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A SELECT COLLECTION
OF
OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY IN THE YEAR 1744.
FOURTH EDITION,
NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS, AND NEW NOTES
BY
W. CAREW HAZLITT.
BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.
New York
Table of Contents Created by Transcriber
THE SPANISH TRAGEDY
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
CORNELIA.
THE ARGUMENT.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
SOLIMAN AND PERSEDA.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
LIFE AND DEATH OF JACK STRAW.
ACTUS PRIMUS.
ACTUS SECUNDUS.
ACTUS TERTIUS.
ACTUS QUARTUS.
THE SPANISH TRAGEDY
OR THE
SECOND PART OF JERONIMO.
EDITIONS.
The Spanish Tragedie, Containing the lamentable end of Don Horatio and Bel-imperia: with the pitiful 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. [Circâ 1594.] 4°.
The Spanish Tragedie. Containing the lamentable end of Don Horatio.... At London printed by William White dwelling in Cow-lane. 1599. 4°.
The Spanish Tragedie: Containing... enlarged with new additions of the Painters part and others, as it hath of late been divers time acted. Imprinted at London by W. W. for T. Pauier.... 1602. 4°.
Other editions appeared in 1610, &c., an account of which may be found in Halliwell's "Dictionary." Compare also Hazlitt, art. Kyd.
PREFACE.
This play was the object of ridicule to almost every writer of the time.[1] Heywood refers to it as the work of Thomas Kyd,[2] who is enumerated among the best tragic writers of his time by Meres. Ben Jonson speaks of him in his lines on Shakespeare as sporting Kyd; and Clarke, in his "Polimanteia," 1595, says, "Cornelia's [Pg 4]
[Pg 5]Tragedy, however not respected, was excellently well done by him."
There is no exact authority for calling Allde's undated 4to the second edition, as Hawkins did, since we do not know how many others may have preceded it. The play was licenced in October 1592; but of a first edition, not purporting to be amended, no copy has been yet found. The allusion to "Jeronimo," which occurs in the introduction to Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair," probably refers to the "First Part of Jeronimo."
Henslowe seems to mention a performance of the "Spanish Tragedy," February 23, 1591-92; and we find from Decker's "Satiromastix," 1602, that Ben Jonson originally performed the part of Jeronimo.
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Cotton alludes to this play even as late as in the prologue to his "Scoffer Scoff'd"—
"Old tales and songs and an old jest,
Our stomachs easily digest,
And of all plays Hieronymo's the best,"
Our stomachs easily digest,
And of all plays Hieronymo's the best,"
which shows that then it was remembered.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
- The Ghost of Andrea.
- Revenge.
- King of Spain.
- Viceroy of Portingal.
- Don Cyprian, Duke of Castile.
- Hieronimo, Marshal of Spain.[5]
- Balthazar,[6] the Viceroy's Son, in love with Bell'-Imperia.
- Lorenzo, Duke of Castile's Son.
- Horatio, Hieronimo's Son.
- Alexandro.
- Villuppo.
- Pedringano.
- Serbebine.
- Old Man.
- Painter.
- Page.
- Hangman.
- Citizens, Soldiers, Attendants.
- Isabella, Hieronimo's Wife.
- Bell'-Imperia, Lorenzo's Sister.
THE SPANISH TRAGEDY, &c.
ACT I.
Enter the Ghost of Andrea, and with him Revenge.
Ghost.
When this eternal substance of my soul
Did live imprison'd in my wanton[7] flesh,
Each in their function serving other's need,
I was a courtier in the Spanish court:
My name was Don Andrea; my descent,
Though not ignoble, yet inferior far
To gracious fortunes of my tender youth:
For there in prime and pride[8] of all my years,
By duteous service and deserving love,
In secret I possess'd a worthy dame,
Which hight sweet Bell'-Imperia by name.
But, in the harvest of my summer[9] joys,
Death's winter nipp'd the blossoms of my bliss,
Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me;
For in the late conflict with Portingal,
My valour drew me into danger's mouth,
Till life to death made passage through my wounds.
When I was slain, my soul descended straight
To pass the flowing stream of Acheron;
But churlish Charon, only boatman there,
Said that, my rites of burial not perform'd,
I might not sit amongst his passengers.
Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis' lap,
And slak'd[10] his smoking chariot in her flood,
By Don Horatio, our knight marshal's son,
My funerals and obsequies were done:
Then was the ferryman of hell content
To pass me over to the slimy strand,
That leads to fell Avernus' ugly waves;
There, pleasing Cerberus with honey'd speech,
I pass'd the perils of the foremost porch.
Not far from hence, amidst ten thousand souls,
Sat Minos, Æacus, and Rhadamant;
To whom no sooner 'gan I make approach,
To crave a passport for my wand'ring ghost,
But Minos, in graven leaves of lottery,
Drew forth the manner of my life and death.
This knight, quoth he, both liv'd and died in love;
And for his love try'd fortune of the wars;
And by war's fortune lost both love and life.
Why then, said Æacus, convey him hence,
To walk with lovers in our fields of love,
And spend the course of everlasting time
Under green myrtle-trees and cypress shades.
No, no, said Rhadamant, it were not well,
With loving souls to place a martialist:
He died in war, and must to martial fields,
Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain,
And Achilles' myrmidons do scour the plain.
Then Minos, mildest censor[11] of the three,
Made this device to end the difference:
Send him, quoth he, to our infernal king,
To doom him as best seems his majesty.
To this effect my passport straight was drawn,
In keeping on my way to Pluto's court,
Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night,[12]
I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell,
Or pens can write, or mortal hearts can think.
Three ways there were: that on the right-hand side
Was ready way unto the 'foresaid fields,
Did live imprison'd in my wanton[7] flesh,
Each in their function serving other's need,
I was a courtier in the Spanish court:
My name was Don Andrea; my descent,
Though not ignoble, yet inferior far
To gracious fortunes of my tender youth:
For there in prime and pride[8] of all my years,
By duteous service and deserving love,
In secret I possess'd a worthy dame,
Which hight sweet Bell'-Imperia by name.
But, in the harvest of my summer[9] joys,
Death's winter nipp'd the blossoms of my bliss,
Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me;
For in the late conflict with Portingal,
My valour drew me into danger's mouth,
Till life to death made passage through my wounds.
When I was slain, my soul descended straight
To pass the flowing stream of Acheron;
But churlish Charon, only boatman there,
Said that, my rites of burial not perform'd,
I might not sit amongst his passengers.
Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis' lap,
And slak'd[10] his smoking chariot in her flood,
By Don Horatio, our knight marshal's son,
My funerals and obsequies were done:
Then was the ferryman of hell content
To pass me over to the slimy strand,
That leads to fell Avernus' ugly waves;
There, pleasing Cerberus with honey'd speech,
I pass'd the perils of the foremost porch.
Not far from hence, amidst ten thousand souls,
Sat Minos, Æacus, and Rhadamant;
To whom no sooner 'gan I make approach,
To crave a passport for my wand'ring ghost,
But Minos, in graven leaves of lottery,
Drew forth the manner of my life and death.
This knight, quoth he, both liv'd and died in love;
And for his love try'd fortune of the wars;
And by war's fortune lost both love and life.
Why then, said Æacus, convey him hence,
To walk with lovers in our fields of love,
And spend the course of everlasting time
Under green myrtle-trees and cypress shades.
No, no, said Rhadamant, it were not well,
With loving souls to place a martialist:
He died in war, and must to martial fields,
Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain,
And Achilles' myrmidons do scour the plain.
Then Minos, mildest censor[11] of the three,
Made this device to end the difference:
Send him, quoth he, to our infernal king,
To doom him as best seems his majesty.
To this effect my passport straight was drawn,
In keeping on my way to Pluto's court,
Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night,[12]
I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell,
Or pens can write, or mortal hearts can think.
Three ways there were: that on the right-hand side
Was ready way unto the 'foresaid fields,
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Where lovers live and bloody martialists;
But either sort contain'd within his bounds.
The left-hand path, declining fearfully,
Was ready downfal[14] to the deepest hell,
Where bloody furies shake their whips of steel,
And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel;
Where usurers are chok'd with melting gold,
And wantons are embrac'd with ugly snakes;
And murderers groan[15] with never-killing wounds,
And perjur'd wights scalded in boiling lead,
And all foul sins with torments overwhelm'd.
'Twixt these two ways I trod the middle path,
Which brought me to the fair Elysian green;
In midst whereof there stands a stately tower,
The walls of brass, the gates of adamant:
Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine,
I show'd my passport, humbled on my knee;
Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile,[16]
And begg'd that only she might give my doom:
Pluto was pleas'd, and seal'd it with a kiss.
Forthwith, Revenge, she rounded thee in th' ear,[17]
And bad thee lead me through the gates of horn,[18]
Where dreams have passage in the silent night.
No sooner had she spoke, but we were here—
I wot not how—in twinkling of an eye.
Where lovers live and bloody martialists;
But either sort contain'd within his bounds.
The left-hand path, declining fearfully,
Was ready downfal[14] to the deepest hell,
Where bloody furies shake their whips of steel,
And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel;
Where usurers are chok'd with melting gold,
And wantons are embrac'd with ugly snakes;
And murderers groan[15] with never-killing wounds,
And perjur'd wights scalded in boiling lead,
And all foul sins with torments overwhelm'd.
'Twixt these two ways I trod the middle path,
Which brought me to the fair Elysian green;
In midst whereof there stands a stately tower,
The walls of brass, the gates of adamant:
Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine,
I show'd my passport, humbled on my knee;
Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile,[16]
And begg'd that only she might give my doom:
Pluto was pleas'd, and seal'd it with a kiss.
Forthwith, Revenge, she rounded thee in th' ear,[17]
And bad thee lead me through the gates of horn,[18]
Where dreams have passage in the silent night.
No sooner had she spoke, but we were here—
I wot not how—in twinkling of an eye.
Revenge.
Then know, Andrea, that thou art arriv'd
Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,
Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingal,
Depriv'd of life by Bell'-Imperia.
Here sit we down to see the mystery,
And serve for Chorus in this tragedy.
Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,
Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingal,
Depriv'd of life by Bell'-Imperia.
Here sit we down to see the mystery,
And serve for Chorus in this tragedy.
Enter Spanish King, General, Castile, and Hieronimo.
King.
Now say, lord General, how fares our camp?
General.
All well, my sovereign liege, except some few
That are deceas'd by fortune of the war.
That are deceas'd by fortune of the war.
King.
But what portends[19] thy cheerful countenance,
And posting to our presence thus in haste?
Speak, man, hath fortune given us victory?
And posting to our presence thus in haste?
Speak, man, hath fortune given us victory?
General.
Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.
King.
Our Portingals will pay us tribute then?
General.
Tribute and wonted homage therewithal.
King.
Then bless'd be heav'n, and guider of the heavens,
From whose fair influence such justice flows.
From whose fair influence such justice flows.
Castile.
O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat æther,
Et conjuratæ curvato poplite gentes
Succumbunt: recti soror eat victoria juris.
Et conjuratæ curvato poplite gentes
Succumbunt: recti soror eat victoria juris.
King.
Thanks to my loving brother of Castile,—
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 greater dignity
We may[20] reward thy blissful chivalry.
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 greater dignity
We may[20] reward thy blissful chivalry.
General.
Where Spain and Portingal do jointly knit
Their frontiers, leaning on each other's bound,[21]
There met our armies in their 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 clamours to the sky,[22]
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
Their frontiers, leaning on each other's bound,[21]
There met our armies in their 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 clamours to the sky,[22]
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
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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 t' encounter us:
Meanwhile, our ordnance play'd on either side,
And captains strove to have their valours[23] try'd.
Don Pedro, their chief horsemen's colonel,
Did with his cornet[24] 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;[25]
Their violent shot resembling th' ocean's rage,
When, roaring loud and with a swelling tide,
It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks,
And gapes to swallow neighbour-bounding lands.
Now while[26] Bellona rageth here and there,
Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail,
And shiver'd lances dark[27] the troubled air.
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 t' encounter us:
Meanwhile, our ordnance play'd on either side,
And captains strove to have their valours[23] try'd.
Don Pedro, their chief horsemen's colonel,
Did with his cornet[24] 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;[25]
Their violent shot resembling th' ocean's rage,
When, roaring loud and with a swelling tide,
It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks,
And gapes to swallow neighbour-bounding lands.
Now while[26] Bellona rageth here and there,
Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail,
And shiver'd lances dark[27] the troubled air.
Pede pes et cuspide cuspis;
Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro.
Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro.
On every side drop[28] captains to the ground,
And soldiers, some ill-maim'd,[29] 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 unbowell'd[30] steeds,
That scattering overspread 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 lanciers,
In their[31] main battle made so great a breach,
That (half dismay'd) the multitude retir'd:
But Balthazar, the Portingal's 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[32] forth Horatio, our knight marshal's son,
To challenge forth that prince to 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 they fled,
And our carbines pursu'd them to the death;
Till, Phœbus waving to the western deep,
Our trumpeters were charg'd to sound retreat.
And soldiers, some ill-maim'd,[29] 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 unbowell'd[30] steeds,
That scattering overspread 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 lanciers,
In their[31] main battle made so great a breach,
That (half dismay'd) the multitude retir'd:
But Balthazar, the Portingal's 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[32] forth Horatio, our knight marshal's son,
To challenge forth that prince to 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 they fled,
And our carbines pursu'd them to the death;
Till, Phœbus waving 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.
And for some argument of more to come,
Take this, and wear it for thy sovereign's sake.
[Gives him his chain.
But tell me now, hast thou confirm'd a peace?
General.
No peace, my liege, but peace conditional,
That if with homage tribute be well paid,[33]
The fury of your[34] forces will be stay'd:
And to this[35] peace their viceroy hath subscrib'd,
That if with homage tribute be well paid,[33]
The fury of your[34] forces will be stay'd:
And to this[35] peace their viceroy hath subscrib'd,
[Gives the King a paper.
And made a solemn vow, that during life
His[36] tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.
His[36] tribute shall be truly paid to Spain.
King.
These words, these deeds, become thy person well.
But now, knight marshal, frolic with thy
But now, knight marshal, frolic with thy
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For 'tis thy son that wins this[38] battle's prize.
For 'tis thy son that wins this[38] battle's prize.
Hieronimo.
Long may he live to serve my sovereign liege,
And soon decay, unless he serve my liege.
And soon decay, unless he serve my liege.
King.
Nor thou, nor he, shall die without reward.
[A tucket[39] afar off.
What means this warning of the trumpet's sound?
General.
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 I gave in[40] 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.
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 I gave in[40] 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.[41] 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?
That by our nephew was in triumph led?
General.
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?
Held him by th' arm, as partner of the prize?
Hieronimo.
That was my son, my gracious sovereign;
Of whom, though from his tender infancy
My loving thoughts did never hope but well,
He never pleas'd his father's eyes till now,
Nor fill'd my heart with over-cloying joys.
Of whom, though from his tender infancy
My loving thoughts did never hope but well,
He never pleas'd his father's eyes till now,
Nor fill'd my heart with over-cloying 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.
Hieronimo, it greatly pleaseth us
That in our victory thou have a share,
By virtue of thy worthy son's exploit.
That, staying them, we may confer and talk
With our brave prisoner and his double guard.
Hieronimo, 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 every soldier two ducats,
And on every leader ten, that they may know
Our largess welcomes them.
The rest march on; but, ere they be dismiss'd,
We will bestow on every soldier two ducats,
And on every leader ten, that they may know
Our largess welcomes them.
[Exeunt all but Bal., Lor., and Hor.
Welcome, Don Balthazar: welcome, nephew;
And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too.
Young prince, although thy father's hard misdeeds,
In keeping back the tribute that he owes,
Deserve but evil measure at our hands,
Yet shalt thou know that Spain is honourable.
And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too.
Young prince, although thy father's hard misdeeds,
In keeping back the tribute that he owes,
Deserve but evil measure at our hands,
Yet shalt thou know that Spain is honourable.
Balthazar.
The trespass, that my father made in peace,
Is now controll'd by fortune of the wars;
And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so:
His men are slain, a weak'ning to his[42] realm;
His colours seiz'd, a blot unto his name;
His son distress'd, a cor'sive to his heart:
These punishments may clear his late offence.
Is now controll'd by fortune of the wars;
And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so:
His men are slain, a weak'ning to his[42] realm;
His colours seiz'd, a blot unto his name;
His son distress'd, a cor'sive to his heart:
These punishments may clear his late offence.
King.
Ay, Balthazar, if he observe[43] this truce,
Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars:
Meanwhile live thou, though[44] not in liberty,
Yet free[45] from bearing any servile yoke;
For in our hearing thy deserts were great,
And in our sight thyself art gracious.
Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars:
Meanwhile live thou, though[44] not in liberty,
Yet free[45] from bearing any servile yoke;
For in our hearing thy deserts were great,
And in our sight thyself art gracious.
Balthazar.
And I shall study to deserve this grace.
King.
But tell me (for their holding makes me doubt)
To which of these twain art thou prisoner?
To which of these twain art thou prisoner?
Lorenzo.
To me,
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my liege.[46]
Horatio.
To me, my sovereign.
Lorenzo.
This hand first took his[47] courser by the reins.
Horatio.
But first my lance did put him from his horse.
Lorenzo.
I seiz'd his weapon, and enjoy'd it first.
Horatio.
But first I forc'd him lay his weapons down.
King.
Let go his arm, upon our privilege—
[They let him go.
Say,[48] worthy prince, to whether didst thou yield?
Balthazar.
To him in courtesy, to this perforce;
He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes;
He promis'd life, this other threaten'd death;
He won my love, this other conquer'd me:
And truth to say, I yield myself to both.
He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes;
He promis'd life, this other threaten'd death;
He won my love, this other conquer'd me:
And truth to say, I yield myself to both.
Hieronimo.
But that I know your grace for just and wise,
And might seem partial in this difference,
Enforc'd by nature and by law of arms,
My tongue should plead for young Horatio's right.
He hunted well, that was a lion's death;
Not he that in a garment wore his skin:
So hares may pull dead lions by the beard.[49]
And might seem partial in this difference,
Enforc'd by nature and by law of arms,
My tongue should plead for young Horatio's right.
He hunted well, that was a lion's death;
Not he that in a garment wore his skin:
So hares may pull dead lions by the beard.[49]
King.
Content thee, marshal, thou shalt have no wrong;
And, for thy sake, thy son shall want no right.
Will both abide the censure of my doom?
And, for thy sake, thy son shall want no right.
Will both abide the censure of my doom?
Lorenzo.