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The Spanish Tragedie
Title: The Spanish Tragedie
by Thomas Kyd
ISBN 978-3-7429-5870-9
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It is not permitted to reproduce or publish this work in whole or in part without prior written permission.
THE SPANISH TRAGEDIE
1587
By Thomas Kyd
Containing the lamentable end of DON HORATIO, and BEL-IMPERIA:
with the pittiful death of olde HIERONIMO.
Newly corrected and amended of such grosse faults as passed in the first impression.
At London
Printed by Edward Allde, for
Edward White
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
[Edited by John Matthews Manly, 1897. This electronic text is based on the earliest extant edition, which is undated but was printed before 1618. Some bracketed text is verbatim from Manly's edition. However, some bracketed text is taken from alternate editions which Manly originally supplied in footnotes. As the editor of this electronic edition, I have sometimes chosen the clearer of two alternatives, sacrificing the specificity of Manly's footnoted edition in favor of a text that has a better chance of being read and understood by a modern audience. I have also excluded the insertions supposed to have been written by Ben Johnson, as well as the additional dialogue from III.xiii and IV.iii. Some alternate dialogue has been included as has been labeled as such.]
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ACTVS PRIMVS.
[Prologue]
[ACT I. SCENE 2.]
[ACT I. SCENE 3.]
ACTUS SECUNDUS.
[ACT II. SCENE 1.]
[ACT II. SCENE 2.]
[ACT II. SCENE 3.]
[ACT II. SCENE 4.]
ACTUS TERTIUS.
[ACT III. SCENE 1.]
[ACT III. SCENE 2.]
[ACT III. SCENE 3.]
[ACT III. SCENE 4.]
[ACT III. SCENE 5.]
[ACT III. SCENE 6.]
[ACT III. SCENE 7.]
[ACT III. SCENE 8.]
[ACT III. SCENE 9.]
[ACT III. Scene 10.]
[ACT III. SCENE 11.]
[ACT III. SCENE 12.]
[ACT III. SCENE 13.]
[ACT III. SCENE 14.]
ACTUS QUARTUS.
[ACT IV. SCENE 1.]
[ACT IV. SCENE 2.]
[ACT IV. SCENE 3.]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
GHOST OF ANDREA |
REVENGE | the Chorus.
KING OF SPAIN.
VICEROY OF PORTUGAL.
DON CIPRIAN, duke of Castile.
HIERONIMO, knight-marshall of Spain.
BALTHAZAR, the Viceroy's son.
LORENZO, Don Ciprian's son [and Bel-imperia's brother].
HORATIO, Hieronimo's son.
ALEXANDRO |
VILLUPPO | lords of Portual.
PEDRINGANO, servant of Bel-imperia.
SERBERINE, servant of Balthazar.
Spanish General, Portuguese Embassador, Old Man, Painter Page,
Hangman, Citizens, Soldiers, Attendants, &c.
BEL-IMPERIA, Lorenzo's sister.
ISABELLA, Hieronimo's wife.
PAGE.
MESSENGER.
CHRISTOPHEL.
SERVANT.
SENEX (DON BAZULTO).
CITIZENS.
[Prologue]
Enter the GHOAST OF ANDREA, and with him REUENGE.
GHOAST. When this eternall substance of my soule
Did liue imprisond in my wanton flesh,
Ech in their function seruing others need,
I was a courtier in the Spanish court:
My name was Don Andrea; my discent,
Though not ignoble, yet inferiour far
To gratious fortunes of my tender youth,
For there, in prime and pride of all my yeeres,
By duteous seruice and deseruing loue,
In secret I possest a worthy dame,
Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.
But in the haruest of my sommer ioyes
Deaths winter nipt the blossomes of my blisse,
Forcing diuorce betwixt my loue and me;
For in the late conflict with Portingale
My valour drew me into dangers mouth
Till life to death made passage through my wounds.
When I was slaine, my soule descended straight
To passe the flowing streame of Archeron;
But churlish Charon, only boatman there,
Said that, my rites of buriall not performde,
I might not sit amongst his passengers.
Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis lap,
And slakte his smoaking charriot in her floud,
By Don Horatio, our knight-marshals sonne,
My funerals and obsequies were done.
Then was the fariman of hell content
To passe me ouer to the slimie strond
That leades to fell Auernus ougly waues.
There, pleasing Cerberus with honied speech,
I past the perils of the formost porch.
Not farre from hence, amidst ten thousand soules,
Sate Minos, Eacus and Rhadamant;
To whome no sooner gan I make approach,
To craue a pasport for my wandring ghost,
But Minos in grauen leaues of lotterie
Drew forth the manner of my life and death.
"This knight," quoth he, "both liu'd and died in loue;
And for his loue tried fortune of the warres;
And by warres fortune lost both loue and life."
"Why then," said Eacus, "convey him hence
To walke with lovers in our field of loue
And the course of euerlasting time
Vnder greene mirtle-trees and cipresse shades."
"No, no!" said Rhadamant, "it were not well
With louing soules to place a martialist.
He died in warre, and must to martiall fields,
Where wounded Hector liues in lasting paine,
And Achilles Mermedons do scoure the plaine."
Then Minos, mildest censor of the three,
Made this deuice, to end the difference:
"Send him," quoth he, "to our infernall king,
To dome him as best seemes his Maiestie."
To this effect my pasport straight was drawne.
In keeping on my way to Plutos court
Through dreadfull shades of euer-glooming night,
I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell
Or pennes can write or mortall harts can think.
Three waies there were: that on the right hand side
Was ready way vnto the foresaid fields
Where louers liue and bloudie martialists,
But either sort containd within his bounds;
The left hand path, declining fearfuly,
Was ready downfall to the deepest hell,
Where bloudie Furies shakes their whips of steele,
And poore Ixion turnes an endles wheele,
Where vsurers are choakt with melting golde,
And wantons are imbraste with ougly snakes,
And murderers groane with neuer-killing wounds,
And periured wights scalded in boiling lead,
And all foule sinnes with torments ouerwhelmd;
Twixt these two waies I trod the middle path,
Which brought me to the faire Elizian greene,
In midst whereof there standes a stately towre,
The walles of brasse, the gates of adamant.
Heere finding Pluto with his Proserpine,
I shewed my pasport, humbled on my knee.
Whereat faire Proserpine began to smile,
And begd that onely she might giue me doome.
Pluto was pleasd, and sealde it with a kisse.
Forthwith, Reuenge, she rounded thee in th' eare,
And bad thee lead me though the gates of horn,
Where dreames haue passage in the silent night.
No sooner had she spoke but we weere heere,
I wot not how, in the twinkling of an eye.
REUENGE. Then know, Andrea, that thou ariu'd
Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,
Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingale,
Depriu'd of life by Bel-imperia:
Heere sit we downe to see the misterie,
And serue for Chorus in this tragedie.
[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
[The Spanish Court]
Enter SPANISH KING, GENERALL, CASTILLE, HIERONIMO.
KING. Now say, l[ord] generall: how fares our campe?
GEN. All wel, my soueraigne liege, except some few
That are deceast by fortune of the warre.
KING. But what portends thy cheerefull countenance
And posting to our presence this in hast?
Speak, man: hath fortune giuen vs victorie?
GEN. Victorie, my liege, and that with little losse.
KING. Out Portugals will pay vs tribute then?
GEN. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithall.
KING. Then blest be Heauen, and Guider of the heauens,
From whose faire influence such iustice flowes!
CAST. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,
Et coniuratae curato poplite gentes
Succumbent: recto soror est victoria iuris!
KING. Thanks to my loving brother of Castille.
But, generall, vnfolde in breefe discourse
Your forme of battell and your warres successe,
That, adding all the pleasure of thy newes
Vnto the height of former happines,
With deeper wage and gentile dignitie
We may reward thy blisfull chiualrie.
GEN. Where Spaine and Portingale do ioyntly knit
Their frontiers, leaning on each others bound,
There met our armies in the proud aray:
Both furnisht well, both full of hope and feare,
Both menacing alike with daring showes,
Both vaunting sundry colours of deuice,
Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes,
Both raising dreadfull clamors to the skie,
That valleis, hils, and riuers made rebound
And heauen it-selfe was frighted with the sound.
Our battels both were pitcht in squadron forme,
Each corner strongly fenst with wings of shot;
But, ere we ioyned 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 incounter vs;
Meane-while our ordinance plaid on either side,
And captaines stroue to haue their valours tride.
Don Pedro, their chiefe horsemens corlonell,
Did with his cornet brauely make attempt
To break our order of our battell rankes;
But Don Rogero, worthy man of warre,
Marcht forth against him with our musketiers
And stopt the mallice of his fell approach.
While they maintaine hot skirmish too and fro,
Both battailes ioyne and fall to handie blowes,
Their violent shot resembling th' oceans rage
When, roaring lowd and with a swelling tide,
It beats vpon the rampiers of huge rocks,
And gapes to swallow neighbor-bounding lands.
Now, while Bellona rageth heere and there,
Thick stormes of bullets ran like winters haile,
And shiuered launces darke the troubled aire;
Pede pes & cuspide cuspis,
Arma sonant armis vir petiturque viro;
On euery side drop captaines to the ground,
And souldiers, some ill-maimde, some slaine outright:
Heere falls a body sundred from his head;
There legs and armes lye bleeding on the grasse,
Mingled with weapons and vnboweled steeds,
That scattering ouer-spread the purple plaine.
In all this turmoyle, three long hovres and more
The victory to neither part inclinde,
Till Don Andrea with his braue lanciers
In their maine battell made so great a breach
That, halfe dismaid, the multitude retirde.
But Balthazar, the Portingales young prince,
Brought rescue and encouragde them to stay.
Heere-hence the fight was eagerly renewd,
And in that conflict was Andrea slaine,—
Braue man-at-arms, but weake to Balthazar.
Yet, while the prince, insulting ouer him,
Breathd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproch,
Friendship and hardie valour ioyned in one
Prickt forth Horatio, our knight-marshals sonne,
To challenge forth that prince in single fight.
Not long betweene these twain the fight indurde,
But straight the prince was beaten from his horse
And forcst to yeeld him prisoner to his foe.
When he was taken, all the rest fled,
And our carbines pursued them to death,
Till, Phoebus waning to the western deepe,
Our trumpeters were chargd to sound retreat.
KING. Thanks, good l[ord] general, for these good newes!
And, for some argument of more to come,
Take this and weare it for thy soueraignes sake.
Giue him his chaine.
But tell me now: hast thou confirmed a peace?
GEN. No peace, my liege, but peace conditionall,
That, if with homage tribute be well paid,
The fury of your forces wilbe staide.
And to this peace their viceroy hath subscribde,
Giue the K[ING] a paper.
And made a solemne vow that during life
His tribute shalbe truely paid to Spaine.
KING. These words, these deeds become thy person wel.
But now, knight-marhsall, frolike with thy king,
For tis thy sonne that winnes this battels prize.
HIERO. Long may he liue to serue my soueraigne liege!
And soone decay unless he serue my liege!
A [trumpet] a-farre off.
KING. Nor thou nor he shall dye without reward.
What meanes this warning of this trumpets sound?
GEN. This tels me that your Graces men of warre,
Such as warres fortune hath reseru'd from death,
Come marching on towards your royall seate,
To show themselues before your Maiestie;
For so gaue I in charge at my depart.
Whereby by demonstration shall appeare
That all, except three hundred or few more,
Are safe returnd and by their foes inricht.
The armie enters, BALTHAZAR betweene LORENZO
and HORATIO, captiue.
KING. A gladsome sight! I long to see them heere.
They enter and passe by.
Was that the warlike prince of Portingale
That by our nephew was in triumph led?
GEN. It was, my liege, the prince of Portingale.
KING. But what was he that on the other side
Held him by th' arme as partner of the prize?
HIERO. That was my sonne, my gracious soueraigne;
Of whome though from his tender infancie
My louing thoughts did neuer hope but well,
He neuer pleasd his fathers eyes till now,
Nor fild my hart with ouercloying ioyes.
KING. Goe, let them march once more about these walles,
That staying them we may conferre and talke
With our braue prisoner and his double guard.
[Exit a MESSENGER.]
Hieoronimo, it greatly pleaseth vs
That in our victorie thou haue a share
By vertue of thy worthy sonnes exploit.
Enter againe.
Bring hether the young prince of Portingale!
The rest martch on, but, ere they be dismist,
We will bestow on euery soldier
Two duckets, and on euery leader ten,
That they may know our largesse welcomes them.
Exeunt all [the army] but BAL[THAZAR],
LOR[ENZO], and HOR[ATIO].
[KING.] Welcome, Don Balthazar! Welcome nephew!
And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too!
Young prince, although thy fathers hard misdeedes
In keeping backe the tribute that he owes
Deserue but euill measure at our hands,
Yet shalt thou know that Spaine is honorable.
BALT. The trespasse that my father made in peace
Is now controlde by fortune of the warres;
And cards once dealt, it bootes not aske why so.
His men are slaine,—a weakening to his realme;
His colours ceaz'd,—a blot vnto his name;
His sonne distrest,—a corsiue to his hart;
These punishments may cleare his late offence.
KING. I, Balthazar, if he obserue this truce,
Our peace will grow the stronger for these warres.
Meane-while liue thou, though not in libertie,
Yet free from bearing any seruile yoake;
For in our hearing thy deserts were great.
And in our sight thy-selfe art gratious.
BALT. And I shall studie to deserue this grace.
KING. But tell me,—for their holding makes me doubt:
To Which of these twaine art thou prisoner?
LOR. To me, my liege.
HOR. To me, my soueraigne.
LOR. This hand first tooke his courser by the raines.
HOR. But first my launce did put him from his horse.
LOR. I ceaz'd the weapon and enioyde it first.
HOR. But first I forc'd him lay his weapons downe.
KING. Let goe his arm, vpon my priviledge!
Let him goe.
Say, worthy prince: to whether didst thou yeeld?
BALT. To him in curtesie; to this perforce;
He spake me faire, this other gaue me strokes;
He promisde life, this other threatned death;
He wan my loue, this other conquerd me;
And, truth to say, I yeeld my-selfe to both.
HIERO. But that I [know] your Grace is iust and wise,
And might seeme partiall in this difference,
Inforct by nature and by law of armes,
My tongue should plead for young Horatios right.
He hunted well that was a lyons death,
Not he that in a garment wore his skin;
So hares may pull dead lyons by the beard.
KING. Content thee, marshall; thou shalt haue no wrong,
And for thy sake thy sonne shall want to right.
Will both abide the censure of my doome?
LOR. I craue no better than your Grace awards.
HOR. Nor I, although I sit beside my right.
KING. Then by iudgement thus your strife shall end:
You both deserue and both shall haue reward.
Nephew, thou tookst his weapon[s] and his horse:
His weapons and his horse are thy reward.
Horatio, thou didst force him first to yeeld:
His ransome therefore is thy valours fee;
Appoint the sum as you shall both agree.
But, nephew, thou shalt haue the prince in guard,
For thine estate best fitteth such a guest;
Horatios house were small for all his traine.
Yet, in regard they substance passeth his,
And that iust guerdon may befall desert,
To him we yeeld the armour of the prince.
How likes don Balthazar of this deuice?
BALT. Right well, my liege, if this prouizo were:
That Don Horatio beare vs company,
Whome I admire and loue for chiualrie.
KING. Horatio, leaue him not that loues thee so.
Now let vs hence, to see our souldiers paide,
And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest.
Exeunt.
[ACT I. SCENE 2.]
[Portugal: the VICEROY'S palace.]
Enter VICEROY, ALEXANDRO, VILLUPPO.
VICE. Is our embassadour dispatcht for Spaine?
ALEX. Two daies, my liege, are past since his depart.
VICE. And tribute paiment gone along with him?
ALEX. I, my good lord.
VICE. Then rest we heere a-while in our vnrest;
And feede our sorrowes with inward sighes,
For deepest cares break neuer into teares.
But wherefore sit I in a regall throne?
This better fits a wretches endles moane.
Yet this is higher then my fortunes reach,
And therefore better then my state deserues.
Falles to the grounde.
I, I, this earth, image of melancholly,
Seeks him whome fates [adiudge] to miserie!
Heere let me lye! Now am I at the lowest!
Qui iacet in terra non habet vnde cadat.
In me concumpsit vires fortuna nocendo,
Nil superest vt iam possit obesse magis.
Yes, Fortune may bereaue me of my crowne—
Heere, take it now; let Fortune doe her worst,
She shall now rob me of this sable weed.
O, no, she enuies none but pleasent things.
Such is the folly of despightfull chance,
Fortune is blinde and sees not my deserts,
So is she deafe and heares not my laments;
And, coulde she heare, yet is she willfull mad,
And therefore will not pittie my distresse.
Suppose that she coulde pittie me, what then?
What helpe can be expected at her hands
Whose foote is standing on a rowling stone
And minde more mutable then fickle windes?
Why waile I, then, wheres hope of no redresse?
O, yes, complaining makes my greefe seeme lesse.
My late ambition hath distaind my faith,
My breach of faith occaisioned bloudie warres,
Those bloudie warres haue spent my treasur[i]e,
And with my treasur[i]e my peoples blood,
And with the blood my ioy and best beloued,—
My best beloued, my sweet and onely sonne!
O, wherefore went I not to warre my-selfe?
The cause was mine; I might haue died for both.
My yeeres were mellow, but his young and greene:
My death were naturall, but his was forced.
ALEX. No doubt, my liege, but still the prince suruiues.
VICE. Suruiues! I, where?
ALEX. In Spaine, a prisoner by michance of warre.
VICE. Then they haue slaine him for his fathers fault.
ALEX. That were a breach to common lawe of armes.
VICE. They recke no lawes that meditate reuenge.
ALEX. His ransomes worth will stay from foule reuenge.
VICE. No; if he liued, the newes would soone be heere.
VILLUP. My soueraign, pardon the author of ill newes,
And Ile bewray the fortune of thy sonne.
VICE. Speake on; Ile guerdon thee, what-ere it be.
Mine eare is ready to receiue ill newes,
My hart growne hard gainst mischiefes battery;
Stand vp, I say, and tell thy tale at large.
VILLUP. Then heare that truth which these mine eies have seene:
When both the armies were in battell ioyned.
Don Balthazar amidst the thickest troupes,
To winne renowme, did wondrous feats of armes;
Amongst the rest I saw him hand-to-hand
In single fight with their lord generall.
Till Alexandro, that heere counterfeits
Vnder the colour of a duteous freend,
Discharged a pistol at the princes back,
As though he would haue slaine their generall,
But therwithall Don Balthazar fell downe;
And when he fell, then we began to flie;
But, had he liued, the day had sure bene ours.
ALEX. O wiched forgerie! O traiterous miscreant!
VICE. Hold thou thy peace! But now, Villuppo, say:
Where then became the carkasse of my sonne?
VILLUP. I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.
VICE. I, I, my nightly dreames haue tolde me this!
Thou false, vnkinde, vnthankfull, traiterous beast!
Wherein had Balthazar offended thee,
That thou should betray him to our foes?
Wast Spanish golde that bleared so thine eyes
That thou couldst see no part of our deserts?
Perchance, because thou art Terseraes lord,
Thou hadst some hope to weare this diademe
If first my sonne and then my-selfe were slaine;
But thy ambitious thought shall breake thy neck.
I, this was it that made thee spill his bloud!
Take the crowne and put it on againe.
But Ile now weare it till they bloud be spilt.
ALEX. Vouchsafe, dread soueraigne, to heare me speak!
VICE. Away with him! his sight is second hell!
Keepe him till we determine his death.
If Balthazar be dead, he shall not liue.