Who being come into his sight,
He threatneth for to rid his life:
Except straightways he should recite,
His sister's love, the cause of strife.
Compel'd therefore t'unfold his mind:
Said with Horatio she's combin'd.

The villain then, for hope of gain,
Did straight convey them to the place
Where these two lovers did remain,
Joying in sight of others face.

And to their foes they did impart

The place where they should joy their heart.

Prince Balthazer, with his comperes,
Enters my bower all in the night,
And there my son slain they uprear,
The more to work my greater spight.
But as I lay and took repose:
A voice I heard, whereat I rose.

And finding then his senseless form,
The murderers I sought to find,
But missing them I stood forlorn,
As one amazed in his mind.

And rent and pull'd my silver'd hair,

And curs'd and damn'd each thing was there.

And that I would revenge the same,
I dipt a napkin in his blood:
Swearing to work their woeful bain,
That so had spoil'd my chiefest good.
And that I would not it forget:
It always at my heart I kept.

THE SECOND PART.

To the same Tune.

THEN, Isabella, my dear wife,
Finding her son bereav'd of breath,
And loving him dearer than life

Her own hand straight doth work her death.
And now their deaths doth meet in one:
My griefs are come, my joys are gone.

Then frantickly I ran about,
Filling the air with mournful groans,
Because I had not yet found out
The murtherers to ease to moans.

I rent and tore each thing I got,
And said, and did, I knew not what.
Thus as I past the streets, hard by
The duke of Castile's house, as then
A Letter there I did espy,

Which show'd Horatio's woeful end.
Which Bellimperia forth had flung,
From prison, where they kept her strong.

Then to the court forthwith I went,
And of the king did justice crave,
But by Lorenzo's bad intent,

I hindred was, which made me rave.
Then vexed more I stamp'd and frown'd,
And with my poniard ript the ground.

But false Lorenzo put me out,

And told the king then by and by,

That frantickly I ran about,

And of my son did always cry,

And said 'twere good I would resign:

My marshal-ship, which griev'd my mind.

The duke of Castile hearing then,"
How I did grudge still at his son,
Did send for me to make us friends:
To stay the rumour then begun.
Whereto I straightway gave consent:
Although in heart I never meant.

Sweet Bellimperia comes to me,
Thinking my son I had forgot,
To see me with his foes agree,
The which I never meant, God wot:

But when we knew each other's mind,
To work revenge a mean I find.

Then bloody Baltazar enters in
Entreating me to show some sport
Unto his father and the king:
That to his nuptial did resort.
Which gladly I prepar'd to show,
Because I knew 'twould work their woe.

And from the Chronicles of Spain,

I did record Erastus life,

And how the Turk had him so slain :
And straight revenge wrought by his wife.
Then for to act this Tragedy,

I gave their parts immediately.

Sweet Bellimperia Baltazar kills,
Because he slew her dearest friend,
And I Lorenzo's blood did spill,
And eke his soul to hell did send.
Then died my foes by dint of knife,
But Bellimperia ends her life.

Then for to specify my wrongs,
With weeping eyes and mournful hart
I shew'd my son with bloody wounds,
And eke the murtherers did impart.

And said my son was as dear to me
As thine, or thine, though kings you be.

But when they did behold this thing,
Now I had slain their only sons;
The duke, the viceroy, and the king,
Upon me all they straight did run.
To torture me they do prepare,
Unless I should it straight declare.

But that I would not tell it then,
Even with my teeth I bit my tongue,
And in despite did give it them,

That me with torments sought to wrong.
Thus when in age I sought to rest,
Nothing but sorrows me opprest.

They knowing well that I could write,
Unto my hand a pen did reach,
Meaning thereby I should recite,
The authors of this bloody fetch.
Then fained I my pen was naught,
And by strange signs a knife I sought.

But when to me they gave the knife,
I killed the duke then standing by,
And eke myself bereav'd of life,
For I to see my son did hie.

The kings that scorn'd my griefs before,
With nought can they their joys restore.

Here have you heard my tragick tale,
Which on Horatio's death depends,
Whose death I could anew bewail,
But that in it the murderers ends.

For murder God will bring to light,
Though long it be hid from man's sight.

Printed at London, for H. Gosson.

EDITIONS.

Or this Play Mr. Hawkins says there are many Editions, viz. 1603, 1615, 1618, 1623, 1633; and one without a date" printed by Edward Allde, amended of "such gross blunders as passed in the first." None of these several Editions have come under my notice except those of 1623 and 1633; but, by comparing the collation of Mr. Hawkins with these copies, I can so far bear testimony to that Gentleman's accuracy, as to think myself warranted to follow his Edition of this Play as printed in the Origin of the English Drama, vol. II. Mr. Hawkins printed from Allde's Edition, compared with those of 1618, 1623, and 1633.*

The foregoing Ballad is printed from a Black Letter Copy in the valuable Collection of Thomas Pearson, Esq. It seems to have been written after the Play.

The following are copies of the titles of the two earliest known editions, though it is clear from what is said, that the Tragedy was printed before 1599.

(1.) The Spanish Tragedie, containing the lamentable ende of Don Horatio and Bel-imperia: with the pittifull death of old Hieronimo.-Newly corrected and amended of such grosse faultes as passed in the former impression. At London, Printed by William White, dwelling in Cow-lane, 1599, 4to.

(2.) The Spanish Tragedie, containing the lamentable end of Don Horatio and Bel-imperia: with the pittifull death of olde Hieronimo. Newly corrected, amended, and enlarged, with new additions of the Painter's part and others, as it hath of late been divers times acted. Imprinted at London by W. W. for T. Pavier, and are to be solde at the signe of the Catte and Parrats neare the Exchange. 1602.