The Ancient British Drama ...

JERONIMO,

PART THE FIRST.

From Heywood's " Apology for Actors," it appears, that Thomas Kyd was the author of the "Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again." But whether he likewise wrote this" First Part of Jeronimo" does not appear.

This "First Part of Jeronimo" is so scarce, that many have doubted whether it ever existed; and Mr Coxeter and the author of the "Playhouse Dictionary" were of opinion, that what is called the Spanish Tragedy, or Hieronimo is Mad again," was only the old play altered and new named.— Ben Jonson has a passage in the induction to" Cynthia's Revels," 1600, that seems to favour that opinion: "Another swears down all that sit about him, that the old Hieronimo, as it was first acted, was the only best and judiciously pen'd play of Europe."

They were, however, two distinct plays, as appears from this copy of the First Part, which is printed from one in the valuable collection of David Garrick, Esq.

From another passage in the induction to" Cynthia's Revels," acted in 1600, it may be conjectured, that "Jeronimo" first appeared on the stage about the year 1588. "They say (says one of the children of the Queen's Chapel) the ghosts of some three or four plays, departed a dozen years since, have been seen walking on your stage here."

Sound a Signet, and pass over the Stage. Enter at one door the King of Spain, Duke of Castile, Duke Medina, LORENZO, and ROGERO; at another door, ANDREA, HORATIO, and JERONIMO. JERONIMO kneels down, and the King creates him Marshall of Spain; LORENZO puts on his Spurs, and ANDREA his Sword. The King goes along with JERONIMO to his House; after a long Signet is sounded, enter all the Nobles, with covered dishes, to the Banquet.

Exeunt omnes. That done, enter all again as before.

Hor. O, my leege,

I have a heart thrice stronger than my years,
And that shall answer gratefully for me.
Let not my youthful blush impare my valour :
If ever you have foes, or red field scars,

Spain. Frolick, Jeronimo! thou art now con- I'll empty all my veins to serve your wars;

firmed

I'll bleed for you; and more, what speech affords,

1 Sound a signet-This word, which is variously spelt, as senet, cynet, sennet, sinet, signate, synnet, sig net, &c. I believe to be no more than a corruption of sonata, Ital. See a note on Julius Cæsar, Vol. VIII. p. 9. and another on King Henry VIII. Vol. VII. p. 236. S.

2 Lorenzo puts on his spurs.-This ceremony is still retained in the creation of a Knight of the Bath, and is generally performed by some person of eminence. See Ansti's Historical Essay upon the Knighthood of the Bath, 4to, 1725. Lord Herbert of Cherbury's Life, p. 5k

Knight Marshal rise, and still rise
Higher and greater in thy sovereign's eyes.
Jer. O, fortunate hour! blessed minute! hap-
py day!

Able to ravish even my sense away!
Now I remember too; O sweet remembrance!
This day my years strike fifty, and in Rome
They call the fifty year, the year of Jubily,
The merry year, the peaceful year, jocond year,
A year of joy, of pleasure, and delight;
This shall be my year of Jubily, for 'tis my fifty.
Age ushers honour; 'tis no shame; confess,
Beard, thou art fifty full, not a hair less.

Enter an Embassador.

Spain. How now? what news from Spain? tribute returned?

Emb. Tribute in words, my leege, but not in coin.

Spain. Ha! dare he still procrastinate with Spain?

Not tribute paid! not three years paid!
'Tis not at his coin,

But his slack homage, that we most repine.
Jer. My leege, if my opinion might stand firm
Within your highness' thoughts-

Spain. Marshal, our kingdom calls thee father; Therefore speak free.

Thy counsel I'll embrace, as I do thee.

Jer. I thank your highness. Then, my gracious leege,

I hold it meet, by way of embassage,
To demand his mind, and the neglect of tribute.
But, my leege,

Here must be kind words, which doth oft besiege
The ears of rough-hewn tyrants, more than blows;
Oh, a politic speech beguiles the ears of foes.
Marry, my leege, mistake me not, I pray;
If friendly phrases, honied speech, bewitching ac-

Med. Only, with pardon, mighty sovereign,—
Cast. I should have chose Don Lorenzo.
Med. I, Don Rogero.

Rog. Oh, no; not me, my lords,

I am war's champion, and my fees are swords. Pray, king, pray, peers, let it be Don Andrea; He's a worthy limb,

Loves wars and soldiers, therefore I love him. Jer. And I love him and thee, valiant Rogero, Noble spirits, gallant bloods;

You are no wise, insinuating lords,

You ha' no tricks, you ha' none of all their sleights.
Lor. So, so, Andrea must be sent embassador;
Lorenzo is not thought upon: good!
I'll wake the court, or startle out some blood.
Spain. How stand you, lords, to this election?
Omnes. Right pleasing, our dread sovereign.
Spain. Then, Don Andrea,-

And. My approved leege.

Spain. We make thee our lord high embassador. And. Your highness circles me with honour's

bounds;

I still discharge the weight of your command
With best respect: if friendly tempered phrase
Cannot affect the virtue of your charge,
I will be hard like thunder, and as rough
As northern tempests, or the vexed bowels
Of too insulting waves, who at one blow
Five merchants' wealths into the deep doth throw.
I'll threaten crimson wars.

Rog. Aye, aye, that's good;

Let them keep coin, pay tribute with their blood. Spain. Farewell then, Don Andrea; to thy charge. Lords, let us in; joy shall be now our guest: Let's in to celebrate our second feast.

[Exeunt omnes, prater LORENZO,
Lor. Andrea's gone embassador;
Lorenzo is not dreamt on in this age.
Hard fate,

When villains sit not in the highest state!
Ambition's plumes, that flourished in our court,
Severe authority has dashed with justice;
And policy and pride walk like two exiles,
Giving attendance, that were once attended;
And we rejected, that were once high honoured.
I hate Andrea; 'cause he aims at honour, when
My purest thoughts work in a pitchy vale,
Which are as different as heaven and hell.
One peers for day, the other gapes for night.
That yawning beldam, with her jetty skin,
'Tis she I hug as mine effeminate bride,
For such complexions best appease my pride.
I have a lad in pickle of this stamp,
A melancholy, discontented courtier,
Whose famished jaws look like the chap of death;
Upon whose eye-brows hang damnation;
Whose hands are washed in rape and murders
bold:

Him with a golden bait will I allure,
(For courtiers will do any thing for gold,)
To be Andrea's death at his return.
He loves my sister, that shall cost his life;
So she a husband, he shall lose a wife.

Of a most weeping creature.

Hor. That's a woman.

Enter BELLIMPERIA.

And. That's Bellimperia.

Hor. See, see, she meets you here:
And what is it to love, and be loved dear!
Bel. I have heard of your honour, gentle breast,

I do not like it now so well methinks.
And. What! not to have honour bestowed on
me?

And. Are all things aboard?

Ped. They are, my good lord.

And. Then, Bellimperia, I take leave; Horatio
Be, in my absence, my dear self, chaste self.-
What! playing the woman, Bellimperia?
Nay, then, you love me not; or, at the least,
You drown my honours in those flowing waters.
Believe it, Bellimperia, 'tis as common
To weep at parting, as to be a woman.
Love me more valiant; play not this moist prize;

Bel. O, yes; but not a wandering honour, dear; Be woman in all parts save in thy eyes.

I could afford well didst thou stay here.
Could honour melt itself into thy veins,
And thou the fountain, I could wish it so,

If thou would'st remain here with me, and not go.
And. 'Tis but to Portugal.

Hor. But to demand the tribute, lady.

Bel. Tribute! alas, that Spain cannot of peace
Forbear a little coin, the Indies being so near.
And yet this is not all: I know you are too hot,
Too full of spleen for an embassador,
And will lean much to honour.

And. Push!

Bel. Nay, hear me, dear! I know you will be
rough

And violent; and Portingal hath a tempestuous son,
Stampt with the mark of fury, and you too.

And. Sweet Bellimperia!

Bel. You'll meet like thunder, each imperious
Over other's spleen; you have both proud spirits,
And both will strive to aspire.

When two vexed clouds justle, they strike out fire:
And you, I fear me, war, which peace forefend.
O dear Andrea, pray, let us have no wars!
First let them pay the soldiers that were maimed
In the last battle, ere more wretches fall,
Or walk on stilts to timeless funeral.

And. Respective dear! O, my life's happiness!
The joy of all my being! do not shape
Frightful conceit beyond the intent of act!
I know thy love is vigilant o'er my blood,
And fears ill fate which heaven hath yet withstood.
But be of comfort; sweet Horatio knows
I go to knit friends, not to kindle foes.

Hor. True, madam Bellimperia, that's his task:
The phrase he useth must be gently styled,
The king hath warned him to be smooth and mild.

And so I leave thee.

Bel. Farewell, my lord:

Be mindful of my love, and of your word.

And. 'Tis fixed upon my heart; adieu, soul's friend!

Hor. All honour on Andrea's steps attend. Bel. Yet he is in sight, and yet but now he's vanished. [Exit ANDREA. Hor. Nay, lady, if you stoop so much to passion, I'll call him back again.

Bel. O, good Horatio, no; it is for honour. Pr'ythee let him go.

Hor. Then, madam, be composed, as you were
wont,

To music and delight; the time being comic, will
Seem short and pleasant, till his return
From Portingal:

And, madam, in this circle let your heart move;
Honoured promotion is the sap of love.

[Exeunt.

3 Bulk-One of the significations affixed to this word by Skinner, in his Etymologicon, is "Venter, hine Alisp. Buche, Ventriculus animalis, Belg. Bulcke, Thorax.”

So, in The Nice Valour, by Beaumont and Fletcher, Vol. X. p. 355. edition 1778:

"My maintenance, rascals! my bulk, my exhibition!"

Of this dull, leaden, and tormenting elf.
Thou know'st the love betwixt Bellimperia and
Andrea's bosom ?

Laz. Aye, I do.

Let him not spare an oath without a jewel
To bind it fast: oh, I know women's hearts,
What stuff they are made of, my lord: gifts and
giving

Lor. How might I cross it, my sweet mischief? Will melt the chastest seeming female living. Honey damnation! how?

Lax. Well:

As many ways as there are paths to hell,
And that's enow i'faith. From usurers' door,
There goes one path: from friers that nurse
whores,

There goes another path: from brokers' stalls,
From rich that die and build no hospitals,
Two other paths: from farmers that crack barns
With stuffing corn, yet starve the needy swarms,
Another path from drinking schools one,
From dicing-houses-but from the court, none,

none.

Lor. Here is a slave just of the stamp I wish; Whose ink soul's blacker than his name, Though it stand printed with a raven's quill. But, Lazarotto, cross my sister's love, And I'll rain showers of duckets in thy palm. Laz. Oh duckets, dainty ducks; forgive me duckets,

I'll fetch you duck enough for gold; and chink Makes the punk wanton and the bawd to wink. Lor. Discharge, discharge, good Lazarotto, how We may cross my sister's loving hopes.

Laz. Nay, now I'll tell you.

Lor. Thou knowest Andrea's gone embassador. Las. The better; there's opportunity: now list

to me.

Lor. Indeed Andrea is but poor, though ho nourable;

His bounty among soldiers sokes him dry,
And therefore great gifts may bewitch her eye.
Jer. Here's no fine villainy, no damned bro-

ther!

Lor. But say she should deny his gifts, be all Composed of hate, as my mind gives me that She will: what then?

Laz. Then thus: at his return To Spain, I'll murder Don Andrea. Lor. Dar'st thou, spirit?

Las. What dares not he do, that ne'er hopes to
inherit ?

Hor. He dares be damn'd like thee.
Laz. Dare I? Ha, ha!

I have no hope of everlasting height,
My soul's a Moor you know, salvation's white.
What dare I not enact then? Tush, he dies;
I will make way to Bellimperia's eyes.

Lor. To weep I fear, but not to tender love. Las. Why, is she not a woman? she muse weep

Awhile, as widows use till their first sleep;
Who in the morrow following will be sold
To new, before the first are throughly cold.
So Bellimperia; for this is common;
The more she weeps, the more she plays the wo-

man.

Lor. Come then, howe'er it hap, Andrea shall

be crost.

Laz. Let me alone, I'll turn him to a ghost. [Exeunt LORENZO, and LAZAROTTO, and HORATIO.

Manet JERONIMO.

Jer. Farewell, true brace of villains;

Come hither, boy Horatio, didst thou hear them?

For in love, &c.-The same sentiment is in both Shakespeare, and Beaumont and Fletcher.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 3. S. 2 :-

"Win her with gifts, if she respects not words;
Dumb jewels often in their silent kind,

More than quick words, do move a woman's mind."

The Woman Hater, A. 4. S. 2:

"Your offers must

Be full of bounty; velvets to furnish a gown, silks
For petticoats and foreparts, shag for lining;
Forget not some pretty jewel to fasten after
Some little compliment! If she deny this courtesy,
Double your bounties; be not wanting in abundance :
Fulness of gifts, link'd with a pleasing tongue,
Will win an anchorite."

5 Here's no fine villainy.-See Note to The Mayor of Quinborough, postea.

Hor. O my true-breasted father, my ears
Have suck'd in poison, deadly poison:
Murder Andrea! O inhuman practice!
Had not your reverend years been present here,
I should have ponyarded the villain's bowels,
And shoved his soul out to damnation.
Murder Andrea! honest lord! impious villains!
Jer. I like thy true heart, boy; thou lov'st thy
friend,

It is the greatest argument and sign,
That I begot thee, for it shews thou art mine.
Hor. O father, 'tis a charitable deed

To prevent those that would make virtue bleed!
I'll dispatch letters to Don Andrea;
Unfold their hellish practice, damn'd intent,
Against the virtuous rivers of his life.
Murder Andrea !

Enter ISABELLA.

Welcome, worthy lord, Spain's choice embassador,
Brave, stout Andrea; for so I guess thee.
Enter ANDRea.

And. Portugal's, ere I thank thee,
Thou seems no less than what thou art, a prince,
And an heroic spirit: Portingal's king,
I kiss my hand, and tender on thy throne
My master's love, peace, and affection.

King. And we receive them, and thee, worthy
Andrea;

Thy master's high-prized love unto our heart,
Is welcome to his friend; thou to our court.
And. Thanks, Portingal. My lords, I had in
charge,

At my depart from Spain, this embassage,
To put your breast in mind of tribute due
Unto our master's kingdom, these three years
Detained and kept back; and I am sent to know,

Jer. Peace: who comes here? news, news, Isa- Whether neglect, or will, detains it so.

bella.

Isa. What news, Jeronimo?

Jer. Strange news:

Lorenzo is become an honest man.

Isa. Is this your wondrous news?
Jer. Is it not wondrous

To have honesty in hell? go tell it abroad now;
But see you put no new additions to it,
As thus-shall I tell you, gossip; Lorenzo is
Become an honest man:-beware, beware; for ho-
nesty,

Spoken in derision, points out knavery.

O then take heed; that jest would not be trim,
He's a great man, therefore we must not knave him.
In, gentle soul; I'll not be long away,
As, short my body, short shall be my stay.

[Exit ISABELLA. Hor. Murder Andrea! what blood-sucking slave Could choke bright honour in a scabbard grave!

Jer. What, harping still upon Andrea's death?
Have courage, boy: I shall prevent their plots,
And make them both stand like two politic sots.
Hor. Lorenzo has a reach as far as hell,
To hook the devil from his flaming cell:
Oh, sprightly father, he'll out-reach you then;
Knaves longer reaches have than honest men.
Jer. But, boy, fear not, I'll out-stretch them all,
My mind's a giant, though my bulk be small. 6
[Exeunt.
Enter the King of Portingal, BALTHEZAR, ALEX-
ANDRO, Don VOLLUPO, and others: a Peal of
Ordnance; within, a great shout of People.
King. What is the meaning of this loud report?
Alex. An embassy, my lord, is new arrived from
Spain.

King. Son Balthezar, we pray do you go meet
him,

And do him all the honour that belongs him.
Bal. Father, iny best endeavour shall obey you:

King. Thus much return unto thy king, Andrea;
We have with best advice thought of our state,
And find it much dishonoured by base homage:
I not deny, but tribute hath been due
To Spain by our forefathers' base captivity,
Yet cannot rase out their successors' merit.
'Tis said, we shall not answer at next birth
Our fathers' faults in heaven; why then on earth?
Which proves and shews, that which they lost
By base captivity,

We may redeem with honoured valiancy.
We borrow nought: our kingdom is our own:
He is a base king that pays rent for his throne.
And. Is this thy answer, Portingal?
Bal. Ay, Spain;

A royal answer too, which I'll maintain.

Omnes. And all the peers of Portugal the like.
And. Then thus all Spain, which but three mi-

6 Small. The first edition reads full.

« Předchozí Pokračovat »

Knihy