Part 20

LOR. Come, let us in; the next time you shall show All Don Andrea, not Alcario. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ JERONIMO _trussing of his points_; HORATIO _with pen and ink._

JER. Come, pull the table this way: so, ’tis well. Come write, Horatio, write; This speedy letter must away to-night. [HORATIO _folds the paper the contrary way_.

What! fold paper that way to a nobleman? To Don Andrea, Spain’s embassador! Fie! I am ashamed to see it: hast thou worn Gowns in the university, toss’d[299] logic, suck’d Philosophy, ate cues, drunk cees,[300] and cannot give A letter the right courtier’s crest? O, there’s a kind of state In everything, save in a cuckold’s pate! Fie, fie, Horatio! what, is your pen foul?

HOR. No, father, cleaner than Lorenzo’s soul; That’s dipp’d in ink made of an envious gall, Else had my pen no cause to write at all.

JER. Signior Andrea, say.

HOR. Signior Andrea----

JER. ’Tis a villainous age this.

HOR. ’Tis a villainous age this----

JER. That a nobleman should be a knave as Well as an ostler.

HOR. That a nobleman should be a knave as Well as an ostler----

JER. Or a serjeant.

HOR. Or a serjeant----

JER. Or a broker.

HOR. Or a broker----

JER. Yet I speak not this of Lorenzo, For he’s an honest lord.

HOR. ’S foot, father, I’ll not write him honest lord.

JER. Take up thy pen, or I’ll take up thee.

HOR. What! write him honest lord? I’ll not agree.

JER. You’ll take it up, sir?

HOR. Well, well.

JER. What went before? thou hast put me out: beshrew Thy impudence or insolence!

HOR. Lorenzo’s an honest lord----

JER. Well, sir; and has hired one to murder you.

HOR. O, I cry you mercy, father, meant you so?

JER. Art thou a scholar, Don Horatio, And canst not aim at figurative speech?

HOR. I pray you, pardon me; ’twas but youth’s Hasty error.

JER. Come, read then.

HOR. And has hired one to murder you----

JER. He means to send you to heaven, when You return from Portugal.

HOR. From Portugal----

JER. Yet he’s an honest duke’s son.

HOR. Yet he’s an----

JER. But not the honest son of a duke.

HOR. But not the honest----

JER. O that villainy should be found in the great chamber!

HOR. O that villainy----

JER. And honesty in the bottom of a cellar.

HOR. And honesty----

JER. If you’ll be murdered, you may.

HOR. If you’ll be----

JER. If you be not, thank God and Jeronimo.

HOR. If you be not----

JER. If you be, thank the devil and Lorenzo.

HOR. If you be, thank-----

JER. Thus hoping you will not be murdered, and you can choose.

HOR. Thus hoping you will-----

JER. Especially being warned beforehand.

HOR. Especially----

JER. I take my leave, boy; Horatio, write _leave_ Bending in the hams like an old courtier:-- Thy assured friend, say, ’gainst Lorenzo and The devil,--little Jeronimo Marshal.

HOR. Jeronimo Marshal.

JER. So, now read it o’er.

HOR. Signior Andrea, ’tis a villainous age this, That a nobleman should be a knave as well As an ostler, or a serjeant, or a broker; yet I speak not this of Lorenzo: he’s an Honest lord, and has hired one to murder you, When you return from Portugal: yet He’s an honest duke’s son, but not the Honest son of a duke. O that villainy Should be found in the great chamber, and honesty In the bottom of the cellar!

JER. True, boy: there’s a moral in that; as much To say, knavery in the court, and honesty in a Cheese-house.

HOR. If you’ll be murdered, you may: if you be Not, thank God and Jeronimo: if you be, Thank the devil and Lorenzo. Thus hoping You will not be murdered, and you can choose; Especially being warned beforehand, I take my leave.

JER. Horatio, hast thou written _leave_, bending in the Hams enough, like a gentleman-usher? ’Sfoot, No, Horatio; thou hast made him straddle too much Like a Frenchman: for shame, put his legs closer, Though it be painful.

HOR. So, ’tis done, ’tis done.-- Thy assured friend ’gainst Lorenzo and the devil; Little Jeronimo Marshal.

_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ ISABELLA.

ISA. Yonder he is, my lord; pray you speak to him.

JER. Wax, wax, Horatio: I had need wax too, Our foes will stride else over me and you.

ISA. He’s writing a love-letter to some Spanish lady, And now he calls for wax to seal it.

LOR. God save you, good knight Marshal.

JER. Who’s this? my lord Lorenzo? welcome, welcome; You’re the last man I thought on, save the devil: Much doth your presence grace our homely roof.

LOR. O Jeronimo, Your wife condemns you of an uncourtesy And over-passing wrong; and, more, she names Love-letters which you send to Spanish dames.

JER. Do you accuse me so, kind Isabella?

ISA. Unkind Jeronimo!

LOR. And, for my instance, this in your hand is one.

JER. In sooth, my lord, there is no written name Of any lady, nor[301] no Spanish dame.

LOR. If it were not so, you would not be afeard To read or show the waxed letter: Pray you, let me behold it.

JER. I pray you pardon me. I must confess, my lord, it treats of love, Love to Andrea, ay, even to his very bosom.

LOR. What news, my lord, hear you from Portugal?

JER. Who, I? before your grace it must not be; The badger feeds not, till the lion’s served: Nor fits it news so soon kiss subjects’ ears,[302] As the fair cheek of high authority. Jeronimo lives much absent from the court, And, being absent there, lives from report.

LOR. Farewell, Jeronimo.

ISA. Welcome, my lord Lorenzo. [_Exeunt_ LORENZO _and_ ISABELLA.

JER. Boy, Thy mother’s jealous of my love to her.

HOR. O, she play’d us a wise part; now ten to one He had not overheard the letter read, Just as he enter’d.

JER. Though it had happen’d evil, He should have heard his name yoked with the devil. Here, seal the letter with a loving knot: Send it with speed; Horatio, linger not; That Don Andrea may prevent his death, And know his enemy by his envious breath. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ LORENZO, _and_ ALCARIO _disguised like_ ANDREA.

LOR. Now, by the honour of Castile’s true house, You are as like Andrea, part for part, As he is like himself: did I not know you, By my cross I swear, I could not think you but Andrea’s self, so legg’d, so faced, so speech’d, So all in all; methinks I should salute Your quick return and speedy haste from Portugal: Welcome, fair lord, worthy ambassador, Brave Don Andrea! O, I laugh to see How we shall jest at her mistaking thee!

ALC. What, have you given it out Andrea is return’d?

LOR. ’Tis all about the court in every ear, And my invention brought to me for news Last night at supper; and which the more to cover, I took a bowl, and quaff’d a health to him, When it would scarce go down for extreme laughter, To think how soon report had scatter’d it.

ALC. But is the villain Lazarotto Acquainted with our drift?

LOR. Not for Spain’s wealth; Though he be secret, yet suspects the worst, For confidence confounds the stratagem. The fewer in a plot of jealousy Build a foundation surest, when multitudes Make it confused, ere it come to head. Be secret then; trust not the open air, For air is breath, and breath-blown words raise care-- This is the gallery, where she most frequents.

ALC. Within this walk have I beheld her dally With my shape’s substance. O immortal powers! Lend your assistance; clap a silver tongue Within this palate that, when I approach Within the presence of this demi-goddess, I may possess an adamantic power, And so bewitch her with my honey’d speech, Have every syllable a music-stop, That, when I pause, the melody may move, And hem persuasion ’tween her snowy paps, That her heart hearing may relent and yield!

LOR. Break off, my lord: see where she makes approach.

_Enter_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

ALC. Then fall into your former vein of terms.

LOR. Welcome, my lord, welcome, brave Don Andrea, Spain’s best of spirit! what news From Portugal? tribute or war? But see, my sister Bell’-Imperia comes: I will defer it to some other time, For company hinders love’s conference. [_Exit_ LORENZO.

BEL. Welcome, my life’s self-form, dear Don Andrea.

ALC. My words iterated give thee as much: Welcome, my self of self.

BEL. What news, Andrea? treats it peace or war?

ALC. At first they cried all war, as men resolved To lose both life and honour at one cast: At which I thunder’d words all clad in proof, Which struck amazement to their palled speech, And tribute presently was yielded up. But, madam Bell’-Imperia, leave we this, And talk of former suits and quests of love.

_They whisper. Enter_ LAZAROTTO.

LAZ. ’Tis all about the court Andrea’s come: Would I might greet him! and I wonder much, My lord Lorenzo is so slack in murder, Not to afford me notice all this while. Gold, I am true; I had my hire, and thou shalt have thy due: Was’t possible to miss him so? soft! soft! This gallery leads to Bell’-Imperia’s lodging; There he is, sure, or will be, sure. I’ll stay: The evening too begins to slubber day:[303] Sweet, opportuneful season; here I’ll lean, Like a court-hound, that licks fat trenchers clean. [_Aside_.

BEL. But has the king partook your embassy?

ALC. That till to-morrow shall be now deferr’d.

BEL. Nay, then you love me not: Let that be first despatch’d; till when receive this token. [_She kisses him. Exit_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

ALC. I to the king with this unfaithful heart! It must not be: I play too false a part.

LAZ. Up, Lazarotto; yonder comes thy prize; Now lives Andrea, now Andrea dies. [LAZAROTTO _kills him_.

ALC. That villain Lazarotto has kill’d me, Instead of Andrea.

_Enter_ ANDREA _and_ ROGERO, _and Others._

ROG. Welcome home, lord embassador.

ALC. O, O, O.

AND. Whose groan was that? what frightful villain’s this, His sword unsheathed? whom hast thou murdered, slave?

LAZ. Why, Don, Don Andrea.

AND. No, counterfeiting villain. He says, my lord, that he hath murdered me.

LAZ. Aye, Don Andrea, or else Don the devil.

AND. Lay hands on him; some rear up The bleeding body to the light.

ROG. My lord, I think ’tis you: were you not here, A man might swear ’twere you.

AND. His garments, ha! like mine, his face made like! An ominous horror all my veins doth strike. Sure, this portends my death; this misery Aims at some fatal pointed tragedy.

_Enter_ JERONIMO _and_ HORATIO.

JER. Son Horatio, see Andrea slain!

HOR. Andrea slain! then, weapon, cling[304] my breast.

AND. Live, truest friend, for ever lov’d and bless’d.

HOR. Lives Don Andrea?

AND. Aye, but slain in thought, To see so strange a likeness forged and wrought. Lords, cannot you yet descry, Who is the owner of this red melting body?

ROG. My lord, it is Alcario, duke Medina’s son; I know him by this mole upon his breast.

LAZ. Alcario slain! hast thou beguiled me, sword? Arm, hast thou slain thy bountiful kind lord? Why then rot off and drop upon the ground, Strow all the galleries with gobbets round.

_Enter_ LORENZO.

LOR. Who names Alcario slain? it is Alcario! O cursed deed! Couldst thou not see, but make the wrong man bleed?

LAZ. ’Sfoot, ’twas your fault, my lord; you brought no word.

LOR. Peace; no words: I’ll get thy pardon: Why, mum, then.

_Enter_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

BEL. Who names Andrea slain? O, ’tis Andrea! O, I swoon, I die:

LOR. Look to my sister Bell’-Imperia!

AND. Raise up, my dear love, Bell’-Imperia! O, be of comfort, sweet: call in thy spirits; Andrea lives: O, let not death beguile thee!

BEL. Are you Andrea?

AND. Do not forget; That was Alcario, my shape’s counterfeit.

LOR. Why speaks not this accurs’d, damn’d villain?

LAZ. O good words, my lords; for those are courtiers’ vails: The king must hear; why should I make two tales? For to be found in two, before the king I will resolve you all this strange strange thing: I hit, yet miss’d; ’twas I mistook my part.

HOR. Aye, villain; for thou aim’st at this true heart.

JER. Horatio, ’twas well, as fortune stands, This letter came not to Andrea’s hands.

HOR. ’Twas happiness indeed.

BEL. Was it not you, Andrea, questioned me ’Bout love?

AND. No, Bell’-Imperia. Belike, ’twas false Andrea; for the first Object mine eyes met was that most accurst, Which, I much fear me, by all signs portends Most doubtful wars and dangerous pointed ends To light upon my blood.

BEL. Angels of heaven, forefend it!

AND. Some take up the body; others take charge Of that accursed villain.

LOR. My lord, leave that to me; I’ll look to him.

JER. Mark, mark, Horatio: a villain guard a villain.

AND. The king may think my news is a bad guest, When the first object is a bleeding breast. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ KING OF SPAIN, CASTILE, MEDINA, ROGERO, _and Others; a Dead March within._

KING. My lords, What heavy sounds are these?--nearer and nearer! ha! Andrea the forerunner of these news? Nay, then I fear Spain’s inevitable ill. Ha! Andrea, speak! what news from Portugal? What, is [the] tribute paid? Or peace or wars?

AND. Wars, my dread liege.

KING. Why then That bleeding object doth presage what shall Hereafter follow. What’s he that lies there slain, Or hurt, or both? Speak.

AND. My liege, Alcario, duke Medina’s son; And by that slave this purple act was done.

MED. Who names Alcario slain? ah me, ’tis he: Art thou that villain?

LAZ. How didst thou know my name? I see an excellent villain hath his fame, As well as a great courtier.

MED. Speak, villain: wherefore didst thou this accursed deed?

LAZ. Because I was an ass, a villainous ass; For had I hit it right, Andrea had lain there; He walk’d upright: this ominous mistake, This damned error, Breedeth in my soul an everlasting terror.

KING. Say, slave, how came this accurs’d evil?

LAZ. Faith, by myself, my short sword, and the devil. To tell you all without a tedious tongue, I’ll cut them down, my words shall not hang[305] long. That hapless bleeding lord Alcario, Which this hand slew, pox on’t, was a huge doater On Bell’-Imperia’s beauty, who replied In scorn, and his hot suit denied; For her affections were all firmly planted In Don Andrea’s bosom; yet, unwise, He still pursued it with blind lover’s eyes. Then hired he me with gold--O fate, thou elf! To kill Andrea, which here killed himself; For, not content to stay the time of murder, He took Andrea’s shape unknown to me, And in all parts disguised, as there you see, Intending, as it seemed by that sly shift, To steal away her troth; short tale to tell, I took him for Andrea--down he fell.

KING. O impious deed, To make the heir of honour melt and bleed! Bear him away to execution.

LAZ. Nay, lord Lorenzo, where’s the pardon? ’sfoot, I’ll peach else. [_Aside._

LOR. Peace, Lazarotto, I’ll get it of the king. [_Aside._

LAZ. Do it quickly then, or I’ll spread villainy. [_Aside._

LOR. My lord, he is the most notorious rogue, That ever breath’d, [_In his ear._

KING. Away with him.

LOR. Your highness may do well to bar his speech, ’Tis able to infect a virtuous ear.

KING. Away with him, I will not hear him speak.

LAZ. My lord Lorenzo is a---- [_They stop his mouth, and bear him in._

JER. Is not this a monstrous courtier?

HOR. He is the court-toad, father.

KING. Tribute denied us? ha!

AND. It is, my liege, and that with no mean words: He will redeem his honour lost with swords.

KING. So daring! ha! so peremptory! Can you remember the words he spake?

AND. Word for word, my gracious sovereign, And these they were--thus much--return to Spain: Say, that our settled judgment hath advised us What tribute is, how poor that monarch shows Who for his throne a yearly pension owes; And what our predecessors lost to Spain, We have fresh spirits that can renew it again.

KING. Ha! so peremptory, daring, stout!

AND. Then, my liege, According to your gracious dread command, I bad defiance with a vengeful hand.

SPAIN. He entertained it?

AND. Aye, and returned it with menacing brows; Prince Balthezar his son Grew violent, and wish’d the fight begun.

_Enter_ LORENZO.

LOR. So, so, I have sent my slave to hell; Though he blab there, the devils will not tell.

_A Tucket within._[306]

SPAIN. How now! what means this trumpet’s sound?

_Enter a Messenger._

MES. My liege, the Portugals Are up in arms, glittering in steel.

SPAIN. Where’s our lord general, Lorenzo, stout Andrea, With whom I rank sprightly Horatio? What! for shame, shall the Portugals Trample the fields before you?

GEN. No, my liege, there’s time enough To let out blood enough: tribute shall flow Out of their bowels, and be tendered so.

SPAIN. Farewell, brave lords; my wishes are bequeath’d, A nobler rank of spirits never breath’d. [_Exeunt King and Nobles._

JER. O my sweet boy, heaven shield thee still from care! O, be as fortunate as thou art fair!

HOR. And heaven bless you, my father, in this fight, That I may see your grey head crown’d in white! [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ ANDREA _and_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

BEL. You came but now, [and] must you part again? You told me that your spirit Should put on peace; but, see, war follows war.

AND. Nay, sweet love, cease; To be denied our honour: why, ’twere base To breathe and live; and war[307] in such a case Is even as necessary as our blood. Swords are in season then when right’s withstood: Deny us tribute, that so many years We have in peace told out? why, it would raise Spleen in the host of angels! ’twere enough To make our tranquil saints of angry stuff.

BEL. You have o’erwrought the chiding of my breast; And by that argument you firmly prove Honour to soar above the pitch of love. Lend me thy loving and thy warlike arm, On which I knit this soft and silken charm, Tied with an amorous knot: O, may it prove Enchanted armour, being charm’d by love; That when it mounts up to thy warlike crest, It may put by the sword, and so be blest.

AND. O, what divinity proceeds from love! What happier fortune than myself can move!-- Hark! the drum beckons me; sweet dear, fare well! This scarf shall be my charm ’gainst foes and hell.

BEL. O, let me kiss thee first.

AND. The drum again!

BEL. Hath that more power than I?

AND. Do’t quickly then: farewell! [_Exit_ ANDREA.

BEL. Farewell! O cruel part! Andrea’s bosom bears away my heart. [_Exit_ BELL’-IMPERIA.

_Enter_ BALTHEZAR, ALEXANDRO, VOLLUPO, _Don_ PEDRO, _with Soldiers, Drum, and Colours._

BAL. Come, valiant spirits, you peers of Portugal, That owe your lives, your faiths, and services, To set you free from base captivity. O, let our fathers’ scandal ne’er be seen As a base blush upon our free-born cheeks; Let all the tribute that proud Spain received Of those all captive Portugals deceased, Turn into chafe, and choke their insolence. Methinks, no moiety, not one little thought Of them whose servile acts live in their graves, But should raise spleens big as a cannon-bullet Within your bosoms: O, for honour, Your country’s reputation, your lives’ freedom, Indeed your all, that may be termed revenge, Now let your bloods be liberal as the sea; And all those wounds that you receiv[’d] of Spain, Let theirs be equal to quit yours again. Speak, Portugals! are you resolved as I, To live like captives, or as free-born die?

VOL. Prince Balthezar, as you say, so say we; To die with honour, scorn captivity.

ALEX. Why, spoke like true Portugals indeed; I am assured of your forwardness. Now, Spain, sit firm, I’ll make thy towers shake, And all that gold thou hadst from Portugal, Which makes thy court melt in luxuriousness, I vow to have it treble at thy hands. Hark, Portugals! I hear their Spanish drum: March on, and meet them; this must be the day, That all they have received they back must pay. [_The Portugals march about._

_Enter_ JERONIMO, ANDREA, HORATIO, LORENZO, LORD GENERAL, ROGERO, _and Attendants, with Drum and Colours._

JER. What, are you braving us before we come! We’ll be as shrill as you: strike ’larum, drum. [_They sound a flourish on both sides._

BAL. Thou inch of Spain! Thou man, from thy hose downward scarce so much! Thou very little longer than thy beard! Speak not such big words; they’ll throw thee down, Little Jeronimo! words greater than thyself! It must not [be].

JER. And thou long thing of Portugal, why not? Thou, that art full as tall As an English gallows, upper beam and all, Devourer of apparel, thou huge swallower, My hose will scarce make thee a standing collar. What! have I almost quited you?

AND. Have done, impatient marshal.

BAL. Spanish combatants, What! do you set a little pigmy marshal To question with a prince?

AND. No, prince Balthezar; I have desired him peace, that we might war: What! is the tribute-money tendered yet?

BAL. Tribute? ha, ha! What else: Wherefore meet our drums, But to tender and receive the sums Of many a bleeding heart which, ere sun fall, Shall pay dear tribute, even their lives and all.

AND. Prince Balthezar, I know your valiant spirit; I know your courage to be tried and good, And yet, O prince, be not confirmed in blood: Not that I taste of fear or cowardice, But of religion, piety, and love To many bosoms, that yet firmly move Without disturbed spleens. O, in thy heart Weigh the dear drops of many a purple part, That must be acted on the field’s green stage, Before the evening dews quench the sun’s rage. Let tribute be appeased and so stayed, And let not wonted fealty be denayed To our desertful kingdom. Portugals, Keep your forefathers’ oaths; that virtue craves; Let them not lie foresworn now in their graves, To make their ashes perjured and unjust, For heaven can be revenged on their dust. They swore to Spain, both for themselves and you; And will posterity prove their sires untrue? This should not be ’mong men of virtuous sp’rit: Pay tribute thou, and receive peace and writ.

BAL. O virtuous coward!

HOR. O ignoble spirit! To term him coward for his virtuous merit!

AND. Coward! nay, then, relentless rib of steel, What virtue cannot, thou shalt make him feel.

LOR. Proud Alexandro, thou art mine.

ALEX. Agreed.

ROG. And thou, Vollupo, mine.

VOL. I’ll make thee bleed.

HOR. And thou, Don Pedro, mine.

DON PED. I care not whose; or thine, or thine, or all at once.