The Spanish Tragedy.

by Thomas Kyd.

[Prologue]

Enter the GHOST OF ANDREA, and with him REVENGE.

GHOST. When this eternal substance of my soul Did live imprison'd in my wanton flesh, Each in their function serving others' need, I was a courtier in the Spanish court: My name was Don Andrea; my descent, Though not ign.o.ble, yet inferior far To gracious fortunes of my tender youth, For there, in prime and pride of all my years, By duteous service and deserving love, In secret I possess'd a worthy dame, Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.

But in the harvest of my summer joys Death's winter nipped the blossoms of my bliss, Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me; For in the late conflict with Portingal My valour drew me into danger's mouth Till life to death made pa.s.sage through my wounds.

When I was slain, my soul descended straight To pa.s.s the flowing stream of Acheron; But churlish Charon, only boatman there, Said that, my rites of burial not perform'd, I might not sit amongst his pa.s.sengers.

Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis' lap, And slak'd his smoking chariot in her flood, By Don Horatio, our knight-marshall's son, My funerals and obsequies were done.

Then was the ferryman of h.e.l.l content To pa.s.s me over to the slimy strand That leads to fell Avernus' ugly waves.

There, pleasing Cerberus with honeyed speech, I pa.s.sed the perils of the foremost porch.

Not far from hence, amidst ten thousand souls, Sat Minos, Eacus and Rhadamant; To whom no sooner 'gan I make approach, To crave a pa.s.sport for my wandering ghost, But Minos in graven leaves of lottery Drew forth the manner of my life and death.

"This knight," quoth he, "both liv'd and died in love; And for his love tried fortune of the wars; And by war's fortune lost both love and life."

"Why then," said Eacus, "convey him hence To walk with lovers in our field of love And the course of everlasting time Under green myrtle-trees and cypress shades."

"No, no!" said Rhadamant, "it were not well With loving souls to place a martialist.

He died in war, and must to martial fields, Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain, And Achilles' Myrmidons do scour the plain."

Then Minos, mildest censor of the three, Made this device, to end the difference: "Send him," quoth he, "to our infernal king, To doom him as best seems his Majesty."

To this effect my pa.s.sport straight was drawn.

In keeping on my way to Pluto's court Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night, I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell Or pens can write or mortal hearts can think.

Three ways there were: that on the right hand side Was ready way unto the 'foresaid fields Where lovers live and b.l.o.o.d.y martialists, But either sort contain'd within his bounds; The left hand path, declining fearfully, Was ready downfall to the deepest h.e.l.l, Where b.l.o.o.d.y Furies shake their whips of steel, And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel, Where usurers are chok'd with melting gold, And wantons are embrac'd with ugly snakes, And murderers groan with never-killing wounds, And perjur'd wights scalded in boiling lead, And all foul sins with torments overwhelm'd; 'Twixt these two ways I trod the middle path, Which brought me to the fair Elysian green, In midst whereof there stands a stately tower, The walls of bra.s.s, the gates of adamant.

Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine, I show'd my pa.s.sport, humbled on my knee.

Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile, And begg'd that only she might give me doom.

Pluto was pleas'd, and seal'd it with a kiss.

Forthwith, Revenge, she rounded thee in th' ear, And bad thee lead me though the gates of horn, Where dreams have pa.s.sage in the silent night.

No sooner had she spoke but we were here, I wot not how, in the twinkling of an eye.

REVENGE. Then know, Andrea, that thou arriv'd Where thou shalt see the author of thy death, Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingal, Depriv'd of life by Bel-imperia: Here sit we down to see the mystery, And serve for Chorus in this tragedy.

[ACT I. SCENE 1.]

[The Spanish Court]

Enter SPANISH KING, GENERAL, CASTILLE, HIERONIMO.

KING. Now say, lord general: how fares our camp?

GEN. All well, my sovereign liege, except some few That are deceas'd by fortune of the war.

KING. But what portends thy cheerful countenance And posting to our presence thus in haste?

Speak, man: hath fortune given us victory?

GEN. Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.

KING. Our Portugals will pay us tribute then?

GEN. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithal.

KING. Then blest be Heav'n, and Guider of the heav'ns, From whose fair influence such justice flows!

CAST. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether, Et conjuratae curvato poplite gentes Succ.u.mbunt: recti soror est victoria juris!

KING. Thanks to my loving brother of Castille.

But, general, unfold in brief discourse Your form of battle and your war's success, That, adding all the pleasure of thy news Unto the height of former happiness, With deeper wage and gentle dignity We may reward thy blissful chivalry.

GEN. Where Spain and Portingal do jointly knit Their frontiers, leaning on each other's bound, There met our armies in the proud array: Both furnish'd well, both full of hope and fear, Both menacing alike with daring shows, Both vaunting sundry colours of device, Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes, Both raising dreadful clamors to the sky, That valleys, hills, and rivers made rebound And heav'n itself was frighted with the sound.

Our battles both were pitch'd in squadron form, Each corner strongly fenc'd with wings of shot; But, ere we join'd 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 encounter us; Meanwhile our ordnance play'd on either side, And captains strove to have their valours try'd.

Don Pedro, their chief hors.e.m.e.n's colonel, Did with his cornet bravely make attempt To break the order of our battle ranks; But Don Rogero, worthy man of war, March'd forth against him with our musketeers And stopp'd the malice of his fell approach.

While they maintain hot skirmish to and fro, Both battles join and fall to handy blows, Their violent shot resembling th' oceans rage When, roaring loud and with a swelling tide, It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks, And gapes to swallow neighbor-bounding lands.

Now, while Bellona rageth here and there, Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail, And shiver'd lances dark the troubled air; Pede pes & cuspide cuspis, Arma sonant armis, vir pet.i.turque viro; On every side drop captains to the ground, And soldiers, some ill-maim'd, some slain outright: Here falls a body sunder'd from his head; There legs and arms lie bleeding on the gra.s.s, Mingled with weapons and unbowel'd steeds, That scattering over-spread the purple plain.

In all this turmoil, three long hours and more The victory to neither part inclin'd, Till Don Andrea with his brave lancers In their main battle made so great a breach That, half dismay'd, the mult.i.tude retir'd.

But Balthazar, the Portingales' young prince, Brought rescue and encourag'd them to stay.

Here-hence the fight was eagerly renew'd, And in that conflict was Andrea slain,-- Brave man-at-arms, but weak to Balthazar.

Yet, while the prince, insulting over him, Breath'd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproach, Friendship and hardy valour join'd in one p.r.i.c.k'd forth Horatio, our knight-marshall's son, To challenge forth that prince in single fight.

Not long between these twain the fight endur'd, But straight the prince was beaten from his horse And forc'd to yield him prisoner to his foe.

When he was taken, all the rest fled, And our carbines pursu'd them to death, Till, Phoebus waning to the western deep, Our trumpeters were charg'd to sound retreat.

KING. Thanks, good lord general, for these good news!

And, for some argument of more to come, Take this and wear it for thy sovereign's sake.

Give him his chain.

But tell me now: hast thou confirm'd a peace?

GEN. No peace, my liege, but peace conditional, That, if with homage tribute be well paid, The fury of your forces will be stay'd.

And to this peace their viceroy hath subscrib'd,

Give the King a paper.

And made a solemn vow that during life His tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.

KING. These words, these deeds become thy person well.

But now, knight-marshall, frolic with thy king, For 'tis thy son that wins this battle's prize.

HIERO. Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege!

And soon decay unless he serve my liege!

A trumpet afar off.

KING. Nor thou nor he shall die without reward.

What means this warning of this trumpet's sound?

GEN. This tells me that your Grace's men of war, Such as war's fortune hath reserv'd from death, Come marching on towards your royal seat, To show themselves before your Majesty; For so gave I in charge at my depart.

Whereby by demonstration shall appear That all, except three hundred or few more, Are safe return'd and by their foes enrich'd.