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    The Spanish Tragedie: 1587
    The Spanish Tragedie: 1587
    The Spanish Tragedie: 1587
    Ebook155 pages1 hour

    The Spanish Tragedie: 1587

    By Thomas Kyd

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    About this ebook

    The Spanish Tragedy, or "Hieronimo is Mad Again" is an Elizabethan tragedy written by Thomas Kyd between 1582 and 1592.

    libreka classics – These are classics of literary history, reissued and made available to a wide audience.
    Immerse yourself in well-known and popular titles!
    LanguageEnglish
    Publisherlibreka classics
    Release dateMar 1, 2019
    ISBN9783742958709
    The Spanish Tragedie: 1587

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      The Spanish Tragedie - Thomas Kyd

      Title: The Spanish Tragedie

      by Thomas Kyd

      ISBN 978-3-7429-5870-9

      All rights reserved

      It is not permitted to reproduce or publish this work in whole or in part without prior written permission.

      THE SPANISH TRAGEDIE

      1587

      By Thomas Kyd

      Containing the lamentable end of DON HORATIO, and BEL-IMPERIA:
      with the pittiful death of olde HIERONIMO.
      Newly corrected and amended of such grosse faults as passed in the first impression.

      At London

      Printed by Edward Allde, for
      Edward White

      TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

      [Edited by John Matthews Manly, 1897. This electronic text is based on the earliest extant edition, which is undated but was printed before 1618. Some bracketed text is verbatim from Manly's edition. However, some bracketed text is taken from alternate editions which Manly originally supplied in footnotes. As the editor of this electronic edition, I have sometimes chosen the clearer of two alternatives, sacrificing the specificity of Manly's footnoted edition in favor of a text that has a better chance of being read and understood by a modern audience. I have also excluded the insertions supposed to have been written by Ben Johnson, as well as the additional dialogue from III.xiii and IV.iii. Some alternate dialogue has been included as has been labeled as such.]

      CONTENTS

      DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

      ACTVS PRIMVS.

      [Prologue]

      [ACT I. SCENE 2.]

      [ACT I. SCENE 3.]

      ACTUS SECUNDUS.

      [ACT II. SCENE 1.]

      [ACT II. SCENE 2.]

      [ACT II. SCENE 3.]

      [ACT II. SCENE 4.]

      ACTUS TERTIUS.

      [ACT III. SCENE 1.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 2.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 3.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 4.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 5.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 6.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 7.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 8.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 9.]

      [ACT III. Scene 10.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 11.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 12.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 13.]

      [ACT III. SCENE 14.]

      ACTUS QUARTUS.

      [ACT IV. SCENE 1.]

      [ACT IV. SCENE 2.]

      [ACT IV. SCENE 3.]

      DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

        GHOST OF ANDREA           |

        REVENGE                   | the Chorus.

        KING OF SPAIN.

        VICEROY OF PORTUGAL.

        DON CIPRIAN, duke of Castile.

        HIERONIMO, knight-marshall of Spain.

        BALTHAZAR, the Viceroy's son.

        LORENZO, Don Ciprian's son [and Bel-imperia's brother].

        HORATIO, Hieronimo's son.

        ALEXANDRO     |

        VILLUPPO      | lords of Portual.

        PEDRINGANO, servant of Bel-imperia.

        SERBERINE, servant of Balthazar.

        Spanish General, Portuguese Embassador, Old Man, Painter Page,

        Hangman, Citizens, Soldiers, Attendants, &c.

        BEL-IMPERIA, Lorenzo's sister.

        ISABELLA, Hieronimo's wife.

        PAGE.

        MESSENGER.

        CHRISTOPHEL.

        SERVANT.

        SENEX (DON BAZULTO).

        CITIZENS.

      SCENE: Spain; and Portugal.

      ACTVS PRIMVS.

      [Prologue]

                      Enter the GHOAST OF ANDREA, and with him REUENGE.

        GHOAST.  When this eternall substance of my soule

          Did liue imprisond in my wanton flesh,

          Ech in their function seruing others need,

          I was a courtier in the Spanish court:

          My name was Don Andrea; my discent,

          Though not ignoble, yet inferiour far

          To gratious fortunes of my tender youth,

          For there, in prime and pride of all my yeeres,

          By duteous seruice and deseruing loue,

          In secret I possest a worthy dame,

          Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.

          But in the haruest of my sommer ioyes

          Deaths winter nipt the blossomes of my blisse,

          Forcing diuorce betwixt my loue and me;

          For in the late conflict with Portingale

          My valour drew me into dangers mouth

          Till life to death made passage through my wounds.

          When I was slaine, my soule descended straight

          To passe the flowing streame of Archeron;

          But churlish Charon, only boatman there,

          Said that, my rites of buriall not performde,

          I might not sit amongst his passengers.

          Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis lap,

          And slakte his smoaking charriot in her floud,

          By Don Horatio, our knight-marshals sonne,

          My funerals and obsequies were done.

          Then was the fariman of hell content

          To passe me ouer to the slimie strond

          That leades to fell Auernus ougly waues.

          There, pleasing Cerberus with honied speech,

          I past the perils of the formost porch.

          Not farre from hence, amidst ten thousand soules,

          Sate Minos, Eacus and Rhadamant;

          To whome no sooner gan I make approach,

          To craue a pasport for my wandring ghost,

          But Minos in grauen leaues of lotterie

          Drew forth the manner of my life and death.

          This knight, quoth he, "both liu'd and died in loue;

          And for his loue tried fortune of the warres;

          And by warres fortune lost both loue and life."

          Why then, said Eacus, "convey him hence

          To walke with lovers in our field of loue

          And the course of euerlasting time

          Vnder greene mirtle-trees and cipresse shades."

          No, no! said Rhadamant, "it were not well

          With louing soules to place a martialist.

          He died in warre, and must to martiall fields,

          Where wounded Hector liues in lasting paine,

          And Achilles Mermedons do scoure the plaine."

          Then Minos, mildest censor of the three,

          Made this deuice, to end the difference:

          Send him, quoth he, "to our infernall king,

          To dome him as best seemes his Maiestie."

          To this effect my pasport straight was drawne.

          In keeping on my way to Plutos court

          Through dreadfull shades of euer-glooming night,

          I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell

          Or pennes can write or mortall harts can think.

          Three waies there were: that on the right hand side

          Was ready way vnto the foresaid fields

          Where louers liue and bloudie martialists,

          But either sort containd within his bounds;

          The left hand path, declining fearfuly,

          Was ready downfall to the deepest hell,

          Where bloudie Furies shakes their whips of steele,

          And poore Ixion turnes an endles wheele,

          Where vsurers are choakt with melting golde,

          And wantons are imbraste with ougly snakes,

          And murderers groane with neuer-killing wounds,

          And periured wights scalded in boiling lead,

          And all foule sinnes with torments ouerwhelmd;

          Twixt these two waies I trod the middle path,

          Which brought me to the faire Elizian greene,

          In midst whereof there standes a stately towre,

          The walles of brasse, the gates of adamant.

          Heere finding Pluto with his Proserpine,

          I shewed my pasport, humbled on my knee.

          Whereat faire Proserpine began to smile,

          And begd that onely she might giue me doome.

          Pluto was pleasd, and sealde it with a kisse.

          Forthwith, Reuenge, she rounded thee in th' eare,

          And bad thee lead me though the gates of horn,

          Where dreames haue passage in the silent night.

          No sooner had she spoke but we weere heere,

          I wot not how, in the twinkling of an eye.

        REUENGE.  Then know, Andrea, that thou ariu'd

          Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,

          Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingale,

          Depriu'd of life by Bel-imperia:

          Heere sit we downe to see the misterie,

          And serue for Chorus in this tragedie.

      [ACT I. SCENE 1.]

                      [The Spanish Court]

                      Enter SPANISH KING, GENERALL, CASTILLE, HIERONIMO.

        KING.  Now say, l[ord] generall: how fares our campe?

        GEN.  All wel, my soueraigne liege, except some few

          That are deceast by fortune of the warre.

        KING.  But what portends thy cheerefull countenance

          And posting to our presence this in hast?

          Speak, man:  hath fortune giuen vs victorie?

        GEN.  Victorie, my liege, and that with little losse.

        KING.  Out Portugals will pay vs tribute then?

        GEN.  Tribute, and wonted homage therewithall.

        KING.  Then blest be Heauen, and Guider of the heauens,

          From whose faire influence such iustice flowes!

        CAST.  O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,

          Et coniuratae curato poplite gentes

          Succumbent: recto soror est victoria iuris!

        KING.  Thanks to my loving brother of Castille.

          But, generall, vnfolde in breefe discourse

          Your forme of battell and your warres successe,

          That, adding all the pleasure of thy newes

          Vnto the height of former happines,

          With deeper wage and gentile dignitie

          We may reward thy blisfull chiualrie.

        GEN.  Where Spaine and Portingale do ioyntly knit

          Their frontiers, leaning on each others bound,

          There met our armies in the proud aray:

          Both furnisht well, both full of hope and feare,

          Both menacing alike with daring

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