The Spanish Tragedy (Hieronimo is Mad Again) · chunk 41 of 41
Kyd, Thomas · published 1592 · first performed or written 1587 [1585-1589; revised c.1597(?) and 1601-2] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T59 Spanish courts: war, honour and courtshi · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
O he would have a knife to mend his Pen. Here, and advise thee that thou write the troth, Look to my brother, save Hieronimo. He with a knife stabs the Duke and himself. What age hath ever heard such monstrous deeds? My brother and the whole succeeding hope, That Spain expected after my disease, Go bear his body hence that we may mourn, The loss of our beloved brother's death. That he may be entombed whate'er befall, I am the next, the nearest, last of all. And thou Don 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. ay, now my hopes have end in their effects, When blood and sorrow finish my desires: Horatio murdered in his Father's bower, wild Serberine by Pedringano slain, False Pedringano hanged by quaint device, Fair Isabella by herself misdone, Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabbed, The Duke of Castille and his wicked Son, Both done to death by old Hieronimo. My Bel-imperia fallen as Dido fell, And good Hieronimo slain by himself: I these were spectacles to please my soul. Now will I beg at lovely Proserpine, That by the virtue of her Princely doom, I may consort my friends in pleasing sort, And on my foes work just and sharp revenge. I'll lead my friend Horatio through those fields, Where neuer dying warres are still ide. I'll lead fair Isabella to that train, Where pity weeps but never feeleth pain. I'll lead my Bel-imperia to those joys, That vestal Virgins, and fair Queens possess, I'll lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plays, Adding sweet pleasure to eternal days. But say Revenge, for thou must help or none, Against the rest how shall my hate be shown? This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell, Where none but furies, bugs and tortures dwell. Then sweet Revenge do this at my request, Let me be judge and doom them to unrest. Let loose poor Titius from the vulture's gripe, And let Don Cyprian supply his room, Place Don Lorenzo on Ixion's wheel, And let the lovers endless pains surcease: Iuno forgets old wrath and grants him ease. Hang Balthazar about Chineras neck, And let him there bewail his bloody love, Repining at our joys that are above. Let Serberine go roll the fatal stone, And take from Sisyphus his endless moan. False Pedringano for his treachery, Let him be dragged through boiling Acheron, And there live dying still in endless flames, Blaspheming Gods and all their holy names. Then haste we down to meet thy friends and foes, To place thy friends in ease, the rest in woes. For here, though death hath end their misery, I'll there begin their endless Tragedy.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O he would haue a knife to mend his Pen. Heere, and aduise thee that thou write the troth, Looke to my brother, saue Hieronimo. He with a knife stabs the Duke and himselfe. What age hath euer heard such monstrous deeds? My brother and the whole succeeding hope, That Spaine expected after my discease, Go beare his body hence that we may mourne, The losse of our beloued brothers death. That he may be entom'd what ere befall, I am the next, the neerest, last of all. And thou Don Pedro do the like for vs, Take vp our haples sonne vntimely slaine: Set me with him, and he with wofull me, Vpon the maine mast of a ship vnmand, And let the winde and tide hall me along, To Sallas barking and vntamed greefe: Or to the loth some poole of Acheron, To weepe my want for my sweet Balthazar, Spaine hath no refuge for a Portingale. I, now my hopes haue end in their effects, When blood and sorrow finnish my desires: Horatio murdered in his Fathers bower, Vilde Serberine by Pedringano slaine, False Pedringano hangd by quaint deuice, Faire Isabella by her selfe misdone, Prince Balthazar by Bel-imperia stabd, The Duke of Castile and his wicked Sonne, Both done to death by olde Hieronimo. My Bel-imperia falne as Dido fell, And good Hieronimo slaine by himselfe: I these were spectacles to please my soule. Now will I beg at louely Proserpine, That by the vertue of her Princely doome, I may consort my freends in pleasing sort, And on my foes woke and sharpe reuenge. Ile lead my freend Hratio through those feeldes, Where neuer dying warres are still ide. Ile lead faire Isabella to that traine, Where pittie weepes but neuer feeleth paine. Ile lead my Bel-imperia to those oyes, That vestal Virgins, and faire Queenes possesse, Ile lead Hieronimo where Orpheus plaies, Adding sweet pleasure to eternall daies. But say Reuenge, for thou must helpe or none, Against the rest how shall my hate be showne? This hand shall hale them down to deepest hell, Where none but furies, bugs and tortures dwell. Then sweet Reuenge doo this at my request, Let me be iudge and doome them to vnrest. Let loose poore Titius from the vultures gripe, And let Don Ciprian supply his roome, Place Don Lorenzo on Ixions wheele, And let the louers endles paines surcease: Iuno forgets olde wrath and graunts him ease. Hang Balthazar about Chineras neck, And let him there be waie his bloudy loue, Repining at our ioyes that are aboue. Let Serberine goe roule the fatall stone, And take from Siciphus his endles mone. False Pedringaco for his trecherie, Let him be dragde through boyling Acheron, And there liue dying still in endles flames, Blaspheming Gods and all their holy names. Then haste we downe to meet thy freends and foes, To place thy freends in ease, the rest in woes. For heere, though death hath end their miserie, Ile there begin their endles Tragedie.