Was English Robert, Earle of Gloucester, Who, when King Stephen bore sway in Albion, Arriv'd with five and twenty thousand men In Portingal, and, by success of war, Enforc'd the king, then but a Saracen, To bear the yoke of the English monarchy. KING. My lord of Portingal, by this you see That which may comfort both your king and you, And make your late discomfort seem the less. But say, Hieronimo: what was the next? HIERO. The second knight that hung his scutcheon up He doth as he did before. Was Edmond, Earle of Kent in Albion. When English Richard wore the diadem, He came likewise and razed Lisbon walls, And took the king of Portingal in fight,-- For which, and other such service done, He after was created Duke of York. KING. This is another special argument That Portingal may deign to bear our yoke, When it by little England hath been yok'd. But now, Hieronimo, what were the last? HIERO. The third and last, not least in our account, Doing as before. Was, as the rest, a valiant Englishman, Brave John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster, As by his scutcheon plainly may appear: He with a puissant army came to Spain And took our King of Castille prisoner. AMBASS. This is an argument for our viceroy That Spain may not insult for her success, Since English warriors likewise conquer'd Spain And made them bow their knees to Albion. KING. Hieronimo, I drink to thee for this device, Which hath pleas'd both the ambassador and me: Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou love the king! Takes the cup of HORATIO. My lord, I fear we sit but over-long, Unless our dainties were more delicate,-- But welcome are you to the best we have. Now let us in, that you may be dispatch'd; I think our council is already set. Exeunt omnes. [CHORUS.] ANDREA. Come we for this from depth of under ground,-- To see him feast that gave me my death's wound? These pleasant sights are sorrow to my soul: Nothing but league and love and banqueting! REVENGE. Be still, Andrea; ere we go from hence, I'll turn their friendship into fell despite, Their love to mortal hate, their day to night, Their hope into despair, their peace to war, Their joys to pain, their bliss to misery. ACTUS SECUNDUS. [ACT II. SCENE 1.] [The DUKE's castle.] Enter LORENZO and BALTHAZAR. LORENZO. My lord, though Bel-imperia seem thus coy, Let reason hold you in your wonted joy: In time the savage bull sustains the yoke, In time all haggard hawks will stoop to lure, In time small wedges cleave the hardest oak, In time the flint is pierc'd with softest shower; And she in time will fall from her disdain, And rue the sufferance of your friendly pain.