ALEX. Aye, my good lord.

VICE. Then rest we here a-while in our unrest; And feed our sorrows with inward sighs, For deepest cares break never into tears.

But wherefore sit I in a regal throne?

This better fits a wretch's endless moan.

Yet this is higher then my fortunes reach, And therefore better than my state deserves.

Falls to the ground.

Aye, aye, this earth, image of melancholy, Seeks him whom fates adjudge to misery!

Here let me lie! Now am I at the lowest!

Qui jacet in terra non habet unde cadat.

In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo, Nil superest ut jam possit obesse magis.

Yes, Fortune may bereave me of my crown-- Here, take it now; let Fortune do her worst, She shall not rob me of this sable weed.

O, no, she envies none but pleasant things.

Such is the folly of despiteful chance, Fortune is blind and sees not my deserts, So is she deaf and hears not my laments; And, could she hear, yet is she willful mad, And therefore will not pity my distress.

Suppose that she could pity me, what then?

What help can be expected at her hands Whose foot is standing on a rolling stone And mind more mutable then fickle winds?

Why wail I, then, where's hope of no redress?

O, yes, complaining makes my grief seem less.

My late ambition hath distain'd my faith, My breach of faith occasion'd b.l.o.o.d.y wars, Those b.l.o.o.d.y wars have spent my treasury, And with my treasury my people's blood, And with the blood my joy and best belov'd,-- My best belov'd, my sweet and only son!

O, wherefore went I not to war myself?

The cause was mine; I might have died for both.

My years were mellow, but his young and green: My death were natural, but his was forc'd.

ALEX. No doubt, my liege, but still the prince survives.

VICE. Survives! Ay, where?

ALEX. In Spain, a prisoner by mischance of war.

VICE. Then they have slain him for his father's fault.

ALEX. That were a breach to common law of arms.

VICE. They reck no laws that meditate revenge.

ALEX. His ransom's worth will stay from foul revenge.

VICE. No; if he liv'd, the news would soon be here.

VILLUP. My sovereign, pardon the author of ill news, And I'll bewray the fortune of thy son.

VICE. Speak on; I'll guerdon thee, whate'er it be.

Mine ear is ready to receive ill news, My heart grown hard 'gainst mischief's battery; Stand up, I say, and tell thy tale at large.

VILLUP. Then hear that truth which these mine eyes have seen: When both the armies were in battle join'd.

Don Balthazar amidst the thickest troops, To win renown, did wondrous feats of arms; Amongst the rest I saw him hand-to-hand In single fight with their lord general.

Till Alexandro, that here counterfeits Under the colour of a duteous friend, Discharg'd a pistol at the princes back, As though he would have slain their general, But therewithal Don Balthazar fell down; And when he fell, then we began to fly; But, had he liv'd, the day had sure been ours.

ALEX. O wicked forgery! O trait'rous miscreant!

VICE. Hold thou thy peace! But now, Villuppo, say: Where then became the carca.s.s of my son?

VILLUP. I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.

VICE. Aye, aye, my nightly dreams have told me this!

Thou false, unkind, unthankful, traitorous beast!

Wherein had Balthazar offended thee, That thou should betray him to our foes?

Was't Spanish gold that bleared so thine eyes That thou couldst see no part of our deserts?

Perchance, because thou art Terserae's lord, Thou hadst some hope to wear this diadem If first my son and then myself were slain; But thy ambitious thought shall break thy neck.

Aye, this was it that made thee spill his blood!

Takes the crown and puts it on again.

But I'll now wear it till thy blood be spilt.

ALEX. Vouchsafe, dread sovereign, to hear me speak!

VICE. Away with him! his sight is second h.e.l.l!

Keep him till we determine his death.

If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live.

[They take him out.]

Villuppo, follow us for thy reward.

Exit VICE[ROY].

VILLUP. Thus have I with an envious forged tale Deceiv'd the king, betray'd mine enemy, And hope for guerdon of my villainy.

[ACT I. SCENE 3.]

[Spain: the palace]

Enter HORATIO and BEL-IMPERIA.

BEL. Signior Horatio, this is the place and hour Wherein I must entreat thee to relate The circ.u.mstance of Don Andrea's death, Who living was my garland's sweetest flower, And in his death hath buried my delights.

HOR. For love of him and service to yourself, I'll not refuse this heavy doleful charge; Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me.

When both our armies were enjoin'd in fight, Your worthy cavalier amidst the thickest, For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest, Was at the last by young Don Balthazar Encounter'd hand-to-hand. Their fight was long, Their hearts were great, their clamours menacing, Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous; But wrathful Nemesis, that wicked power, Envying at Andrea's praise and worth, Cut short his life to end his praise and worth.

She, she herself, disguis'd in armour's mask, As Pallas was before proud Pergamus, Brought in a fresh supply of halberdiers, Which punch'd his horse and ding'd him to the ground.

Then young Don Balthazar, with ruthless rage, Taking advantage of his foe's distress, Did finish what his halberdiers begun; And left not till Andrea's life was done.

Then, though too late, incens'd with just remorse, I with my band set forth against the prince, And brought him prisoner from his halberdiers.

BEL. Would thou hadst slain him that so slew my love!

But then was Don Andrea's carca.s.s lost?