The Spanish Tragedie.
Reape long repentance for his murderous deed,
For what wast els but murderous cowardise,
So many to oppresse one valiant Knight,
Without respect of honour in the fight?
And heere he comes that murdered my delight.
For what wast els but murderous cowardise,
So many to oppresse one valiant Knight,
Without respect of honour in the fight?
And heere he comes that murdered my delight.
Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.
Lor. Sister, what meanes this melancholy walke?
Bel. That for a while I wish no companie.
Lor. But heere the Prince is come to visite you.
Bel. That argues that he liues in libertie.
Bal. No, Madame, but in pleasing seruitude.
Bel. Your prison then belike is your conceite.
Bal. I, by conceite my freedome is enthralde.
Bel. Then with conceite enlarge your selfe againe.
Bal. What if conceite haue laid my hart to gage?
Bel. Pay that you borrowed and recouer it.
Bal. I die if it returne from whence it lies.
Bel. A heartles man and liues? A miracle.
Bal. I, Lady, loue can worke such miracles.
Lor. Tush, tush, my Lord, let goe these ambages,
And in plaine tearmes acquaint her with your loue.
And in plaine tearmes acquaint her with your loue.
Bel. What boots complaint, when theres no remedie,
Bal. Yes to your gracious selfe must I complaine,
In whose faire answere lies my remedie,
On whose perfection all my thoughts attend,
On whose aspect mine eyes finde beauties bowre,
In whose translucent breastes my heart is lodgde.
In whose faire answere lies my remedie,
On whose perfection all my thoughts attend,
On whose aspect mine eyes finde beauties bowre,
In whose translucent breastes my heart is lodgde.
Bel. Alas, my Lord! these are but wordes of course,
And but deuisde to driue me from this place.
And but deuisde to driue me from this place.
She going in lets fall her gloue, which Horatio
comming out, takes vp.
comming out, takes vp.
Hor. Madame, your Gloue.
Bel. Thankes good Horatio, take it for thy paines.
Bal. Signior Horatio stoopt in happy time.
Hor. I reapt more grace then I deseru'd or hop'd.
Lor. My Lord, be not dismayde for what is past,
You know that women oft are humerous:
You know that women oft are humerous:
These
