The Spanish Tragedie. Thomas Kyd
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Название: The Spanish Tragedie

Автор: Thomas Kyd

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

Серия:

isbn: 4057664647337

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ kindenes than in warres.

       EMBASS. Sad is our king, and Portingale laments,

       Supposing that Don Balthazar is slaine.

       BAL. [aside] So am I, slaine by beauties tirannie!—

       You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slaine:

       I frolike with the Duke of Castilles sonne,

       Wrapt euery houre in pleasures of the court,

       And graste with fauours of his Maiestie.

       KING. Put off your greetings till our feast be done;

       Now come and sit with vs, and taste our cheere.

       Sit to the banquet.

       Sit downe, young prince, you are our second guest;

       Brother, sit downe; and nephew, take your placel

       Signior Horatio, waite thou vpon our cup,

       For well thou hast deserued to be honored.

       Now, lordings, fall too: Spaine is Portugall,

       And Portugall is Spaine; we both are freends;

       Tribute is paid, and we enioy our right.

       But where is olde Hieronimo, our marhsall?

       He promised vs, in honor of our guest,

       To grace our banquet with some pompous iest.

       Enter HIERONIMO with a DRUM, three KNIGHTS,

       each with scutchin; then he fethces three

       KINGS; they take their crownes and them

       captiue.

       Hieronimo, this makes contents mine eie,

       Although I sound well not the misterie.

       HIERO. The first arm'd knight that hung his scutchin vp

       He takes the scutchin ahd giues it to

       the KING.

       Was English Robert, Earle of Glocester,

       Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,

       Arriued with fiue and twenty thousand men

       In Portingale, and, by successe of warre,

       Enforced the king, then but a Sarasin,

       To beare the yoake of the English monarchie.

       KING. My lord of Portingale, by this you see

       That which may comfort both your king and you,

       And make your late discomfort seeme the lesse.

       But say, Hieronimo: what was the next?

       HIERO. The second knight that hung his scutchin vp

       He doth as he did before.

       Was Edmond, Earle of Kent in Albion.

       When English Richard wore the diadem,

       He came likewise and razed Lisbon walles,

       And tooke the king of Portingale in fight—

       For which, and other suche seruice done,

       He after was created Duke of Yorke.

       KING. This is another speciall argument

       That Portingale may daine to beare our yoake,

       When it by little England hath beene yoakt.

       But now, Hieronimo, what were the last?

       HIERO. The third and last, not least in our account,

       Dooing as before.

       Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman,

       Braue Iohn of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster,

       As by his scuthcin plainely may appeare:

       He with a puissant armie came to Spaine

       And tooke our Kinge of Castille prisoner.

       EMBASS. This is an argument for our viceroy

       That Spaine may not insult for her successe,

       Since English warriours likewise conquered Spaine

       And made them bow their knees to Albion.

       KING. Hieronimo, I drinke to thee for this deuice,

       Which hath pleasde both the embassador and me:

       Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou loue the king!

       Takes the cup of HORATIO.

       My lord, I feare we sit but ouer-long,

       Vnlesse our dainties were more delicate—

       But welcome are to you the best we haue.

       Now let vs in, that you may be dispatcht;

       I think our councell is already set.

       Exeunt omnes.

       [CHORUS.]

       ANDREA. Come we for this from depth of vnder ground—

       To see him feast that gaue me my deaths wound?

       These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soule:

       nothing but league and loue and banqueting!

       REUENGE. Be still, Andrea; ere we go from hence,

       Ile turne their freendship into fell despight,

       Their loue to mortall hate, their day to night,

       Their hope into dispaire, their peace in warre,

       Their ioyes to paine, their blisse to miserie.

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