A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 05

English drama
Horatio, leave him not, that loves thee so.--
    Now let us hence to see our soldiers paid,
    And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest.

                                                              [_Exeunt._

            _Enter_ VICEROY,[51] ALEXANDRO, _and_ VILLUPPO.

                                VICEROY.

    Is our ambassador despatch'd for Spain?

                               ALEXANDRO.

    Two days, my liege, are pass'd since his depart.

                                VICEROY.

    And tribute-payment gone along with him?

                               ALEXANDRO.

    Ay, my good lord.

                                VICEROY.

    Then rest we here awhile in our unrest,
    And feed our sorrows with some inward sighs;
    For deepest cares break never into tears.
    But wherefore sit I in a[52] regal throne?
    This[53] better fits a wretch's endless moan.

                                                 [_Falls to the ground._

    Yet this is higher than my fortunes reach,
    And therefore better than my state deserves.
    Ay, ay, this earth, image of melancholy,
    Seeks him, whom fates adjudge[54] to misery.
    Here let me lie, now am I[55] at the lowest.

        _Qui jacet in terra, non habet unde cadat._
      _In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo:_
        _Nil[56] superest ut jam, possit obesse magis._

    Yes, fortune may bereave me of my crown:
    Here, take it now; let fortune do her worst,
    She will not rob me of this sable weed:
    O no, she envies none but pleasant things;
    Such is the folly of despiteful chance!
    Fortune is blind, and sees not my deserts:
    So is she deaf, and hears not my laments:
    And could she hear, yet is she wilful-mad,
    And therefore will not pity my distress.
    Suppose that she could pity me: what then?
    What help can be expected at her hands,
    Whose foot is standing on a rolling stone,
    And mind more mutable than fickle winds?
    Why wail I then, where's hope of no redress?
    O yes, complaining makes my grief seem less.
    My late ambition hath distain'd my faith;
    My breach of faith occasion'd bloody wars;
    Those[57] bloody wars have spent my treasure;
    And with my treasure my people's blood;
    And with their blood, my joy and best belov'd,
    My best belov'd, my sweet and only son.
    O, wherefore went I not to war myself?
    The cause was mine; I might have died for both:
    My years were mellow, his but[58] young and green;
    My death were natural, but his was forced.

                               ALEXANDRO.

    No doubt, my liege, but still the prince survives.

                                VICEROY.

    Survives! ay, where?[59]

                               ALEXANDRO.

    In Spain, a prisoner by mischance of war.

                                VICEROY.

    Then they have slain him for his father's fault.

                               ALEXANDRO.

    That were a breach to common law of arms.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 05

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