ISA. Then is he gone? and is my son gone too?

O, gush out, tears! fountains and floods of tears!

Blow, sighs, and raise an everlasting storm; For outrage fits our cursed wretchedness.

HIERO. Sweet lovely rose, ill pluck'd before thy time!

Fair, worthy son, not conquer'd, but betray'd!

I'll kiss thee now, for words with tears are stay'd.

ISA. And I'll close up the gla.s.ses of his sight; For once these eyes were only my delight.

HIERO. See'st thou this handkerchief besmear'd with blood?

It shall not from me till I take revenge; See'st thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh?

I'll not entomb them till I have reveng'd: Then will I joy amidst my discontent, Till then, my sorrow never shall be spent.

ISA. The heav'ns are just, murder cannot be hid; Time is the author of both truth and right, And time will bring this treachery to light.

HIERO. Meanwhile, good Isabella, cease thy plaints, Or, at the least, dissemble them awhile; So shall we sooner find the practise out, And learn by whom all this was brought about.

Come, Isabell, now let us take him up.

They take him up.

And bear him in from out this cursed place.

I'll say his dirge,--singing fits not this case.

O aliquis mihi quas pulchrum ver educat herbas

HIERONIMO sets his breast unto his sword.

Misceat, et nostro detur medicina dolori; Aut, si qui faciunt annorum oblivia, succos Praebeat; ipse metam magnum quaecunque per orbem Gramina Sol pulchras effert in luminis oras.

Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni, Quicquid et herbarum vi caeca nenia nect.i.t.

Omnia perpetiar, lethum quoque, dum semel omnis Noster in extincto moriatur pectore sensus.

Ergo tuos oculos nunquam, mea vita videbo, Et tua perpetuus sepelivit lumina somnus?

Emoriar tec.u.m: sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras!

Attamen absistam properato cedere letho, Ne mortem vindicta tuam tam nulla sequatur.

Here he throws it from him and bears the body away.

[CHORUS.]

ANDREA. Brought'st thou me hither to increase my pain?

I look'd that Balthazar should have been slain; But 'tis my friend Horatio that is slain, And they abuse fair Bel-imperia, On whom I doted more then all the world, Because she lov'd me more then all the world.

REVENGE. Thou talk'st of harvest, when the corn is green; The end is crown of every work well done; The sickle comes not till the corn be ripe.

Be still, and, ere I lead thee from this place, I'll show thee Balthazar in heavy case.

ACTUS TERTIUS.

[ACT III. SCENE 1.]

[The Portuguese court.]

Enter VICEROY OF PORTINGAL, n.o.bLES, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO.

VICEROY. Infortunate condition of kings, Seated amidst so many helpless doubts!

First, we are plac'd upon extremest height, And oft supplanted with exceeding hate, But ever subject to the wheel of chance; And at our highest never joy we so As we doubt and dread our overthrow.

So striveth not the waves with sundry winds As fortune toileth in the affairs of kings, That would be fear'd, yet fear to be belov'd, Sith fear and love to kings is flattery.

For instance, lordings, look upon your king, By hate deprived of his dearest son, The only hope of our successive line.

n.o.b. I had not thought that Alexandro's heart Had been envenom'd with such extreme hate; But now I see that words have several works, And there's no credit in the countenance.

VIL. No, for, my lord, had you beheld the train That feigned love had colour'd in his looks When he in camp consorted Balthazar, Far more inconstant had you thought the sun, That hourly coasts the center of the earth, Then Alexandro's purpose to the prince.

VICE. No more, Villuppo! thou hast said enough, And with thy words thou slay'st our wounded thoughts.

Nor shall I longer dally with the world, Procrastinating Alexandro's death.

Go, some of you, and fetch the traitor forth, That, as he is condemned, he may die.

Enter ALEXANDRO, with a n.o.bLE-MAN and HALBERTS.

n.o.b. In such extremes will nought but patience serve.

ALEX. But in extremes what patience shall I use?

Nor discontents it me to leave the world, With whom there nothing can prevail but wrong.

n.o.b. Yet hope the best.

ALEX. 'Tis heav'n is my hope: As for the earth, it is too much infect To yield me hope of any of her mould.

VICE. Why linger ye? bring forth that daring fiend, And let him die for his accursed deed.

ALEX. Not that I fear the extremity of death-- For n.o.bles cannot stoop to servile fear-- Do I, O king, thus discontented live; But this, O this, torments my labouring soul, That thus I die suspected of a sin Whereof, as Heav'ns have known my secret thoughts, So am I free from this suggestion!

VICE. No more, I say; to the tortures! when?

Bind him, and burn his body in those flames,

They bind him to the stake.

That shall prefigure those unquenched fires Of Phlegethon prepared for his soul.

ALEX. My guiltless death will be aveng'd on thee!

On thee, Villuppo, that hath malice'd thus, Or for thy meed hast falsely me accus'd!

VIL. Nay, Alexandro, if thou menace me, I'll lend a hand to send thee to the lake Where those thy words shall perish with thy works, Injurious traitor, monstrous homicide!

Enter AMBa.s.sADOR.