The Spanish Tragedie.
His ransome therefore is thy valours fee;
Appoint the summe as you shall both agree,
But Nephew, thou shalt haue the Prince in guard,
For thine estate best fitteth such a guest.
Horatios house were small for all his traine.
Yet in regard they substance passeth his,
And that iust guerdon may befall desert,
To him we yeeld the Armor of the Prince.
How likes Don Balthazar of this deuice?
Appoint the summe as you shall both agree,
But Nephew, thou shalt haue the Prince in guard,
For thine estate best fitteth such a guest.
Horatios house were small for all his traine.
Yet in regard they substance passeth his,
And that iust guerdon may befall desert,
To him we yeeld the Armor of the Prince.
How likes Don Balthazar of this deuice?
Balt. Right well my liege, if this prouiso were,
That Don Horatio beare vs companie,
Whom I admire and loue for cheualrie.
That Don Horatio beare vs companie,
Whom I admire and loue for cheualrie.
King. Horatio, leaue him not that loues thee so,
Now let vs hence to see our souldiers paid,
Exeunt.And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest.
Now let vs hence to see our souldiers paid,
Exeunt.And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest.
Enter Viceroy, Alexandro, Villuppo.
Vice. Is our Embassadour dispatcht for Spaine?
Alex. Two daies (my liege) are past since his depart.
Vice. And tribute payment gone along with him?
Alex. I my good Lord.
Vice. Then rest we heere a while in our vnrest.
And feed our sorrowes with some inward sighes,
For deepest cares break neuer into teares.
But wherefore sit I in a Regall throne,
This better fits a wretches endles moane.
Yet this is higher then my fortunes reach,
And therefore better then my state deserues.
Falles to the ground.
I, I, this earth, Image of melancholy,
Seeks him whome fates adiudge to miserie:
Heere let me lie, now am I at the lowest.
Qui iacet in terra non habet vnde cadat,
In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo,
Nil superest vt iam possit obesse magis.
Yes Fortune may bereaue me of my Crowne:
Heere, take it now, let Fortune doe her worst.
She will now rob me of this sable weede:
And feed our sorrowes with some inward sighes,
For deepest cares break neuer into teares.
But wherefore sit I in a Regall throne,
This better fits a wretches endles moane.
Yet this is higher then my fortunes reach,
And therefore better then my state deserues.
Falles to the ground.
I, I, this earth, Image of melancholy,
Seeks him whome fates adiudge to miserie:
Heere let me lie, now am I at the lowest.
Qui iacet in terra non habet vnde cadat,
In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo,
Nil superest vt iam possit obesse magis.
Yes Fortune may bereaue me of my Crowne:
Heere, take it now, let Fortune doe her worst.
She will now rob me of this sable weede:
O no,
