The Spanish Tragedie Part 12

BAL. How now, my lord? what makes you rise so soone?

LOR. Feare of preuenting our mishaps too late.

BAL. What mischiefe is it that we not mistrust?

LOR. Our greatest ils we least mistrust, my lord, And [unexpected] harmes do hurt vs most.

BAL. Why, tell me, Don Lorenz,--tell me, man, If ought concernes our honor and your owne!

LOR. Nor you nor me, my lord, but both in one; But I suspect--and the presumptions great-- That by those base confederates in our fault Touching the death of Don Horatio We are all betraide to olde Hieronimo.

BAL. Betraide, Lorenzo? tush! it cannot be.

LOR. A guiltie conscience vrged with the thought Of former euils, easily cannot erre: I am perswaded--and diswade me not-- That als reuealed to Hieronimo.

And therefore know that I haue cast it thus--

[Enter PAGE.]

But heeres the page. How now? what newes with thee?

PAGE. My lord, Serberine is slaine.

BAL. Who? Serberine, my man?

PAGE. Your Highnes man, my lord.

LOR. Speak, page: who murdered him?

PAGE. He that is apprehended for the fact.

LOR. Who?

PAGE. Pedringano.

BAL. Is Serberine slaine, that lou'd his lord so well?

Iniurious villaine! murderer of his freend!

LOR. Hath Pedringano murdered Serberine?

My lord, let me entreat you to take the paines To exasperate and hasten his reuenge With your complaints vnto my l[ord] the king.

This their dissention breeds a greater doubt.

BAL. a.s.sure thee, Don Lorenzo, he shall dye, Or els his Highnes hardly shall deny.

Meane-while, Ile haste the marshall sessions, For die he shall for this d.a.m.ned deed.

Exit BALT[HAZAR].

LOR. [aside] Why, so! this fits our former pollicie; And thus experience bids the wise and deale.

I lay the plot, he prosecutes the point; I set the trap, he breakes the worthles twigs, And sees not that wherewith the bird was limde.

Thus hopefull men, that means to holde their owne, Must look, like fowlers, to their dearest freends.

He runnes to kill whome I haue hope to catch, And no man knowes it was my reaching [fetch].

Tis hard to trust vnto a mult.i.tude,-- Or any one, in mine opinion, When men themselues their secrets will reueale.

Enter a MESSENGER with a letter.

LOR. Boy.

PAGE. My lord.

LOR. Whats he?

MES. I haue a letter to your lordship.

LOR. From whence?

MES. From Pedringanos that's imprisoned.

LOR. So he is in prison then?

MES. I, my good lord.

LOR. What would he with vs?

[Reads the letter.]

He writes vs heere To stand good l[ord] and help him in distres.

Tell him I haue his letters, know his minde; And what we may, let him a.s.sure him of.

Fellow, be gone; my boy shall follow thee.

Exit MES[SENGER].

[Aside] This works like waxe! Yet once more try thy wits.-- Boy, goe conuay this purse to Pedringano,-- Thou knowest the prison,--closely giue it him, And be aduisde that none here there-about.

Bid him be merry still, but secret; And, though the marshall sessions be to-day, Bid him not doubt of his deliuerie.

Tell him his pardon is already signde, And thereon bid him boldely be resolued; For, were he ready to be turned off,-- As tis my will the vttermost be tride,-- Thou with his pardon shalt attend him still.

Shew him this boxe, tell him his pardons int; But opent not, and if thou louest thy life, But let him wisely keepe his hopes vnknowne.

He shall not want while Don Lorenzo liues.

Away!

PAGE. I goe, my lord, I runne!

LOR. But, sirra, see that this be cleanely done.

Exit PAGE.

Now stands our fortune on a tickle point, And now or neuer ends Lorenzos doubts.

One only thing is vneffected yet, And thats to see the executioner,-- But to what end? I list not trust the aire With vtterance of our pretence therein, For feare the priuie whispring of the winde Conuay our words amongst vnfreendly eares, That lye too open to aduantages.

Et quel che voglio io, nessun lo sa, Intendo io quel [che] mi bastera.

Exit.