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THE SPANISH TRAGEDIE

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Containing the lamentable end of DON HORATIO, and BEL-IMPERIA: with the pittiful death of olde HIERONIMO.

Newly corrected and amended of such grosse faults as passed in the first impression.

At London

Printed by Edward Allde, for

Edward White

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

GHOST OF ANDREA | REVENGE | the Chorus. KING OF SPAIN. VICEROY OF PORTUGAL. DON CIPRIAN, duke of Castile. HIERONIMO, knight-marshall of Spain. BALTHAZAR, the Viceroy's son. LORENZO, Don Ciprian's son . HORATIO, Hieronimo's son. ALEXANDRO | VILLUPPO | lords of Portual. PEDRINGANO, servant of Bel-imperia. SERBERINE, servant of Balthazar. Spanish General, Portuguese Embassador, Old Man, Painter Page, Hangman, Citizens, Soldiers, Attendants, &c. BEL-IMPERIA, Lorenzo's sister. ISABELLA, Hieronimo's wife. PAGE. MESSENGER. CHRISTOPHEL. SERVANT. SENEX . CITIZENS.

SCENE: Spain; and Portugal.

ACTVS PRIMVS.

Enter the GHOAST OF ANDREA, and with him REUENGE.

REUENGE. Then know, Andrea, that thou ariu'd Where thou shalt see the author of thy death, Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingale, Depriu'd of life by Bel-imperia: Heere sit we downe to see the misterie, And serue for Chorus in this tragedie.

Enter SPANISH KING, GENERALL, CASTILLE, HIERONIMO.

KING. Now say, l generall: how fares our campe?

GEN. All wel, my soueraigne liege, except some few That are deceast by fortune of the warre.

KING. But what portends thy cheerefull countenance And posting to our presence this in hast? Speak, man: hath fortune giuen vs victorie?

GEN. Victorie, my liege, and that with little losse.

KING. Out Portugals will pay vs tribute then?

GEN. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithall.

KING. Then blest be Heauen, and Guider of the heauens, From whose faire influence such iustice flowes!

CAST. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether, Et coniuratae curato poplite gentes Succumbent: recto soror est victoria iuris!

KING. Thanks to my loving brother of Castille. But, generall, vnfolde in breefe discourse Your forme of battell and your warres successe, That, adding all the pleasure of thy newes Vnto the height of former happines, With deeper wage and gentile dignitie We may reward thy blisfull chiualrie.

GEN. Where Spaine and Portingale do ioyntly knit Their frontiers, leaning on each others bound, There met our armies in the proud aray: Both furnisht well, both full of hope and feare, Both menacing alike with daring showes, Both vaunting sundry colours of deuice, Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes, Both raising dreadfull clamors to the skie, That valleis, hils, and riuers made rebound And heauen it-selfe was frighted with the sound. Our battels both were pitcht in squadron forme, Each corner strongly fenst with wings of shot; But, ere we ioyned and came to push of pike, I brought a squadron of our readiest shot From out our rearward to begin the fight; They brought another wing to incounter vs; Meane-while our ordinance plaid on either side, And captaines stroue to haue their valours tride. Don Pedro, their chiefe horsemens corlonell, Did with his cornet brauely make attempt To break our order of our battell rankes; But Don Rogero, worthy man of warre, Marcht forth against him with our musketiers And stopt the mallice of his fell approach. While they maintaine hot skirmish too and fro, Both battailes ioyne and fall to handie blowes, Their violent shot resembling th' oceans rage When, roaring lowd and with a swelling tide, It beats vpon the rampiers of huge rocks, And gapes to swallow neighbor-bounding lands. Now, while Bellona rageth heere and there, Thick stormes of bullets ran like winters haile, And shiuered launces darke the troubled aire; Pede pes & cuspide cuspis, Arma sonant armis vir petiturque viro; On euery side drop captaines to the ground, And souldiers, some ill-maimde, some slaine outright: Heere falls a body sundred from his head; There legs and armes lye bleeding on the grasse, Mingled with weapons and vnboweled steeds, That scattering ouer-spread the purple plaine. In all this turmoyle, three long hovres and more The victory to neither part inclinde, Till Don Andrea with his braue lanciers In their maine battell made so great a breach That, halfe dismaid, the multitude retirde. But Balthazar, the Portingales young prince, Brought rescue and encouragde them to stay. Heere-hence the fight was eagerly renewd, And in that conflict was Andrea slaine,-- Braue man-at-arms, but weake to Balthazar. Yet, while the prince, insulting ouer him, Breathd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproch, Friendship and hardie valour ioyned in one Prickt forth Horatio, our knight-marshals sonne, To challenge forth that prince in single fight. Not long betweene these twain the fight indurde, But straight the prince was beaten from his horse And forcst to yeeld him prisoner to his foe. When he was taken, all the rest fled, And our carbines pursued them to death, Till, Phoebus waning to the western deepe, Our trumpeters were chargd to sound retreat.

KING. Thanks, good l general, for these good newes! And, for some argument of more to come, Take this and weare it for thy soueraignes sake.

Giue him his chaine.

But tell me now: hast thou confirmed a peace?

GEN. No peace, my liege, but peace conditionall, That, if with homage tribute be well paid, The fury of your forces wilbe staide. And to this peace their viceroy hath subscribde,

Giue the K a paper.

And made a solemne vow that during life His tribute shalbe truely paid to Spaine.

KING. These words, these deeds become thy person wel. But now, knight-marhsall, frolike with thy king, For tis thy sonne that winnes this battels prize.

HIERO. Long may he liue to serue my soueraigne liege! And soone decay unless he serue my liege!

A a-farre off.

KING. Nor thou nor he shall dye without reward. What meanes this warning of this trumpets sound?

GEN. This tels me that your Graces men of warre, Such as warres fortune hath reseru'd from death, Come marching on towards your royall seate, To show themselues before your Maiestie; For so gaue I in charge at my depart. Whereby by demonstration shall appeare That all, except three hundred or few more, Are safe returnd and by their foes inricht.

The armie enters, BALTHAZAR betweene LORENZO and HORATIO, captiue.

KING. A gladsome sight! I long to see them heere.

They enter and passe by.

Was that the warlike prince of Portingale That by our nephew was in triumph led?

GEN. It was, my liege, the prince of Portingale.

KING. But what was he that on the other side Held him by th' arme as partner of the prize?

HIERO. That was my sonne, my gracious soueraigne; Of whome though from his tender infancie My louing thoughts did neuer hope but well, He neuer pleasd his fathers eyes till now, Nor fild my hart with ouercloying ioyes.

KING. Goe, let them march once more about these walles, That staying them we may conferre and talke With our braue prisoner and his double guard.

Enter againe.

Bring hether the young prince of Portingale! The rest martch on, but, ere they be dismist, We will bestow on euery soldier Two duckets, and on euery leader ten, That they may know our largesse welcomes them.

Exeunt all but BAL, LOR, and HOR.

Welcome, Don Balthazar! Welcome nephew! And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too! Young prince, although thy fathers hard misdeedes In keeping backe the tribute that he owes Deserue but euill measure at our hands, Yet shalt thou know that Spaine is honorable.

BALT. The trespasse that my father made in peace Is now controlde by fortune of the warres; And cards once dealt, it bootes not aske why so. His men are slaine,--a weakening to his realme; His colours ceaz'd,--a blot vnto his name; His sonne distrest,--a corsiue to his hart; These punishments may cleare his late offence.

KING. I, Balthazar, if he obserue this truce, Our peace will grow the stronger for these warres. Meane-while liue thou, though not in libertie, Yet free from bearing any seruile yoake; For in our hearing thy deserts were great. And in our sight thy-selfe art gratious.

BALT. And I shall studie to deserue this grace.

KING. But tell me,--for their holding makes me doubt: To Which of these twaine art thou prisoner?

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