portends thy cheerful countenance
    And posting to our presence thus in haste?
    Speak, man: hath fortune given us victory?

GEN. Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.

KING. Our Portugals will pay us tribute then?

GEN. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithal.

  KING. Then blest be Heav'n, and Guider of the heav'ns,
    From whose fair influence such justice flows!

  CAST. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,
    Et conjuratae curvato poplite gentes
    Succumbunt: recti soror est victoria juris!

  KING. Thanks to my loving brother of Castille.
    But, general, unfold in brief discourse
    Your form of battle and your war's success,
    That, adding all the pleasure of thy news
    Unto the height of former happiness,
    With deeper wage and gentle dignity
    We may reward thy blissful chivalry.

  GEN. Where Spain and Portingal do jointly knit
    Their frontiers, leaning on each other's bound,
    There met our armies in the proud array:
    Both furnish'd well, both full of hope and fear,
    Both menacing alike with daring shows,
    Both vaunting sundry colours of device,
    Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes,
    Both raising dreadful clamors to the sky,
    That valleys, hills, and rivers made rebound
    And heav'n itself was frighted with the sound.
    Our battles both were pitch'd in squadron form,
    Each corner strongly fenc'd with wings of shot;
    But, ere we join'd 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 encounter us;
    Meanwhile our ordnance play'd on either side,
    And captains strove to have their valours try'd.
    Don Pedro, their chief horsemen's colonel,
    Did with his cornet bravely make attempt
    To break the order of our battle ranks;
    But Don Rogero, worthy man of war,
    March'd forth against him with our musketeers
    And stopp'd the malice of his fell approach.
    While they maintain hot skirmish to and fro,
    Both battles join and fall to handy blows,
    Their violent shot resembling th' oceans rage
    When, roaring loud and with a swelling tide,
    It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks,
    And gapes to swallow neighbor-bounding lands.
    Now, while Bellona rageth here and there,
    Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail,
    And shiver'd lances dark the troubled air;
    Pede pes & cuspide cuspis,
    Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro;
    On every side drop captains to the ground,
    And soldiers, some ill-maim'd, some slain outright:
    Here falls a body sunder'd from his head;
    There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass,
    Mingled with weapons and unbowel'd steeds,
    That scattering over-spread the purple plain.
    In all this turmoil, three long hours and more
    The victory to neither part inclin'd,
    Till Don Andrea with his brave lancers
    In their main battle made so great a breach
    That, half dismay'd, the multitude retir'd.
    But Balthazar, the Portingales' young prince,
    Brought rescue and encourag'd them to stay.
    Here-hence the fight was eagerly renew'd,
    And in that conflict was Andrea slain,—
    Brave man-at-arms, but weak to Balthazar.
    Yet, while the prince, insulting over him,
    Breath'd out proud vaunts, sounding to our reproach,
    Friendship and hardy valour join'd in one
    Prick'd forth Horatio, our knight-marshall's son,
    To challenge forth that prince in single fight.
    Not long between these twain the fight endur'd,
    But straight the prince was beaten from his horse
    And forc'd to yield him prisoner to his foe.
    When he was taken, all the rest fled,
    And our carbines pursu'd them to death,
    Till, Phoebus waning to the western deep,
    Our trumpeters were charg'd to sound retreat.

  KING. Thanks, good lord general, for these good news!
    And, for some argument of more to come,
    Take this and wear it for thy sovereign's sake.

Give him his chain.

But tell me now: hast thou confirm'd a peace?

  GEN. No peace, my liege, but peace conditional,
    That, if with homage tribute be well paid,
    The fury of your forces will be stay'd.
    And to this peace their viceroy hath subscrib'd,

Give the King a paper.

    And made a solemn vow that during life
    His tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.

  KING. These words, these deeds become thy person well.
    But now, knight-marshall, frolic with thy king,
    For 'tis thy son that wins this battle's prize.

  HIERO. Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege!
    And soon decay unless he serve my liege!

A trumpet afar off.

  KING. Nor thou nor he shall die without reward.
    What means this warning of this trumpet's sound?

  GEN. This tells me that your Grace's men of war,
    Such as war's fortune hath reserv'd from death,
    Come marching on towards your royal seat,
    To show themselves before your Majesty;
    For so gave I in charge at my depart.
    Whereby by demonstration shall appear
    That all, except three hundred or few more,
    Are safe return'd and by their foes enrich'd.

                  The army enters, BALTHAZAR between LORENZO
                  and HORATIO, captive.

KING. A gladsome sight! I long to see them here.

They enter and pass by.

    Was that the warlike prince of Portingal
    That by our nephew was in triumph led?

GEN. It was, my liege, the prince of Portingal.

  KING. But what was he that on the other side
    Held him by th' arm as partner of the prize?

  HIERO. That was my son, my gracious sovereign;
    Of whom though from his tender infancy
    My loving thoughts did never hope but well,
    He never pleasd his father's eyes till now,
    Nor fill'd my heart with overcloying joys.

  KING. Go, let them march once more about these walls,
    That staying them we may confer and talk
    With our brave prisoner and his double guard.

[Exit a MESSENGER.]

    Hieoronimo, it greatly pleaseth us
    That in our victory thou have a share
    By virtue of thy worthy son's exploit.

Enter again.

    Bring hither the young prince of Portingal!
    The rest march on, but, ere they be dismiss'd,
    We will bestow on