ACT IV.[188

_Enter_ ISABELLA _and her_ MAID.

ISABELLA.

So that you say this herb will purge the eye,[189] And this the head. Ah, but none of them will purge the heart! No, there's no medicine left for my disease, Nor any physic to recure the dead.

[_She runs lunatic._

Horatio! O, where's Horatio?

MAID.

Good madam, affright not thus yourself With outrage for your son Horatio; He sleeps in quiet in the Elysian fields.

ISABELLA.

Why, did I not give you gowns and goodly things? Bought you a whistle and a whipstalk[190] too, To be revenged on their villanies?

MAID.

Madam, these humours do torment my soul.

ISABELLA.

My soul, poor soul; thou talk'st of things-- Thou know'st not what: my soul hath silver wings, That mount me up unto the highest heavens: To heaven, ay, there sits my Horatio, Back'd with a troop of fiery cherubims, Dancing about his newly-healed wounds, Singing sweet hymns, and chanting heavenly notes: Rare harmony to greet his innocence,[191] That died,[192] ay, died a mirror in our days. But say, where shall I find the men, the murderers, That slew Horatio? Whither shall I run, To find them out, that murdered my son?

[_Exeunt._

BELL'-IMPERIA _at a window_.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

What means this outrage, that is offer'd me? Why am I thus sequester'd from the court? No notice! shall I not know the cause Of these my secret and suspicious ills! Accursed brother, unkind murderer, Why bend'st thou thus thy mind to martyr me? Hieronimo, why writ[193] I of thy wrongs? Or why art thou so slack in thy revenge? Andrea, O Andrea! that thou saw'st Me for thy friend Horatio handled thus; And him for me thus causeless murdered! Well, force perforce, I must constrain myself To patience, and apply me to the time, Till heav'n, as I have hop'd, shall set me free.

_Enter_ CHRISTOPHIL.

CHRISTOPHIL.

Come, madam Bell'-Imperia, this may[194] not be.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, _and the_ PAGE.

LORENZO

Boy, talk no further. Thus far things go well. Thou art assured, that thou saw'st him dead?

PAGE.

Or else, my lord, I live not.

LORENZO

That's enough. As for his resolution in his end, Leave that to him with whom he sojourns now. Here, take my ring, and give it Christophil, And bid him let my sister be enlarg'd, And bring her hither straight.-- [_Exit_ PAGE.[195] This that I did was for a policy, To smooth and keep the murder secret, Which, as a nine-days' wonder, being o'erblown, My gentle sister will I now enlarge.

BALTHAZAR.

And time, Lorenzo; for my lord the duke, You heard, inquired for her yester-night.

LORENZO.

Why, and my lord, I hope, you heard me say, Sufficient reason why she kept away: But that's all one. My lord, you love her?

BALTHAZAR.

Ay.

LORENZO.

Then in your love beware; deal cunningly: Salve all suspicions, only soothe me up; And if she hap to stand on terms with us, As for her sweetheart, and concealment so, Jest with her gently: under feigned jest Are things conceal'd that else would breed unrest[196]-- But here she comes.

_Enter_ BELL'-IMPERIA.

LORENZO.

Now, sister?

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Sister! no, thou art no brother, but an enemy; Else wouldst thou not have us'd thy sister so: First, to affright me with thy weapon[197] drawn, And with extremes abuse my company; And then to hurry me, like whirlwind's rage, Amidst a crew of thy confederates, And clap me up, where none might come at me, Nor I at any, to reveal my wrongs. What madding fury did possess thy wits?[198] Or wherein is't that I offended thee?

LORENZO.

Advise you better, Bell'-Imperia, For I have done you no disparagement; Unless, by more discretion than deserv'd, I sought to save your honour and mine own.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Mine honour? why, Lorenzo, wherein is't That I neglect my reputation so, As you or any need to rescue it?

LORENZO.

His highness and my father were resolved To come confer with old Hieronimo, Concerning certain matters of estate, That by the viceroy was determined.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

And wherein was mine honour touch'd in that?

BALTHAZAR.

Have patience, Bell'-Imperia; hear the rest.

LORENZO.

Me (next in sight) as messenger they sent, To give him notice that they were so nigh: Now when I came, consorted with the prince, And unexpected, in an arbour there, Found Bell'-Imperia with Horatio.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

How then?

LORENZO.

Why then, remembering that old disgrace, Which you for Don Andrea had endured, And now were likely longer to sustain, By being found so meanly accompanied, Thought rather, for I knew[199] no readier mean, To thrust Horatio forth my father's way.

BALTHAZAR.

And carry you obscurely somewhere else, Lest that his highness should have found you there.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Even so, my lord? and you are witness That this is true which he entreateth of? You, gentle brother, forg'd this for my sake; And you, my lord, were made his instrument: A work of worth, worthy the noting too! But what's the cause that you conceal'd me since?

LORENZO.

Your melancholy, sister, since the news Of your first favourite Don Andrea's death, My father's old wrath hath exasperate.

BALTHAZAR.

And better was't for you, being in disgrace, To absent yourself, and give his fury place.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

But why had I no notice of his ire?

LORENZO.

That were to add more fuel to your[200] fire, Who burnt like Ætna, for Andrea's loss.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Hath not my father then inquir'd for me?

LORENZO.

Sister, he hath, and thus excus'd I thee.

[_He whispereth in her ear._

But, Bell'-Imperia, see the gentle prince; Look on thy love, behold young Balthazar, Whose passions by thy presence are increas'd; And in whose melancholy thou may'st see Thy hate, his[201] love: thy flight, his following thee.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Brother, you are become an orator-- I know not, I, by what experience-- Too politic for me past all compare, Since last I saw you; but content yourself: The prince is meditating higher things.

BALTHAZAR.

'Tis of thy beauty then, that conquers kings; Of those thy tresses, Ariadne's twines,[202] Wherewith my liberty thou hast surprised: Of that thine ivory front, my sorrow's map, Wherein I see no haven to rest my hope.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

To love and fear, and both at once, my lord, In my conceit are things of more import, Than women's wits are to be busied with.

BALTHAZAR.

'Tis I that love.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Whom?

BALTHAZAR.

Bell'-Imperia.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

But I, that fear.

BALTHAZAR.

Whom?

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Bell'-Imperia.

LORENZO.

Fear yourself?

BELL'-IMPERIA.

Ay, brother.

LORENZO.

How?

BELL'-IMPERIA.

As those that what[203] they love are loth and fear to lose.

BALTHAZAR.

Then, fair, let Balthazar your keeper be.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

No,[204] Balthazar doth fear as well as we:

_Et tremulo metui pavidum junxere timorem,_ _Et vanum stolidæ proditionis opus._ [_Exit._

LORENZO.

Nay, an' you argue things so cunningly, We'll go continue this discourse at court.

BALTHAZAR.

Led by the lodestar[205] of her heavenly looks, Wends poor oppressed Balthazar, As o'er the mountains walks the wanderer, Incertain to effect his pilgrimage. [_Exeunt._

_Enter two_ PORTINGALS, _and_ HIERONIMO _meets them_.

1 PORTINGAL.

By your leave, sir.

HIERONIMO.

['Tis[206] neither as you think, nor as you think, Nor as you think: you are wide all: These slippers are not mine, they were my son Horatio's. My son! and what's a son? A thing begot within a pair of minutes--thereabout: A lump bred up in darkness, and doth serve To balance those light creatures we call women: And, at nine months' end, creeps forth to light. What is there yet in a son, To make a father doat, rave, or run mad? Being born, it pouts, cries, and breeds teeth. What is there yet in a son? He must be fed, be taught to go, and speak: Ay, or yet; why might not a man love a calf as well? Or melt in passion o'er a striking kid, as for a son? Methinks, a young bacon, Or a fine little smooth horse colt, Should move a man as much as doth a son; For one of these, in very little time, Will grow to some good use; whereas a son, The more he grows in stature and in years, The more unsquar'd, unbevelled[207] he appears, Reckons his parents among the rank of fools, Strikes care[208] upon their heads with his mad riots: Makes them look old, before they meet with age. This is a son; and what a loss were this, consider'd truly? O, but my Horatio grew out of reach of those Insatiate humours: he lov'd his loving parents; He was my comfort and his mother's joy-- The very arm that did hold up our house: Our hopes were stored up in him. None but a damned murderer could hate him: He had not seen the back of nineteen years, When his strong arm unhors'd the proud Prince Balthazar; And his great mind, too full of honour, took him to Mercy that valiant but ignoble Portingal.[209] Well, heaven is heaven still! And there is Nemesis and furies, And things call'd whips; And they sometimes do meet with murderers: They do not always escape, that's some comfort. Ay, ay, ay, and then time steals on, and steals, and steals, Till violence leaps forth, like thunder, wrapp'd In a ball of fire, And so doth bring confusion to them all.] Good leave have you: I pray you go, For I'll leave you, if you can leave me so.

2 PORTINGAL.

Pray you, which is the next[210] way to my lord the duke's?

HIERONIMO.

The next way from me.

2 PORTINGAL.

To his house, we mean.

HIERONIMO.

O, hard by; 'tis yon house that you see.

2 PORTINGAL.

You could not tell us if his son were there?

HIERONIMO.

Who, my Lord Lorenzo?

1 PORTINGAL.

Ay, sir.

[_He goes in at one door, and comes out at another._

HIERONIMO.

O, forbear! For other talk for us far fitter were; But if you be importunate[211] to know The way to him, and where to find him out, Then list to me, and I'll resolve your doubt. There is a path upon your left-hand side, That leadeth from a guilty conscience Unto a forest of distrust and fear-- A darksome place, and dangerous to pass; There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts, Whose baleful humours if you but uphold,[212] It will conduct you to despair and death; Whose rocky cliffs when you have once beheld, Within a hugy dale of lasting night, That,[213] kindled with the world's iniquities, Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes: Not far from thence, where murderers have built An habitation for their cursed souls, There is a brazen cauldron, fix'd by Jove, In his fell wrath, upon a sulphur flame, Yourselves shall find Lorenzo bathing him In boiling lead and blood of innocents.

1 PORTINGAL.

Ha, ha, ha!

HIERONIMO.

Ha, ha, ha! Why, ha, ha, ha! Farewell, good Ha, ha, ha! [_Exit._

2 PORTINGAL.

Doubtless this man is passing lunatic, Or imperfection of his age doth make him doat. Come, let's away to seek my lord the duke.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ HIERONIMO, _with a poniard in one hand and_ _a rope in the other_.

HIERONIMO.

Now, sir, perhaps I come and see the king; The king sees me, and fain would hear my suit. Why, is not this a strange and seld-seen thing, That standers-by with toys should strike me mute? Go to, I see their shifts, and say no more. Hieronimo, 'tis time for thee to trudge: Down by the dale that flows with purple gore, Standeth a fiery tower; there sits a judge Upon a seat of steel and molten brass, And 'twixt his teeth he holds a firebrand, That leads unto the lake where hell doth stand: Away, Hieronimo! to him be gone; He'll do thee justice for Horatio's death. Turn down this path, and thou shalt be with him straight; Or this, and then thou needst not take thy breath, This way or that way: soft and fair, not so; For if I hang or kill myself, let's know, Who will revenge Horatio's murder then? No, no: fie, no; pardon me, I'll none of that.

[_He flings away the dagger and halter._

This way I'll take, and this way comes the king.

[_He takes them up again._

And here I'll have a fling at him, that's flat; And, Balthazar, I'll be with thee to bring, And thee, Lorenzo, here's the king--nay, stay; And here--ay here--there goes the hare away.[214]

_Enter_ KING, AMBASSADOR, CASTILE, _and_ LORENZO.

KING.

Now show, ambassador, what our viceroy saith: Hath he receiv'd the articles we sent?

HIERONIMO.

Justice, O, justice to Hieronimo.

LORENZO.

Back, seest thou not the king is busy?

HIERONIMO.

O, is he so?

KING.

Who is he that interrupts our business?

HIERONIMO.

Not I. Hieronimo, beware; go by, go by.[215]

AMBASSADOR.

Renowned king, he hath receiv'd and read Thy kingly proffers and thy promis'd league: And as a man extremely overjoy'd, To hear his son so princely entertain'd, Whose death he had so solemnly bewail'd; This for thy further satisfaction And kingly love he kindly lets thee know: First, for the marriage of his princely son With Bell'-Imperia, thy beloved niece, The news are more delightful to his soul, Than myrrh or incense to th' offended heavens: In person, therefore, will he come himself, To see the marriage rites solemnized: And in the presence of the court of Spain, To knit a sure inextricable[216] band Of kingly love and everlasting league Betwixt the crowns of Spain and Portingal; There will he give his crown to Balthazar, And make a queen of Bell'-Imperia.

KING.

Brother, how like you this our viceroy's love?

CASTILE.

No doubt, my lord, it is an argument Of honourable care to keep his friend, And wondrous zeal to Balthazar his son; Nor am I least indebted to his grace, That bends his liking to my daughter thus.

AMBASSADOR.

Now last, dread lord, here hath his highness sent (Although he send not that his son return) His ransom due to Don Horatio.

HIERONIMO.

Horatio! who calls Horatio?

KING.

And well remember'd, thank his majesty: Here, see it given to Horatio.

HIERONIMO.

Justice, O, justice, justice! gentle king.

KING.

Who is that? Hieronimo?

HIERONIMO.

Justice, O, justice! O my son, my son! My son, whom nought can ransom or redeem.

LORENZO.

Hieronimo, you are not well-advis'd.

HIERONIMO.

Away, Lorenzo, hinder me no more, For thou hast made me bankrupt of my bliss. Give me my son; you shall not ransom him. Away! I'll rip the bowels of the earth, [He diggeth with his dagger. And ferry over to the Elysian plains, And bring my son to show his deadly wounds. Stand from about me, I'll make a pickaxe of my poniard, And here surrender up my marshalship; For I'll go marshal up the[217] fiends in hell, To be avenged on you all for this.

KING.

What means this outrage? Will none of you restrain his fury?

HIERONIMO.

Nay, soft and fair, you shall not need to strive: Needs must he go, that [all] the devils drive. [_Exit._

KING.

What accident hath happ'd[218] Hieronimo? I have not seen him to demean him so.

LORENZO.

My gracious lord, he is with extreme pride Conceiv'd of young Horatio his son, And covetous of having to himself The ransom of the young prince Balthazar, Distract, and in a manner lunatic.

KING.

Believe me, nephew, we are sorry for't: This is the love that fathers bear their sons. But, gentle brother, go give to him this gold, The prince's ransom; let him have his due. For what he hath, Horatio shall not want, Hap'ly Hieronimo hath need thereof.

LORENZO.

But if he be thus helplessly[219] distract, 'Tis requisite his office be resign'd, And given to one of more discretion.

KING.

We shall increase his melancholy so; 'Tis best that[220] we see farther in it first: Till when ourself will [hold] exempt the place. And, brother, now bring in th' ambassador, That he may be a witness of the match 'Twixt Balthazar and Bell'-Imperia; And that we may prefix a certain time, Wherein the marriage shall be solemnis'd, That we may have thy lord the viceroy here.

AMBASSADOR.

Therein your highness highly shall content His majesty, that longs to hear from hence.

KING.

On, then, and hear you,[221] lord ambassador.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ JAQUES _and_ PEDRO.

JAQUES.

I wonder, Pedro, why our master thus At midnight sends us with our torches light, When man and bird, and beast, are all at rest, Save those that watch for rape and bloody murder.

PEDRO.

O Jaques, know thou that our master's mind Is much distraught,[222] since his Horatio died; And now his aged years should sleep in rest, His heart in quiet, like a desperate man, Grows lunatic and childish for his son: Sometimes, as he doth at his table sit, He speaks as if Horatio stood by him; Then starting in a rage, falls on the earth, Cries out _Horatio, where is my Horatio?_ So that with extreme grief and cutting sorrow There is not left in him one inch of man: See, here he comes.

_Enter_ HIERONIMO.

HIERONIMO.

I pry through every crevice of each wall, Look at each tree, and search through every brake, Beat on the bushes, stamp our grand-dame earth, Dive in the water, and stare up to heaven: Yet cannot I behold my son Horatio. How now, who's there? Sprights, sprights!

PEDRO.

We are your servants that attend you, sir.

HIERONIMO.

What make you with your torches in the dark?

PEDRO.

You bid us light them, and attend you here.

HIERONIMO.

No, no, you are deceiv'd, not I, you are deceiv'd: Was I so mad to bid you light your torches now? Light me your torches at the mid of noon, When as the sun-god rides in all his glory; Light me your torches then.

PEDRO.

Then we burn daylight.[223]

HIERONIMO.

Let it be burnt; night is a murd'rous slut, That would not have her treasons to be seen: And yonder pale-faced Hecate there, the moon, Doth give consent to that is done in darkness! And all those stars that gaze upon her face, Are aglets[224] on her sleeve, pins on her train; And those that should be powerful and divine, Do sleep in darkness, when they most should shine.

PEDRO.

Provoke them not, fair sir, with tempting words; The heavens are gracious, and your miseries And sorrow make you speak, you know not what.

HIERONIMO.

Villain, thou li'st, and thou dost nought But tell me I am mad! thou li'st, I am not mad! I know thee to be Pedro, and he Jaques. I'll prove it to thee; and, were I mad, how could I? Where was she the same night, when my Horatio was murder'd? She should have shone: search thou the book; Had the moon shone in my boy's face, there was a kind of grace That I know--nay, I do know--had the murd'rer seen him, His weapon would have fallen, and cut the earth, Had he been fram'd of nought but blood and death: Alack! when mischief doth it knows not what, What shall we say to mischief?

_Enter_ ISABELLA.

ISABELLA.

Dear Hieronimo, come in a-doors, O, seek not means so to increase thy sorrow.

HIERONIMO.

Indeed, Isabella, we do nothing here; I do not cry, ask Pedro and Jaques: Not I, indeed--we are merry, very merry.

ISABELLA.

How? be merry here, be merry here? Is not this the place, and this the very tree, Where my Horatio died, where he was murder'd?

HIERONIMO.

Was--do not say what: let her weep it out. This was the tree; I set it of a kernel: And when our hot Spain could not let it grow, But that the infant and the human sap Began to wither, duly twice a morning Would I be sprinkling it with fountain-water. At last it grew and grew, and bore and bore; Till at the length it grew a gallows, and Did bear our son: it bore thy fruit and mine:

[_One knocks within at the door._

O wicked, wicked plant! See who knocks there.

PEDRO.

It is a painter, sir.

HIERONIMO.

Bid him come in, and paint some comfort, For surely there's none lives but painted comfort. Let him come in; one knows not what may chance: God's will [it was], that I should set this tree. But even so masters ungrateful servants rear[225] From nought, and then they hate them that Did bring them up.

_Enter the_ PAINTER.

PAINTER.

God bless you, sir.

HIERONIMO.

Wherefore? why, thou scornful villain? How, where, or by what means should I be bless'd?]

ISABELLA.

What wouldst thou have, good fellow?

PAINTER.

Justice, madam.

HIERONIMO.

O ambitious beggar, wouldst thou have that, That lives not in the world? Why, all the undelved mines cannot buy An ounce of justice, 'tis a jewel so Inestimable. I tell thee, God hath Engrossed all justice in his hands, And there is none but what comes from him.

PAINTER.

O, then I see that God must right me for my Murder'd son.

HIERONIMO.

How? was thy son murder'd?

PAINTER.

Ay, sir, no man did hold a son so dear.

HIERONIMO.

What, not as thine? that is a lie, As massy as the earth: I had a son, Whose least unvalued hair did weigh A thousand of thy sons; and he was murder'd.

PAINTER.

Alas! sir, I had no more but he.

HIERONIMO.

Nor I, nor I: but this same one of mine Was worth a legion. But all is one. Pedro, Jaques, go in a-doors: Isabella, go, And this good fellow here and I Will range this hideous orchard up and down, Like to two lions reaved of their young. Go in a-doors, I say. [_Exeunt._

[_The_ PAINTER _and he sit down_.

Come, let's talk wisely now. Was thy son murder'd?

PAINTER.

Ay, sir.

HIERONIMO.

So was mine. How dost thou take it? art thou not sometime mad? Is there no tricks that comes before thine eyes?

PAINTER.

O Lord, yes, sir.

HIERONIMO.

Art a painter? canst paint me a tear or a wound? A groan or a sigh? canst paint me such a tree as this?

PAINTER.

Sir, I am sure you have heard of my painting: My name's Bazardo.

HIERONIMO.

Bazardo! 'fore God, an excellent fellow. Look you, sir, Do you see? I'd have you paint me my gallery, In your oil-colours matted, and draw me five Years younger than I am: do you see, sir? let five Years go: let them go like the marshal of Spain, My wife Isabella standing by me, With a speaking look to my son Horatio, Which should intend to this, or some such like purpose: _God bless thee, my sweet son_; and my hand leaning upon his head thus. Sir; do you see? may it be done?

PAINTER.

Very well, sir.

HIERONIMO.

Nay, I pray, mark me, sir: Then, sir, would I have you paint me this tree, This very tree. Canst paint a doleful cry?

PAINTER.

Seemingly, sir.

HIERONIMO.

Nay, it should cry; but all is one. Well, sir, Paint me a youth run through and through With villains' swords, and hanging upon this tree-- Canst thou draw a murd'rer?

PAINTER.

I'll warrant you, sir; I have the pattern of the most notorious villains That ever liv'd in all Spain.

HIERONIMO.

O, let them be worse, worse: stretch thine art; And let their beards be of Judas his own colour,[226] And let their eyebrows jutty over: in any case observe that; Then, sir, after some violent noise, Bring me forth in my shirt, and my gown under mine arm, With my torch in my hand, and my sword rear'd up thus: And with these words: _What noise is this? who calls Hieronimo?_ May it be done?

PAINTER.

Yes, sir.

HIERONIMO.

Well, sir, then bring me forth, bring me through alley and alley, still with a distracted countenance going along, and let my hair heave up my night-cap. Let the clouds scowl, make the moon dark, the stars extinct, the winds blowing, the bells tolling, the owls shrieking, the toads croaking, the minutes jarring, and the clock striking twelve. And then at last, sir, starting, behold a man hanging, and tott'ring and tott'ring, as you know the wind will wave a man, and I with a trice to cut him down. And looking upon him by the advantage of my torch, find it to be my son Horatio.

There you may a passion, there you may show a passion. Draw me like old Priam of Troy, Crying, the house is o' fire, the house is o' fire. As the torch over thy head; make me curse, Make me rave, make me cry, make me mad, Make me well again, make me curse hell, Invocate, and in the end leave me In a trance--and so forth.

PAINTER.

And is this the end?

HIERONIMO.

O no, there is no end: the end is death and madness; As I am never better than when I am mad; Then methinks I am a brave fellow; Then I do wonders, but reason abuseth me; And there's the torment, there's the hell: At the last, sir, bring me to one of the murderers; Were he as strong as Hector, thus would I Tear and drag him up and down.

[_He beats the_ PAINTER _in, then comes out_ _again, with a book in his hand._

_Vindicta mihi--_ Ay, heaven will be reveng'd of every ill;[227] Nor will they suffer murder unrepaid: Then stay, Hieronimo, attend their will: For mortal men may not appoint their time.[228]

_Per scelus semper tutum est sceleribus iter._

Strike, and strike home, where wrong is offer'd thee; For evils unto ills conductors be, And death's the worst of resolution; For he that thinks with patience to contend, To quiet life his life shall easily end.

_Fata si miseros juvant, habes salutem;_ _Fata si vitam negant, habes sepulchrum._

If destiny thy miseries do ease, Then hast thou health; and happy shalt thou be: If destiny deny thee life, Hieronimo, Yet shalt thou[229] be assured of a tomb: If neither; yet let this thy comfort be, Heaven covereth him that hath no burial. And to conclude, I will revenge his death: But how? not as the vulgar wits of men, With open but inevitable ills, As by a secret, yet a certain mean, Which under kindship will be cloaked best. Wise men will take their opportunity, Closely and safely fitting things to time. But in extremes advantage hath no time: And therefore all times fit not for revenge. Thus therefore will I rest me in unrest, Dissembling quiet in unquietness: Not seeming that I know their villainies That my simplicity may make them think, That ignorantly I will let all[230] slip; For ignorance, I wot, and well they know,

_Remedium malorum mors est._

Nor aught avails it me to menace them Who, as a wintry storm upon a plain, Will bear me down with their nobility. No, no, Hieronimo, thou must enjoin Thine eyes to observation, and thy tongue To milder speeches than thy spirit affords,[231] Thy heart to patience and thy hands to rest, Thy cap to courtesy and thy knee to bow, Till to revenge thou know, when, where, and how.

[_A noise within._

How now, what noise? what coil is that you keep?

_Enter a_ SERVANT.

SERVANT.

Here are a sort of poor petitioners, That are importunate, and it shall please you, sir, That you should plead their cases[232] to the king.

HIERONIMO.

That I should plead their several actions? Why, let them enter, and let me see them.

_Enter three_ CITIZENS _and an_ OLD MAN.

1 CITIZEN.

So, I tell you this, for learning and for law There is not any advocate in Spain That can prevail, or will take half the pain, That he will in pursuit of equity. [_Aside._

HIERONIMO.

Come near, you men, that thus importune me; Now must I bear a face of gravity, For thus[233] I us'd, before my marshalship, To plead in causes as corrigidor.-- [_Aside._ Come on, sirs, what's the matter?

2 CITIZEN.

Sir, an action.

HIERONIMO.

Of battery?

1 CITIZEN.

Mine, of debt.

HIERONIMO.

Give place.

2 CITIZEN.

No, sir, mine is an action of the case.

3 CITIZEN.

Mine an _Ejectio firma_ by a lease.

HIERONIMO.

Content you, sirs, are you determin'd That I should plead your several actions?

1 CITIZEN.

Ay, sir, and here's my declaration.

2 CITIZEN.

And here's my band.[234]

3 CITIZEN.

And here is my lease.

[_They give him papers._

HIERONIMO.

But wherefore stands yon[235] silly man so mute, With mournful eyes and hands to heaven uprear'd?-- Come hither, father, let me know thy cause.

SENEX.

O worthy sir, my cause, but slightly known, May move the hearts of warlike Myrmidons, And melt the corsic[236] rocks with ruthful[237] tears.

HIERONIMO.

Say, father, tell me what's thy suit?

SENEX.

No, sir, could my woes Give way unto my most distressful words, Then should I not in paper (as you see) With ink bewray what blood began in me.

HIERONIMO.

What's here? _The humble supplication of_ Don Bazulto, _for his murdered son._

SENEX.

Ay, sir.

HIERONIMO.

No, sir, it was my murdered son: O my son, O my son, O my son Horatio! But mine or thine, Bazulto, be content. Here, take my handkerchief, and wipe thine eyes, Whiles wretched I in thy mishaps may see The lively portrait of my dying self.

[_He draweth out a bloody napkin._

O no, not this, Horatio, this was thine; And when I dy'd it in thy dearest blood, This was a token 'twixt thy soul and me, That of thy death revenged I should be. But here, take this and this----

SENEX.

What, thy purse?----

HIERONIMO.

Ay, this and that, and all of them are thine; For all as one are our extremities.

1 CITIZEN.

O, see the kindness of Hieronimo!

2 CITIZEN.

This gentleness shows him a gentleman.

HIERONIMO.

See, see, O, see thy shame, Hieronimo; See here a loving father to his son; Behold the sorrows and the sad laments, That he delivereth[238] for his son's decease. If love's[239] effects so strive in lesser things, If love enforce such moods in meaner wits, If love express[240] such power in poor estates: Hieronimo, when as a raging sea, Toss'd with the wind and tide, o'erturneth then The upper billows, course of waves to keep, Whilst lesser waters labour in the deep: Then shamest thou not, Hieronimo, to neglect The sweet[241] revenge of thy Horatio? Though on this earth justice will not be found, I'll down to hell, and in this passion Knock at the dismal gates of Pluto's court, Getting by force (as once Alcides did)[242] A troop of furies and tormenting hags To torture Don Lorenzo and the rest. Yet lest the triple-headed porter should Deny my passage to the slimy strand, The Thracian poet thou shalt counterfeit-- Come on,[243] old father, be my Orpheus; And if thou canst[244] no notes upon the harp, Then sound the burden of thy sore heart's-grief, Till we do gain, that Proserpine may grant Revenge on them that murdered my son. Then will I rent and tear them thus and thus, Shivering their limbs in pieces with my teeth.

[_Tears the papers._

1 CITIZEN.

O, sir, my declaration!

[_Exit_ HIERONIMO, _and they after_.

2 CITIZEN.

Save my bond.

_Re-enter_ HIERONIMO.

2 CITIZEN.

Save my bond.

3 CITIZEN.

Alas! my lease, it cost me ten pound, And you, my lord, have torn the same.

HIERONIMO.

That cannot be, I gave it[245] never a wound; Show me one drop of blood fall from the same: How is it possible I should slay it then? Tush, no; run after, catch me if you can.

[_Exeunt all but the Old Man._

BAZULTO _remains, till_ HIERONIMO _enters again, who_ _staring him in the face speaks_.

HIERONIMO.

And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth, To ask for justice in this upper earth, To tell thy father thou art unreveng'd, To wring more tears from Isabella's eyes, Whose lights are dimm'd with overlong laments? Go back, my son, complain to Æacus, For here's no justice; gentle boy, be gone, For justice is exiled from the earth: Hieronimo will bear thee company. Thy mother cries on righteous Rhadamant For just revenge against the murderers.

SENEX.

Alas! my lord, whence springs this troubled speech?

HIERONIMO.

But let me look on my Horatio. Sweet boy, how[246] art thou[247] chang'd in death's black shade! Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth, But suffer'd thy fair crimson-colour'd spring With withered winter to be blasted thus? Horatio, thou art older[248] than thy father: Ah, ruthless father, that favour thus transforms!

BAZULTO.

Ah, my good lord! I am not your young son.

HIERONIMO.

What, not my son? thou then[249] a fury art, Sent from the empty kingdom of black night To summon me to make appearance Before grim Minos and just Rhadamant, To plague Hieronimo that is remiss, And seeks not vengeance for Horatio's death.

BAZULTO.

I am a grieved man and not a ghost, That came for justice for my murder'd son.

HIERONIMO.

Ay, now I know thee, now thou nam'st thy son: Thou art the lively image of my grief; Within thy face my sorrows I may see: Thy eyes are gumm'd[250] with tears, thy cheeks are wan, Thy forehead troubled, and thy muttering lips Murmur sad words abruptly broken off, By force of windy sighs thy spirit breathes, And all this sorrow riseth for thy son: And selfsame sorrow feel I for my son: Come in, old man, thou shalt to Isabel: Lean on my arm: I thee, thou me, shalt stay, And thou and I, and she, will sing a song, Three parts in one; but all of discords fram'd: Talk not of chords, but let us now be gone, For with a cord Horatio was slain. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ KING OF SPAIN, _the_ DUKE, VICEROY, _and_ LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, DON PEDRO, _and_ BELL'-IMPERIA.

KING.

Go, brother, 'tis the Duke of Castile's cause; Salute the Viceroy in our name.

CASTILE.

I go.

VICEROY.

Go forth, Don Pedro, for thy nephew's sake, And greet the Duke of Castile.

PEDRO.

It shall be so.[251]

KING.

And now to meet these[252] Portingals: For as we now are, so sometimes were these, Kings and commanders of the Western Indies. Welcome, brave Viceroy to the court of Spain, And welcome all his honourable train. 'Tis not unknown to us, for why you come, Or have so kingly cross'd the raging seas:[253] Sufficeth[254] it, in this we note the troth And more than common love you lend to us. So is it that mine honourable niece, (For it beseems us now that it be known), Already is betroth'd to Balthazar: And by appointment and condescent To-morrow are they[255] to be married. To this intent we entertain thyself, Thy followers, their pleasure,[256] and our peace. Speak, men of Portingal, shall it be so? If ay, say so; if not, say flatly, no.

VICEROY.

Renowned king, I come not, as thou think'st, With doubtful followers, unresolved men, But such as have upon thine articles Confirm'd thy motion, and contented me. Know, sovereign, I come to solemnise The marriage of thy beloved niece, Fair Bell'-Imperia, with my Balthazar, With thee, my son; whom sith I live to see, Here take my crown, I give it her and thee: And let me live a solitary life, In ceaseless prayers, to think How strangely heav'n hath thee preserved.

KING.

See, brother, see, how nature strives in him! Come, worthy Viceroy, and accompany Thy friend with thine extremities: A place more private fits this princely mood.

VICEROY.

Or here, or where your highness thinks it good. [_Exeunt all but_ CAST. _and_ LORENZO.

CASTILE.

Nay, stay, Lorenzo, let me talk with you: See'st thou this entertainment of these kings?

LORENZO.

I do, my lord, and joy to see the same.

CASTILE.

And know'st thou why this meeting is?

LORENZO.

For her, my lord, whom Balthazar doth love, And to confirm the promis'd marriage.

CASTILE.

She is thy sister.

LORENZO.

Who? Bell'-Imperia? Ay, my gracious lord; and this Is th' day, that I have long'd so happily to see.

CASTILE.

Thou wouldst be loth that any fault of thine Should intercept her in her happiness!

LORENZO.

Heav'ns will not let Lorenzo err so much.

CASTILE.

Why then, Lorenzo, listen to my words: It is suspected, and reported too, That thou, Lorenzo, wrong'st Hieronimo; And in his suits towards his majesty Still keep'st him back, and seek'st to cross his suit.

LORENZO.

That I, my lord?

CASTILE.

I tell thee, son, myself have heard it said, When (to my sorrow) I have been asham'd To answer for thee, though thou art[257] my son. Lorenzo, know'st thou not the common love And kindness, that Hieronimo hath won By his deserts within the court of Spain? Or seest thou not the king my brother's care In his behalf, and to procure his health? Lorenzo, shouldst thou thwart his passions, And he exclaim against thee to the king, What honour were't in this assembly, Or what a scandal were't among the kings, To hear Hieronimo exclaim on thee? Tell me, and look, thou tell me truly too,[258] Whence grows the ground of this report in court?

LORENZO.

My lord, it lies not in Lorenzo's power To stop the vulgar, liberal[259] of their tongues: A small advantage makes a water-breach, And no man lives, that long contenteth all.

CASTILE.

Myself have seen thee busy to keep back Him and his supplications from the king.

LORENZO.

Yourself, my lord, have seen his passions, That ill-beseem'd the presence of a king: And for I pitied him in his distress, I held him thence with kind and courteous words, As free from malice to Hieronimo, As to my soul, my lord.

CASTILE.

Hieronimo, my son, mistakes thee then.

LORENZO.

My gracious father, believe me, so he doth; But what's a silly man, distract in mind, To think upon the murder of his son? Alas! how easy is it for him to err? But for his satisfaction and the world's, 'Twere good, my lord, that[260] Hieronimo and I Were reconcil'd, if he misconstrue me.

CASTILE.

Lorenzo, thou hast said; it shall be so. Go, one of you, and call Hieronimo.

_Enter_ BALTHAZAR _and_ BELL'-IMPERIA.

BALTHAZAR.

Come, Bell'-Imperia, Balthazar's content, My sorrow's ease and sovereign of my bliss, Sith heaven hath ordain'd thee[261] to be mine: Disperse those clouds and melancholy looks, And clear[262] them up with those thy sun-bright eyes, Wherein my hope and heaven's fair beauty lies.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

My looks, my lord, are fitting for my love Which (new-begun) can show no brighter yet.

BALTHAZAR.

New-kindled flames should burn as morning sun.

BELL'-IMPERIA.

But not too fast, lest heat and all be done. I see my lord my father.

BALTHAZAR.

Truce, my love; I will go salute him.

CASTILE.

Welcome, Balthazar, welcome, brave prince, The pledge of Castile's peace;-- And welcome, Bell'-Imperia: how now, girl? Why com'st thou sadly to salute us thus? Content thyself, for I am satisfied; It is not now as when Andrea liv'd, We have forgotten and forgiven that, And thou art graced with a happier love:-- But, Balthazar, here comes Hieronimo; I'll have a word with him.

_Enter_ HIERONIMO _and a_ SERVANT.

HIERONIMO.

And where's the duke?

SERVANT.

Yonder.

HIERONIMO.

Even so: what new device have they devised, trow? _Pocas palabras_,[263] mild as the lamb; Is't,[264] I will be reveng'd! No, I am not the man.

CASTILE.

Welcome, Hieronimo.

LORENZO.

Welcome, Hieronimo.

BALTHAZAR.

Welcome, Hieronimo.

HIERONIMO.

My lords, I thank you for Horatio.

CASTILE.

Hieronimo, the reason that I sent To speak with you, is this.

HIERONIMO.

What, so short? Then I'll be gone, I thank you for't.

CASTILE.

Nay, stay, Hieronimo--[_Goes out_]--go call him, son.

LORENZO.

Hieronimo, my father craves a word with you. [_Re-enter_ HIERONIMO.

HIERONIMO.

With me, sir? why, my lord, I thought you had done.

LORENZO.

No; 'would he had! [_Aside._

CASTILE.

Hieronimo, I hear You find yourself aggrieved at my son, Because you have not access unto the king; And say, 'tis he that intercepts your suits.

HIERONIMO.

Why, is not this a miserable thing, my lord?

CASTILE.

Hieronimo, I hope you have no cause, And would be loth that one of your deserts Should once have reason to suspect my son, Considering how I think of you myself.

HIERONIMO.

Your son Lorenzo! whom, my noble lord? The hope of Spain, mine honourable friend? Grant me the combat of them, if they dare:

[_Draws out his sword._

I'll meet him face to face to tell me so. These be the scandalous reports of such, As love not me, and hate my lord too much; Should I suspect Lorenzo would prevent Or cross my suit, that lov'd my son so well?-- My lord, I am asham'd it should be said.

LORENZO.

Hieronimo, I never gave you cause.

HIERONIMO.

My good lord, I know you did not.

CASTILE.

There pause; And for the satisfaction of the world, Hieronimo, frequent my homely house, The Duke of Castile, Cyprian's ancient seat; And when thou wilt, use me, my son, and it: But here before Prince Balthazar and me, Embrace each other, and be perfect friends.

HIERONIMO.

Ay, marry, my lord, and shall; Friends, quoth he? see, I'll be friends with you all: Especially with you, my lovely lord; For divers causes it is fit for us, That we be friends; the world is suspicious, And men may think what we imagine not.

BALTHAZAR.

Why, this is friendly done, Hieronimo.

LORENZO.

And that, I hope, old grudges are forgot.

HIERONIMO.

What else? it were a shame it should not be so.

CASTILE.

Come on, Hieronimo, at my request, Let us entreat your company to-day. [_Exeunt._

HIERONIMO.

Your lordship's to command. Pha! Keep your way.

_Mi! chi mi fa piu carrezze che non suole,_ _Tradito mi ha, o tradir mi vuole._[265] [_Exit._

_Enter_ GHOST _and_ REVENGE.

GHOST.

Awake, Alecto:[266] Cerberus, awake, Solicit Pluto, gentle Proserpine, To combat Acheron and Erebus in hell; Or near-by Styx and Phlegethon; Nor ferried Charon to the fiery lakes Such fearful sights, as poor Andrea sees. Revenge, awake.

REVENGE.

Awake? for why?[267]

GHOST.

Awake, Revenge; for thou art ill-advis'd To sleep--awake: what, thou[268] art warn'd to watch!

REVENGE.

Content thyself, and do not trouble me.

GHOST.

Awake, Revenge; if love, as love hath had, Have yet the power of prevalence in hell: Hieronimo with Lorenzo is join'd in league, And intercepts our passage to revenge: Awake, Revenge, or we are woe-begone.

REVENGE.

Thus worldlings ground what they have dream'd upon. Content thyself, Andrea, though I sleep, Yet is[269] my mood soliciting their souls: Sufficeth thee that poor Hieronimo Cannot forget his son Horatio; Nor dies Revenge, although he sleep awhile: For in unquiet quietness is feign'd,[270] And slumb'ring is a common worldly wile. Behold, Andrea, for an instance, how Revenge hath slept, and then imagine thou, What 'tis to be subject to destiny.

_Enter a Dumb-Show._

GHOST.

Awake, Revenge, reveal this mystery.

REVENGE.

The two first the nuptial torches bore As brightly[271] burning as the mid-day's sun: But after them doth Hymen hie as fast, Clothed in sable and a saffron robe, And blows them out, and quencheth them with blood, As discontent that things continue so.

GHOST.

Sufficeth me, thy meaning's understood, And thanks to[272] thee and those infernal powers, That will not tolerate a lover's woe: Rest thee, for I will sit to[273] see the rest.

REVENGE.

Then[274] argue not, for thou hast thy request.

[_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[188] Hitherto this play has been made to consist of _four_ acts; but, surely, through mistake: the _third_ act containing more pages than any _two_ besides. The present editor [Hawkins] has therefore ventured, against the authority of the printed copies, to divide the _third_ into two; and submits the propriety of the arrangement to the judgment of the reader.

It should seem, nevertheless, as if Kyd did not mean to make this division, as at the end of all the other acts something passes between the Ghost of Andrea and Revenge. It is singular that all the editions of this tragedy should be in four acts only, if such had not been the intention of the author.--_Collier._

[189] _Eyes_, 1618, '23, '33.

[190] Or whipstock. "Probably the handle of a whip, round which a strap of leather is usually twisted, and is sometimes put for the whip itself." So in "Pericles," ii.--

"For by his rusty outside he appears To have practised more the whipstock than the lance."

And in Ben Jonson's "New Inn," iii. 1, Pierce says, in reply to Trundle, "Let him go, base _whipstock_." Other examples are in Mr Steevens's note on "Twelfth Night," ii. 3.

[191] _Innocency_, 1618, '23, '33.

[192] _Liv'd_, ditto.

[193] _Write_, 1618, '23, 33.

[194] _Must_, ditto.

[195] _Exit Page_, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[196] _Unrest_, for disquiet, is a word frequently used by the old writers, as in "Titus Andronicus," act ii. sc. 3--

"And so repose, sweet gold, for their _unrest_."

See Mr Steevens's note on this line.

Again, ibid.--

"Then rest we here awhile in our _unrest_."

[197] [Old copies, _weapons_.]

[198] _Wit_, 1618, '23, '33.

[199] _Know_, 1618, '23, '33.

[200] _The_, 1618, '23, '33.

[201] _Thy hate is love_, 1618.

[202] _Twinnes_, 1618, '23, '33.

[203] _When_, 1618, '23, '33.

[204] _No_, omitted, ditto.

[205] [So in Shakespeare's "Midsummer-Night's Dream," act. i. sc. 1--

"O happy fair! Your eyes are lodestars."

Jonson correctly describes the lodestar, or _loadstar_, as it is less properly called, as "the leading or guiding star." Milton has the same thought in "Allegro"--

"Towr's and battlements he sees Bosom'd high in loftiest trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighb'ring eyes."

Davies calls Elizabeth "lodestone to all hearts and lodestar to all eyes." See also Steevens's note on the above passage.]

[206] [The lines between brackets represent Jonson's additions to the original text.]

[207] _Unleavell'd_, 1623, '33.

[208] _Cares_, ditto.

[209] [Old copies--

"And his great mind, too full of honour, Took him us to mercy that," &c.

Even as altered (perhaps for the better), the text is rather questionable.]

[210] _Next_, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[211] _Importune_, 1618, '23.

[212] _Whose palefull humours if you but behold_, 1618, '23, '33.

[213] _That's_, ditto.

[214] [A proverbial expression.]

[215] [This line is ridiculed by Shakespeare in the induction to the "Taming of the Shrew," and by other poets of the time, as in Decker's "Satiromastix," 1602, where Tulla says, "Go by, Jeronimo, go by."]

[216] _Inexecrable_, Allde's undated edit.; _inexplicable_, 1618, '23, '33.

[217] _My_, 1618, '23, '33.

[218] _Hapt to_, ditto.

[219] _Haplesly_ 1618, '23, '33.

[220] _That_ omitted, ditto.

[221] _Your_, 1618, '23, '33.

[222] Distracted. So in "Jack Drum's Entertainment," 1601, ed. 1616, sig. G 3--

"Alas! kind youth, how came he thus _distraught_?"

And--

"Alas! my son's _distraught_. Sweet boy, appease Thy unstirring affections."

--"Second Part of Antonio and Mellida," iii. 2.

Again, in Lyly's "Euphues and his England"--

"Iffida is _distraught_ of her wits."

[223] To burn daylight was a proverbial phrase for doing anything in waste or with no advantage. See "Merry Wives of Windsor," ii. 1, and "Romeo and Juliet," i. 4. So in Churchyard's "Worthiness of Wales," p. 96, edit. 1776--

"Tyme rouleth on: I doe _but daylight burne_."

And in the "Curtain-Drawer of the World," 1612--"How dost thou _burne out thy daylight_ to these thy regardless children."

[224] An aglet, Mr Pope says, is the tag of a point. See "Taming of the Shrew," i. 2. This is one of the explanations in Baret's "Alvearic," 1580, who also says, "An aglet is a jewell in one's cap, _segmentum aureum_."

[225] [Old copy, _rear'd_.]

[226] It is observed that, in an age when but a small part of the nation could read, ideas were frequently borrowed from representations in painting or tapestry. Leland, in his "Collectanea," asserts that painters constantly represented Judas the traitor with a red head. Dr Plot ("Oxfordshire," p. 153) says the same. This conceit is thought to have arisen in England from an ancient grudge to the red-haired Danes. See the notes of Mr Steevens and Mr Tollet to "Merry Wives of Windsor," i. 4. To the instances there produced may be added the following--"What has he given her? what is it, gossip? A fair, high-standing cup, and the two great 'postle spoons, one of them gilt. Sure, that was Judas with the red beard."--Middleton's "Chaste Maid in Cheapside," 1620.

"Methought a sweet young man, In years some twenty, with a downy chin, Promising a future beard, _and yet no red one_."

--Beaumont and Fletcher's "Sea Voyage." [See also Dyce's ed. of Beaumont and Fletcher, v. 41.]

"Runne to the counter, Fetch me _red-bearded_ serjeant."

--"Ram Alley," 1611, ed. 1636, E 3.

[227] This passage seems laughed at in the induction to an extremely rare old play, called "A Warning for Fair Women," 1599.

"Came screaming like a piggie halfstickt, And cries, _Vindicta_, revenge, revenge!"

--_Collier._

[228] _A time_, 1618, '23, '33.

[229] _Thou shalt_, 1623, '33.

[230] _It_, 1618, '23, '33.

[231] _Spirits affoord_, ditto.

[232] _Causes_, 1623, '33.

[233] _This_, 1618, '23, '33.

[234] This was altered _to bond_ in the edition of 1599. _Band_ was, however, the manner in which the word was previously written, and, I imagine, pronounced. See several instances in Mr Steevens's note on the "Comedy of Errors," iv. 2. Again, in Churchyard's "Challenge," 1593, p. 152--

"Since faith could get no credit at his hand, I sent him word to come and see my _band_"

And, in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Noble Gentleman" [Dyce's ed., x. 118]--

"Take up at any use; give _band_ or land, Or mighty statutes."

[235] _Stand you_, 1618, '23, '33.

[236] [Melius latebam procul ab invidæ malis, remotus inter _Corsicos rupes_.--Senec. in "Oct."

"Safe I lay hid and free from envy's spite, While _Corsick rocks_ were my retired Site."

--Brathwaite's "Survey of History," 1638, p. 152, b.

Nares says, _corsick_, grieved; but query, Corsic for _Corsican_ or _vindictive_.]

[237] _Rueful_, 1618, '23, '33.

[238] _Delivered_, 1618, '23, '33.

[239] _Love_, 1618.

[240] _Enforce_, 1611, '23, '33.

[241] _Swift_, ditto.

[242] _Did_, omitted, 1618.

[243] _On_, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[244] _Canst no notes_, _i.e._, understandest not, hast no knowledge of, or power in. So Spenser and others.

[245] _Them_, 1618, '23, '33.

[246] _How_, omitted, 1618.

[247] _Thou art_, 1623, '33.

[248] _Elder_, 1618, '23, '33.

[249] _Then thou_, 1633.

[250] _Dim'd_, 1618, '23, '33.

[251] _Be, sir_, 1618; _be done, sir_, 1623.

[252] _The_, 1618, '23, '33.

[253] According to our modern geography, it is not necessary to cross "the raging seas" to pass from Portugal to Spain.

[254] _Sufficed_, 1618, '23, '33.

[255] _They are_, 1633.

[256] _Pleasures_, 1623, '33.

[257] _Wert_, 1618, '23, '33.

[258] _Too_, omitted, ditto.

[259] _Liberal_, in our ancient writers, is (as here) frequently used to signify _licentious_. So in Field's "Woman's a Weathercock"--

"Next that, the fame Of your neglect and _liberal_ talking tongue, Which breeds my honour an eternal wrong."

[260] _That_, omitted 1623, '33.

[261] _Heaven hath thee ordained_, ditto.

[262] _Cheare_, 1618, '23, '33.

[263] These words are given to the Tinker in the induction to the "Taming of the Shrew," in order to ridicule them.

[264] _Hist_, I will be reveng'd, 1633.

[265] _Me. Chi mi fa? Pui Correzza Che non sule Tradito viha otrade vule._--Old copies.

[266] [Old copies, _Alecto_, and a little lower down, _Achinon_ _Ericus_, _For neere by_.]

[267] REV. _Awake for why?_ Omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[268] _Thou_, omitted, 1618, '23, '33.

[269] _In_, ditto.

[270] _Found_, ditto.