Thomas Kyd - The Spanish Tragedy ACT 2. SCENE 4. lyrics

HORATIO's garden. Enter HORATIO, BEL-IMPERIA, and PEDRINGANO. HOR. Now that the night begins with sable wings To ouer-cloud the brightnes of the sunne, And that in darkenes pleasures may be done, Come, Bel-imperia, let vs to the bower, And there is safetie pa**e a pleasant hower. BEL. I follow thee, my loue, and will not backe, Although my fainting hart controles my soule. HOR. Why, make you doubt of Pedringanos faith? BEL. No; he is as trustie as my second selfe. Goe, Pedringano, watch without the gate, And let vs known if any make approach. PED. [aside] In-steed of watching, Ile deserue more golde By fetching Don Lorenzo to this match. Exit PED[RINGANO]. HOR. What means my loue? BEL. I know not what, my-selfe; And yet my hart foretels me some some mischaunce. HOR. Sweet, say not so; faire Fortune is our freend, And heauens haue shut vp day to pleasure vs. The starres, thou seest, holde back their twinckling shine And Luna hides her-selfe to pleasure vs. BEL. Thou hast preuailed! Ile conquer my misdoubt, And in thy loue and councell drowne my feare. I feare no more; loue now is all my thoughts! Why sit we not? for pleasure asketh ease. HOR. The more thou sitst within these leauy bowers, The more will Flora decke it with her flowers. BEL. I; but, if Flora spye Horatio heere, Her iealous eye will think I sit too neere. HOR. Harke, madame, how the birds record by night, For ioy that Bel-imperia sits in sight! BEL. No; Cupid counterfeits the nightingale, To frame sweet musick to Horatios tale. HOR. If Cupid sing, then Venus is not farre,— I, thou art Venus, or some fairer starre! BEL. If I be Venus, thou must needs be Mars; And where Mars raigneth, there must needs be warres. HOR. Then thus begin our wars: put forth thy hand, That it may combat with my ruder hand. BEL. Set forth thy foot to try the push of mine. HOR. But, first, my lookes shall combat against thee. BEL. Then ward thy-selfe! I dart this kiss as thee. HOR. Thus I [return] the dart thou threwest at me! BEL. Nay then, to gaine the glory of the field, My twining armes shall yoake and make thee yeeld. HOR. Nay then, my armes are large and strong withall: Thus elmes by vines are compast till they fall. BEL. O, let me goe, for in my troubled eyes Now maist thou read that life in pa**ion dies! HOR. O, stay a-while, and I will dye with thee; So shalt thou yeeld, and yet haue conquerd me. BEL. Whose there? Pedringano? We are betraide! Enter LORENZO, BALTHAZAR, CERBERIN, PEDRINGANO, disguised. LOR. My lord, away with her! take her aside! O sir, forbeare, your valour is already tride. Quickly dispatch, my maisters. Th[e]y hang him in the arbor. HOR. What, will you murder me? LOR. I; thus! and thus! these are the fruits of loue! They stab him. BEL. O, saue his life, and let me dye for him! O, saue him, brother! saue him, Balthazar! I loued Horatio, but he loued not me. BAL. But Balthazar loues Bel-imperia. LOR. Although his life were still ambitious, proud, Yet is he at the highest now he is dead. BEL. Murder! murder! helpe! Hieronimo, helpe! LOR. Come, stop her mouth! away with her! Exeunt. Enter HIERONIMO in his shirt, &c. HIERO. What outcried pluck me from my naked bed, And chill my throbbing hart with trembling feare, Which neuer danger yet could daunt before? Who cals Hieronimo? speak; heare I am! I did not slumber; therefore twas no dreame. No, no; it was some woman cride for helpe. And heere within this garden did she crie, And in this garden must I rescue her. But stay! what murderous spectacle is this? A man hanged vp, and all the murderers gone! And in the bower, to lay the guilt on me! This place was made for pleasure not for d**h. He cuts him downe. Those garments that he weares I oft haue seene,— Alas! it is Horatio, my sweet sonne! O, no; but he that whilome was my sonne! O, was it thou that call'dst me from my bed? O, speak, if any sparke of life remaine! I am thy father. Who hath slaine my sonne? What sauadge monster, not of humane kinde, Hath heere beene glutted with thy harmeles blood, And left they bloudie corpes dishonoured heere, For me amidst these darke and dreadfull shades To drowne thee with an ocean of my teares? O heauens, why made you night, to couer sinne? By day this deed of darknes had not beene. O earth, why didst thou not in time deuoure The [vile] prophaner of this sacred bower? O poore Horatio, what hadst thou misdoone To leese thy life ere life was new begun? O wicked butcher, what-so-ere thou wert, How could thou strangle vertue and desert? Ay me, most wretched! that haue lost my ioy In leesing my Horatio, my sweet boy! Enter ISABELL. ISA. My husbands absence makes my hart to throb. Hieronimo! HIERO. Heere, Isabella. Helpe me to lament; For sighes are stopt, and all my teares are spent. ISA. What worlde of griefe—my sonne Horatio! O wheres the author of this endles woe? HIERO. To know the author were some ease of greefe, For in reuenge my hart would finde releefe. ISA. Then is he gone? and is my sonne gone too? O, gush out, teares! fountains and flouds of teares! Blow, sighes, and raise and euerlasting storme; For outrage fits our cursed wretchedness. HIERO. Sweet louely rose, ill pluckt before thy time! Faire, worthy sonne, not conquerd, but betraid! Ile kisse thee now, for words with teares are [stainde]. ISA. And Ile close vp the gla**es of his sight; For once these eyes were onely my delight. HIERO. Seest thou this handkercher besmerd with blood? It shall not from me till I take reuenge; Seest thou those wounds that yet are bleeding fresh? Ile not intombe them till I haue reueng'd: Then will I ioy amidst my discontent, Till then, my sorrow neuer shalbe spent. ISA. The heauens are iust, murder cannot be hid; Time is the author of both truth and right, And time will bring this trecherie to light. HIERO. Meane-while, good Isabella, cease thy plaints, Or, at the least, dissemble them awhile; So shall we sooner finde the practise out, And learne by whome all this was brought about. Come, Isabell, now let vs take him vp. They take him vp. And beare him in from out this cursed place. Ile say his dirge,—singing fits not this case. O aliquis mihi quas pulchrum ver educet herbas HIERO[NIMO] sets his brest vnto his sword. Misceat, et nostro detur medicina dolori; Aut siqui faciunt annorum obliuia succos Prebeat; ipse metam megnum quaecunque per orbem Gramina sol pulchras eiecit lucis in oras. Ipse bibam quicquid meditatur saga veneni, Quicquid et irarum ui caeca nenia nectit. Omnia perpetiar, lethum quoque, dum semel omnis Nost in extincto moriatur pectore sensus. Ergo tua perpetuus speeliuit limunia somnus? Emoriar tecum: sic, sic iuuat ire sub vmbras! Attamen absistam properato cedere letho, Ne mortem vindicta tuam tum nulla sequatur. Heere he throwes it from him and beares the body away. [CHORUS.] ANDREA. Broughtst thou me hether to increase my paine? I lookt that Balthazar should haue been slaine; But tis my freend Horatio that is slaine, And they abuse faire Bel-imperia, On whom I doted more then all the world, Because she lou'd me more then all the world. REUENGE. Thou talkest of haruest, when the corne is greene; The end is [growne] of euery worke well done; The sickle comes not till the corne be ripe. Be still, and, ere I lead thee from this place, Ile shew thee Balthazar in heauy case.