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Hier. How, was thy son murder'd ?
Hier. What, not as thine ? that's a lie,
Pain. Alas, sir, I had no more but he.
Hier. Nor I, nor I; but this same one of mine
young. Go in a-doors I say.
(The Painter and he sit down.) Come let's talk wisely now. Was thy son murderd ?
Pain. Ay, sir.
Hier. So was mine.
Pain. O lord, yes, sir.
Hier. Art a painter? canst paint me a tear, a wound ? A groan or a sigh ? canst paint me such a tree as this ?
Pain. Sir, I am sure you have heard of my painting : My name's Bazardo.
Hier. Bazardo ! 'fore God an excellent fellow. Look you, sir. Do you see? I'd have you paint me in 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, 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?
Pain. Very well, sir.
Pain. Seemingly, sir.
Hier. Nay, it should cry; but all is one. Well, sir, paint me a youth run thro' and thro' with villains'
swords hanging upon this tree. Canst thou draw a murd'rer?
Pain. I'll warrant you, sir; I have the pattern of the most notorious villains that ever lived in all Spain.
Hier. 0, let them be worse, worse : stretch thine art, And let their beards be of Judas's own colour, And let their eyebrows jut over: in any case observe that; Then, sir, after some violent noise, Bring me forth in my shirt and my gown under my arm, with my
torch in my hand, and my sword rear'd And with these words; What noise is this? who calls Hier.
onimo? May it be done?
Pain. Yea, sir.
Hier. Well, sir, then bring me forth, bring me thro' 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 tottring, as you know the wind will wave à 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 shew a passion, there you may shew a passion.
Draw me like old Priam of Troy, crying, The house is a fire, the house is a fire; and the torch over my 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.
Pain. And is this the end ?
Hier. O no, there is no end : the end is death and madness;
(He beats the Painter in.) [Act iii., Sc. 12a, whole scene.]
These scenes, which are the very salt of the old play (which without them is but a caput mortuum, such another piece of fatness as Locrine), Hawkins, in his republication of this tragedy, has thrust out of the text into the notes; as omitted in the Second Edition (1594], "printed for Ed. Allde, amended of such gross blunders as passed in the first : and thinks them to have been foisted in by the players.-A late discovery at Dulwich College has ascertained that two sundry payments were made to Ben Jonson by the Theatre for furnishing additions to Hieronimo. See last edition of Shakspeare by Reed. There is nothing in the undoubted plays of Jonson which would authorise us to suppose that he could have supplied the scenes in question. I should suspect the agency of some "more potent spirit." Webster might have furnished them. They are full of that wild solemn preternatural cast of grief which bewilders us in the Duchess of Malfy.
THE LOVE OF KING DAVID AND FAIR BETHSABE, WITH
THE TRAGEDY OF ABSALOM (FIRST PRINTED IN 1599]. BY GEORGE PEELE (1558 ?-1597 ?] ?
Bethsabe, with her maid, bathing. She sings : and David sits
above, viewing her.
Hot sun, cool fire, temper'd with sweet air,
Bethsabe. Come, gentle Zephyr, trick'd with those perfumes
than the substance of the same,
David. What tunes, what words, what looks, what wonders pierce
"[The play is in fifteen Scenes. See Peele's Works, ed. Bullen, 1888, vol. ii.) a The sun's rays.
Fair Eva, plac'd in perfect happiness,
Cusay. Is it not Bethsabe the Hethite's wife
David. Go now and bring her quickly to the King ; Tell her, her graces hath found grace with him.
Cusay. I will, my Lord.
David. Bright Bethsabe shall wash in David's bower
"[Two lines omitted.]
"[Twenty-one lines omitted.]
Now comes my Lover tripping like the Roe,
[Sc. 1.] There is more of the same stuff, but I suppose the reader has a surfeit; especially as this Canticle of David has never been suspected to contain any pious sense couched underneath it, whatever his son's may. The kingly bower, "seated in hearing of a hundred streams," is the best of it.
LUST'S DOMINION, OR THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN. A
TRAGEDY [PRODUCED ABOUT 1600: NOT BY MAR-
QUEEN.-ELEAZAR, the Moor.
Eleaz. Away, away.
Queen. No, no, says aye; and twice away, says stay.
Queen. What means my love ?
Eleaz. What, die for me ? Away.
[For other extracts from Peele see pages 437, 440, 453 and 568.]