With tears, for ruth to reave such one by death ; O mother, thou to murder thus thy child! Thee mounted on thy fierce and trampling steed, And with thy mistress' sleeve tied on thy helm, Arost. Madam, alas, in vain these plaints are shed. His only son, whom he did hold so dear. Marc. What wight is that which saw that I did see, But let us go, for I am griev'd anew, To call to mind the wretched father's woe. [Exeunt. Chorus of aged men. When greedy lust in royal seat to reign Hath reft all care of gods and eke of men; And cruel heart, wrath, treason, and disdain, And with the brother's hand the brother slays. When blood thus shed doth stain this heaven's face, Crying to Jove for vengeance of the deed, The mighty God even moveth from his place With wrath to wreak; then sends he forth with speed These, for revenge of wretched murder done, Doth cause the mother kill her only son. Blood asketh blood, and death must death requit; Jove by his just and everlasting doom Justly hath ever so requited it. This times before record and times to come Present before our eyes for our behoof. O happy wight that suffers not the snare [Act iv., Sc. 2.1] The style of this old play is stiff and cumbersome, like the dresses of its times. There may be flesh and blood underneath, but we cannot get at it. Sir Philip Sidney has praised it for its morality. One of its authors might easily furnish that. Norton was an associate to Hopkins, Sternhold, and Robert Wisdom, in the Singing Psalms. I am willing to believe that Lord Buckhurst supplied the more vital parts. The chief beauty in the extract is of a secret nature. Marcella obscurely intimates that the murdered prince Porrex and she had been lovers. THE SPANISH TRAGEDY: OR HIERONIMO IS MAD AGAIN. A TRAGEDY [PUBLISHED 1592, COMPOSED ABOUT 1584-9]. BY THOMAS KYD [1557 ?-1595 ?] Horatio the son of Hieronimo is murdered while he is sitting with his mistress Belimperia by night in an arbour in his father's garden. The murderers (Balthazar his rival, and Lorenzo, the brother of Belimperia) hang his body on a tree. Hieronimo is awakened by the cries of Belimperia, and coming out into his garden, discovers by the light of a torch, that the murdered man is his son. Upon this he goes distracted. HIERONIMO mad. Hier. My son and what's a son? A thing begot within a pair of minutes, there about: To balance those light creatures we call women; And at the nine months' end creeps forth to light. To make a father doat, rave or run mad? Being born, it pouts, cries, and breeds teeth. What is there yet in a son? He must be fed, be taught to go, and speak. Ay, or yet? why might not a man love a calf as well? [Edited Miss Toulmin Smith, Heilbronn, 1883.] Or a fine little smooth horse colt, Should move a man as much as doth a son; None but a damned murderer could hate him. He had not seen the back of nineteen years, When his strong arm unhors'd the proud prince Balthazar; To mercy that valiant but ingnoble Portuguese. Well, heaven is heaven still! And there is Nemesis, and furies, And things call'd whips, And they sometimes do meet with murderers: They do not always 'scape, that's some comfort. Ay, ay, ay, and then time steals on, and steals, and steals, Wrapp'd in a ball of fire, And so doth bring confusion to them all. [Exit. [Act iii., Sc. 11.'] JAQUES and PEDRO, servants. Jaq. I wonder, Pedro, why our master thus Is much distract since his Horatio died: And, now his aged years should sleep in rest, [Kyd, Works, ed. Boas, 1901.] Then starting in a rage, falls on the earth, HIERONIMO enters. Hier. I pry thro' every crevice of each wall, How now, who's there, sprights, sprights? Ped. We are your servants that attend you, sir. When as the sun god rides in all his glory; Ped. Then we burn day light. Hier. Let it be burnt; night is a murd'rous slut, I'll prove it to thee; and were I mad, how could I? Where was she the same night, when my Horatio was murder'd? She should have shone: search thou the book: Had the moon shone in my boy's face, there was a kind of grace, That I know, nay I do know had the murd'rer seen him, His weapon would have fallen, and cut the earth, Had he been fram'd of nought but blood and death; 1 Tags of points. Alack, when mischief doth it knows not what, What shall we say to mischief? ISABELLA his wife enters. Isa. Dear Hieronimo, come in a doors; And when our hot Spain could not let it grow, Till at length it grew a gallows, and did bear our son. Hier. Bid him come in, and paint some comfort, The Painter enters. Pain. God bless you, sir. Hier. Wherefore? why, thou scornful villain? How, where, or by what means should I be blest? Isa. What wouldst thou have, good fellow? Pain. Justice, madam. Hier. O ambitious beggar, wouldst thou have that That lives not in the world? Why, all the undelved mines cannot buy An ounce of justice, 'tis a jewel so inestimable. I tell thee, God hath engross'd all justice in his hands, And there is none but what comes from him. Pain. O then I see that God must right me for my murder'd son. |