And posting to our presence thus in haste?
Speak, man; hath fortune given us victory?
Gen. Victory, my liege, and that with little loss.
King. Our Portingals will pay us tribute, then?
Gen. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithal.
King. Then blest be heaven, and guider of the
heavens,

From whose fair influence such justice flows.
Cast. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat æther,
Et conjurate curvato poplite gentes
Succumbant: recti soror est victoria juris.
King. Thanks to my loving brother of Castile.—
But, general, unfold in brief discourse
Your form of battle, and your war's success;
That, adding all the pleasure of thy news
Unto the height of former happiness,
With deeper wage, and greater dignity,
We 16 may reward thy blissful chivalry.

Gen. Where Spain and Portingale do jointly
knit

Their frontiers, leaning on each other's " bound,
There met our armies in their proud array;
Both furnished well; both full of hope and fear;
Both menacing alike, with daring shows;
Both vaunting sundry colours of device;
Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums, and fifes;
Both raising dreadful clamours to the 18
sky,
That vallies, hills, and rivers, made rebound,
And heaven itself was frighted with the sound.
Our battles both were pitched in squadron-form,
Each corner strongly fenced with wings of shot;
But ere we joined, and came to push of pike,
I brought a squadron of our readiest shot,
From out our rearward, to begin the fight:
They brought another wing t'encounter us:
Meanwhile our ordnance played on either side,
And captains strove to have their 19 valours tried.
Don Pedro, their chief horsemen's colonel,
Did, with his 20 cornet, bravely make attempt
To break the order of our battle ranks :
But Don Rogero, worthy man of war,
Marched forth against him with our musketeers,
And stopt the malice of his fell approach.

While they maintain hot skirmish to and fro,
21 Both battles join, and fall to handy-blows:
Their violent shot resembling th' ocean's rage,
When roaring loud, and with a swelling tide,
It beats upon the rampires of huge rocks,
And gapes to swallow neighbour-bounding lands.
Now 22 while Bellona rageth here and there,
Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail,
And shivered launces 23 dark the troubled air.

Pede pes, et cuspide cuspis,

Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro. On every side 24 drop captains to the ground, 25 And soldiers some ill maimed, some slain outright:

Here falls a body, sundered from his head,
There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass,
Mingled with weapons, and 26 unbowell'd steeds,
That scattering overspread the purple plain.
In all this turmoil three long hours and more,
The victory to neither part inclined;
Till Don Andrea, with his brave launciers,
In 27 their main battle made so great a breach,
That, half dismayed, the multitude retired :
But Balthezar, the Portingale's young prince,
Brought rescue, and encouraged them to stay.
Here hence the fight was eagerly renewed,
And in that conflict was Andrea slain;

Brave man at arins, but weak to Balthezar:
Yet while the prince, insulting over him,
Breathed out proud vaunts, sounding to our re-
proach,

Friendship and hardy valour joined in one,
28 Pricked forth Horatio, our knight-marshal's son,
lo challenge forth that prince to single fight:
Not long between these twain the fight endured,
But strait the prince was beaten from his horse,
And forced to yield him prisoner to his foe.
When he was taken, all the rest they fled,
And our carbines pursued them to the death;
Till, Phoebus waving to the western deep,
Our trumpeters were charged to sound retreat.
King. Thanks, good lord general, for these good

news;

And for some argument of more to come,
Take this, and wear it for thy sovereign's sake.
[Gives him a Chain:
But tell me now, hast thou confirmed a peace?

17 Bounds, 1623. 33. 20 Coronet, 1618. 22. 33.

22 When, 1618. 23. 33. 25 And soldiers lie maim'd, 1618. 23. 33. 27 His, 1618. 28 Pickt, 1618.

24 Dropt, 1618. 23. 33. 26 Unbowed, 1618. 23. 33.

REFOR

45 He hunted well, that was a lion's death;
Not he that in a garment wore his skin:
So hares may pull dead lions by the beard.
King. Content thee, marshal, thou shalt have
no wrong;

And, for thy sake, thy son shall want no right.
Will both abide the censure of my doom?

Lor. I crave no better than your grace awards.
Hor. Nor I, although I sit beside my right.
King. Then, by my judgment, thus your strife
shall end:

You both deserve, and both shall have reward.-
Nephew, thou took'st his weapons and his horse;
His weapons and his horse are thy reward.-
Horatio thou didst force him first to yield;
His ransom therefore is thy valour's fee;
Appoint the sum as you shall both agree.-
But, nephew, thou shalt have the prince in guard,
For thine estate best fitteth such a guest.
Horatio's house were small for all his train:
Yet in regard thy substance passeth his,
And that just guerdon 46 may befal desert,
To him we yield the armour of the prince.-
How likes Don Balthezar of this device?

Bal. Right well, my liege, if this proviso were,
That Don Horatio bear us company,
Whom I admire and love for chivalry.

King. Horatio, leave him not that loves thee

Vice. And tribute-payment gone along with him? Alex. Aye, my good lord.

Vice. 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 sit I in 47 a regal throne? This 48 better fits a wretch's endless moan.

[Falls to the ground.

Yet this is higher than my fortune's reach,
And therefore better than my state deserves:
Aye, aye, this earth, image of melancholy,
Seeks him whom fates 49 adjudge to misery.
Here let me lie-Now 50 am I at the lowest.

Qui jacet in terra, non habet unde cadat.
In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo :
Nil 51 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.
O no, she envies none but pleasant things;
Such is the folly of despiteful 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 distress.
Suppose that she could pity me; what then?
What help can be expected at her hands,
Whose foot is standing on a rolling stone,
And mind more mutable than fickle winds?
Why wail I then, where's hope of no redress?
O, yes! complaining makes my grief seem less.
My late ambition hath distained my faith;
My breach of faith occasioned bloody wars;
Those 52 bloody wars have spent my treasure;
And, with my treasure, my people's blood;

And, with their blood, my joy and best beloved,
My best beloved, my sweet, and only son.
O wherefore went I not to war myself?
The cause was mine, I might have died for both:
My years were mellow, his 53 but young and green;
My death were natural, but his was forced.
Alex. No doubt, my liege, but still the prince
survives.

Vice. Survives! aye, where? 54

Alex. In Spain; a prisoner, by mischance of war. Vice. Then they have slain him for his father's fault.

Alex. That were a breach to common law of

arms.

Vice. They reck no laws that meditate revenge. Alex. His ransom's worth will stay from foul revenge.

Vice. No; if he lived, the news would soon be here.

Alex. Nay, evil news fly 55 faster still than good. Vice. Tell me no more of news, for he is dead. Vill. My sovereign, pardon the author of ill

news,

And I'll bewray the fortune of thy son.

Vice. Speak on, I'll guerdon thee, whate'er it be; Mine ear is ready to receive ill news; My heart grown hard 'gainst mischief's battery. Stand up, I say, and tell thy tale at large.

Vill. Then hear that 56 truth, which these mine eyes have seen.

When both the armies were in battle joined,
Don Balthezar, amidst the thickest troops,
To win renown, did wondrous feats of arms;
Amongst the rest I saw him, hand to hand,
In single fight with their lord gener il,
Till Alexandro (that here counterfeits
Under the colour of a duteous friend)
Discharged his pistol at the prince's back,
As though he would have slain their general;
But therewithal Don Balthezar fell down,
And when he fell, then we began to fly:
But, had he lived, the day had sure been ours.
Alex. O wicked forgery! O trait'rous miscreant!
Vice. Hold thou thy peace.-But now, Villup.
po, say,

Where then became the carcase of my son ?
Vill. I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.
Vice. Aye, aye, my nightly dreains have told
me this.-

Thou false, unkind, unthankful, trait'rous beast!
Wherein had Balthezar offended thee,
That thou should'st thus betray him to our fues?
Was't Spanish goid that bleared so thine eyes,
That thou could'st see no part of our deserts?
Perchance, because thou art Tersera's lord,
Thou had'st 57 some hope to wear this diadem,
If first my son, and then myself were slain;
But thy ambitious thought 58 shall break thy neck.
Aye, this was it that made thee spill his blood;

[He takes the Crown, and puts it on again. But I'll now 59 wear it, till thy blood be spilt. Alex. Vouchsafe, dread 6 sovereign, to hear me

speak.

Enter HORATIO and BELIMPERIA. Bel. Signior Horatio, this is the place and hour Whereir. I must intreat thee to relate The circumstance of Don Andrea's death; Who, living, was my garland's sweetest 61 flower, And in his death hath buried my delights.

Hor. For love of him, and service to yourself, 62 I nill refuse this heavy doleful charge; Yet tears and sighs, I fear, will hinder me. When both our armies were enjoined in 63 fight, Your worthy cavalier amidst the thickest, For glory's cause, still aiming at the fairest, Was, at the last, by young Don Baithezar Encountered hand to hand. Their fight was long; Their hearts were great; their clamours menacing; Their strength alike; their strokes both danger

ous :

But wrathful Nemesis, that wicked power,
Envying at Andrea's praise and worth,
Cut short his life, to end his praise and worth.
She, she herself, disguised in armour's mask,
(As Pallas was before proud Pergamus)
Brought in a 64 fresh supply of halberdiers,
Which paunched his horse, and dinged 65 him to
the ground:

Then young Don Balthezar, with ruthless rage,

53 But his, 1623. 33.

55 Will fly, 1618. 23. 33. 58 Thoughts, 1618. 23. 33.

61 Chiefest, 1623. 33.

63 To, 1618. 23. 33.

57 Hast, 1623. 33.

60 Deare, 1618. 23. 33.

Taking advantage of his foe's distress,
Did finish what his halberdiers begun,
And left not till Andrea's life was done.
Then, though too late, incensed with just remorse,
I, with my band, set forth against the prince,
And brought him prisoner from his halberdiers.
Bel. Would thou hadst slain him that so 66 slew
my love!

But, then, was Don Andrea's carcase lost?

Hor. No, that was it for which I chiefly strove, Nor stept I back till I recovered him. I took him up, and wound him in mine arms, And welding 67 him unto my private tent, There laid him down, and dewed him with my

tears,

And sighed and sorrowed as became a friend:
But neither friendly sorrow, 68 sighs, nor tears,
Could win pale death from his usurped right.
Yet this I did, and less I could not do,
I saw him honoured with due funeral:
69 This scarf I plucked from off his lifeless arm,
And wear it in remembrance of my friend.

Bel. I know the scarf, would he had kept it
still!

For, had he lived, he would have kept it still,
And worn it for his Belimperia's sake;
For 'twas my favour at his last depart.
But now wear thou 70 it, both for him and me;
For, after him, thou hast deserved it best;
And, for thy kindness in his life and death,
Be sure, while Belimperia's life endures,
She will be Don Horatio's thankful friend.

Hor. And, madam, Don Horatio will not slack Humbly to serve fair Belimperia.

But now, if your good liking stand thereto,
I'll crave your pardon to go seek the prince,
For so the duke your father gave me charge.

Bel. Aye, go, Horatio, leave me here alone, For solitude best fits my cheerless mood.

[Exit HORATIO. Yet, what avails to wail Andrea's death,

From whence Horatio proves my second love?
Had he not loved Andrea as he did,
He could not sit in Belimperia's thoughts.
But how can love find harbour in my breast,
Till I revenge the death of my beloved?
Yes, second love shall further my revenge :
I'll love Horatio, my Andrea's friend,

The more to spite the prince that wrought his end.

And where Don Balthezar, that slew my love,
Himself now pleads for favour at my hands,
He shall, in rigour of my just disdain,
Reap long repentance for 71 his murderous deed;
For what was't else but murderous cowardice,
So many to oppress one valiant knight,
Without respect of honour in the fight?—
And here he comes that murdered my delight.
Enter LORENZO and BALTHEZAR.

Lor. Sister, what means this melancholy walk?
Bel. That, for a while, I wish no company.
Lor. But here the prince is come to visit you.
Bel. That argues, that he lives in 72 liberty.
Bal. No, madam, but in pleasing servitude.
Bel. Your prison, then, (belike) is your conceit?
Bal. Aye, by conceit my freedom is enthralled.
Bel. Then with conceit enlarge yourself again.
Bal. What if conceit have laid my heart to gage?
Bel. Pay that you borrowed, and recover it.
Bal. I die, if it return from whence it lies.
Bel. A heartless man, and live? 73 a miracle!
Bal. Aye, lady, love can work such miracles.
Lor. Tush, tush, my lord, let go these ambages,"
And in plain terms acquaint her with your love.
Bel. What boots complaint, when there's no
remedy?

74

Bal. Yes, to your gracious self must I complain, In whose tair answer lies my remedy; On whose perfection all my thoughts attend, On whose aspect mine eyes find beauty's bower; In whose translucent breast my heart is lodged.

Marston's Satires, Sat. 5:

p. 116: