VICEROY

Is our ambassador dispatched for Spain? And tribute payment gone along with him? Then rest we here a while in our unrest. And feed our sorrows with some inward sighs, For deepest cares break never into tears. But wherefore fit I in a Regal throne, This better fits a wretches endless moan. Yet this is higher then my fortuues reach, And therefore better then my state deserves. I, I, this earth, Image of melancholy, Seeks him whom fates adjudge to misery: Here let me lie, now am I at the lowest. Qui jacet in terranon would et unde cadat, In me consumpsit vires fortunanocendo, Nil superest ut jam possit obesse magis. Yes, Fortune may bereave me of my Crown: Here take it now, let Fortune do her worst, She will not rob me of this sable weed, Oh no, she envies none but pleasant things, Such is the folly of dispightfull chance: Fortune is blind and sees not my deserts, So is she deaf and hears not my laments: And could she hear, yet is she wilful mad, And therefore will not pity my dis resse. Suppose that she could pity me, what then? What help can be expected at her hands? Whose foot standing on a rolling stone, And mind more mutable then fickle winds. Why wail I then where hope of no redress e? Oh yes, complaining makes my grief seem less. My late ambition hath distained my faith, My breach of faith occasioned bloody wars, Those bloody wars have spent my treasure, And with my treasure my peoples blood, And with their blood, my joy and best beloved, My best beloved, my sweet and only Son. Oh wherefore went I not to war my self? The cause was mine I might have died for both: My years were mellow, his but young and green, My death were natural, but his was forced. Survives, I where? Then they have lain him for his father's fault. They reck no laws that meditate revenge. No, if he lived the news would soon be here. Tell me no more of news, for he is dead. Speak on, I'll guerdon thee what ere it be, Mine ear is ready to receive ill news, My heart grown hard gainst mischiefs battery, Stand up I say and tell thy tale at large, Hold thou thy peace, but now Villuppo say, Where then became the carcase of my Son? I, I, my nightly dreams have told me this: Thou false, unkind, unthankful traitorous beast, Wherein had Balthazar offended thee, That thou shouldst thus betray him to our foes? Wast Spanish gold that bleared so thine eyes, That thou couldst see no partly of our deserts? Perchance because thou art Tersera's Lord, Thou hadst some hope to wear this Diadome, If first my Son and then my self were slain: But thy ambitious thought shall break thy neck. I, this was it that made thee spill his blood, But I'll now wear it till thy blood be spilled. A way with him, his sighed is second hell, Keep him till we determine of his death. If Balthazar be dead, he shall not live. Villuppo follow us for thy reward. No more Villuppo, thou hast said enough, And with thy words thou slaiest our wounded thoughts. Nor shall I longer dally with the world: Procrastinating Alexandro's death: Go some of you and fetch the traitor forth, That as he is condemned he may die. Why lingerye? bring forth that daring fe and, And let him die for his accursed deed No more I say, to the tortures, when? Bind him, and burn his body in those flames, That shall presigure those unquenched fierce, Of Phlegiton prepared for his soul. Ambassador, what news hath urged this sudden en trance? What sayest thou? lives Balthazar our son? Thy son does live, your tribute is received, Thy peace is made, and we are satisfied: The rest resolve upon as things proposed, For both our honours and thy benefit. Accursed wretch to intimate these ills, Against the life and reputation Of noble Alexandro. come my Lord unbind him. Let him unbind thee that is bound to death, To make a quitall for thy discontent. Say false Villuppo? wherefore didst thou thus Falsely betray Lord Alexandro's life? Him whom thou knowest, that no unkindness else, But even the slaughter of our dearest son, Could once have moved us to have misconceaued. which villain shall be ransomed with thy death, And not so meanea torment as we here Devised for him, who thou saidst slew our son: But with the bitterest torments and extremes, That may be yet invented for thine end: Entreat me not, go take the traitor hence. And Alexandro let us honour thee, With public notice of thy loyalty, To end those things articulated here, By our great L, the mighty king of Spain. We with our council will deliberate, Come Alexandro keep us company. Go forth Done Pedro for thy Nephews sake, And greet the Duke of Castille. Renowned King, I come not as thou thinkest With doubtful followers, unresolved men, But such as have upon thine articles, Confirmed thy motion and contented me. Know sovereign, I come to solemnize The marriage of thy beloved Niece, Fair Bel-imperia with my Balthazar. With thee my Son, whom sith I live to see Here take my Crown, I give it her and thee, And let me live a solitary life, In ceaseless prayers, To think how strangely heaven hath thee preserved. Or here or where your highness thinks it good. Who, Bel-imperi ? I Bel-imperia hath taught him that. were this in earnest Bel-imperia, You would be better to my Son then so. We are betrayed, my Balthazar is slain, Break open the doors, run save Hieronimo. Hieronimo, do but inform the King of these events, Ypon mine honour thou shalt have no harm. That was thy daughter Bel-imperia. For by her hand my Bal hazar was slain I saw her stab him. Here, and advise thee that thou write the troth, Look to my brother, save Hieronimo. He with a knife stabs the Duke and himself. And thou Done Pedro do the Like for us, Take up our hapless son untimely slain: Set me with him, and he with woeful me, Upon the main mast of a ship unmanned, And let the wind and tide hall me along, To Sallas barking and untamed grief: Or to the loath some pool of Acheron, To weep my want for my sweet Balthazar, Spain hath no refuge for a Portingale. INfortunate condition of Kings, Seated amid so many helpeles doubts: First we are placed upon extremest height, And oft supplanted with exceeding heat, But ever subject to the wheel of chance? And at our highest never joy we so, As we both doubt and dread our overthrow. So strives not the waves with sundry winds, As fortune toileth in the affairs of kings, That would be feared, yet fear to be beloved, Sith fear or love to Kings is flattery For instance Lordings, look upon your King, By hate deprived of his dearest S nne, The only hope of our success li e. Why hast thou murdered my Balthazar?