Thy cappe to curtesie, and they knee to bow, Till to reuenge thou know when, where and how. How now? what noise, what coile is that you keepe? A noise within. Enter a SERVANT. SER. Heere are a sort of poore petitioners That are importunate, and it shall please you, sir, That you should plead their cases to the king. HIERO. That I should plead their seuerall actions? Why, let them enter, and let me see them. Enter three CITIZENS and an OLDE MAN [DON BAZULTO]. I CIT. So I tell you this: for learning and for law There is not any aduocate in Spaine That can preuaile or will take halfe the paine That he will in pursuite of equitie. HIERO. Come neere, you men, that thus importune me! [Aside] Now must I beare a face of grauitie, For thus I vsde, before my marshalship, To pleide the causes as corrigedor.-- Come on, sirs, whats the matter? II CIT. Sir, an action. HIERO. Of batterie? I CIT. Mine of debt. HIERO. Giue place. II CIT. No, sir, mine is an action of the case. III CIT. Mine an eiectionae firmae by a lease. HIERO. Content you, sirs; are you determined That I should plead your seuerall actions? I CIT. I, sir; and heeres my declaration. II CIT. And heere is my band. III CIT. And heere is my lease. They giue him papers. HIERO. But wherefore stands you silly man so mute, With mournfall eyes and hands to heauen vprearde? Come hether, father; let me know thy cause. SENEX, [DON BAZULTO]. O worthy sir, my cause but slightly knowne May mooue the harts of warlike Myrmydons, And melt the Corsicke rockes with ruthfull teares! HIERO. Say, father; tell me whats thy sute! [BAZULTO]. No, sir, could my woes Giue way vnto my most distresfull words, Then should I not in paper, as you see, With incke bewray what blood began in me. HIERO. Whats heere? "The Humble Supplication Of Don Bazulto for his Murdered Sonne." [BAZULTO]. I, sir. HIERO. No, sir, it was my murdred sonne! Oh, my sonne, my sonne! oh, my sonne Horatio! But mine or thine, Bazulto, be content; Heere, take my hand-kercher and wipe thine eies, Whiles wretched I in thy mishaps may see The liuely portraict of my dying selfe. He draweth out a bloudie napkin. O, no; not this! Horatio, this was thine! And when I dyde it in thy deerest blood, This was a token twixt thy soule and me That of thy death reuenged I should be. But heere: take this, and this! what? my purse? I, this and that and all of them are thine; For all as one are our extremeties. I CIT. Oh, see the kindenes of Hieronimo! II CIT. This gentlenes shewes him a gentleman.