou hast surpris'd;
Of that thine ivory front, my sorrow's map,
Wherein I see no hav'n to rest my hope.
Bel. To love and fear, and both at once, my lord,
In my conceit, are things of more import
Than women's wits are to be busied with.
Bal. 'Tis I that love.
Bel. Whom?
Bal. Bellimperia.
Bel. But I that fear.
Bal. Whom?
Bel. Bellimperia.
Lor. Fear yourself?
Bel. Ay, brother.
Lor. How?
Bel. As those
That, what they love, are loath and fear to lose.
Bal. Then, fair, let Balthazar your keeper be.
Bel. No, Balthazar doth fear as well as we:
Et tremulo metui pavidum junxere timorem—
Est vanum stolidae proditionis opus.
Lor. Nay, and you argue things so cunningly,
We'll go continue this discourse at court.
Bal. Led by the loadstar of her heavenly looks,
Wends poor, oppressèd Balthazar,
As o'er the mountains walks the wanderer,
Incertain to effect his pilgrimage.
[Exeunt.
SCENE XI
Enter two Portingals, and Hieronimo meets them.
1. By your leave, sir.
Hier. Good leave have you: nay, I pray you go,
For I'll leave you, if you can leave me so.
2. Pray you, which is the next way to my lord the duke's?
Hier. The next way from me.
1. To his house, we mean.
Hier. O, hard by: 'tis yon house that you see.
2. You could not tell us if his son were there?
Hier. Who, my Lord Lorenzo?
1. Ay, sir.
[He goeth in at one door and comes out at another.
Hier. O, forbear!
For other talk for us far fitter were.
But if you be importunate to know
The way to him, and where to find him out,
Then list to me, and I'll resolve your doubt.
There is a path upon your left-hand side,
That leadeth from a guilty conscience
Unto a forest of distrust and fear—
A darksome place, and dangerous to pass:
There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts,
Whose baleful humours if you but uphold,
It will conduct you to Despair and Death—
Whose rocky cliffs when you have once beheld,
Within a hugy dale of lasting night,
That, kindled with the world's iniquities,
Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes—:
Not far from thence, where murderers have built
A habitation for their cursèd souls,
There, in a brazen cauldron, fix'd by Jove,
In his fell wrath, upon a sulphur flame,
Yourselves shall find Lorenzo bathing him
In boiling lead and blood of innocents.
1. Ha, ha, ha!
Hier. Ha, ha, ha! Why, ha, ha, ha! Farewell, good ha, ha, ha!
[Exit.
2. Doubtless this man is passing lunatic,
Or imperfection of his age doth make him dote.
Come, let's away to seek my lord the duke.
[Exeunt.
