Thy cap to courtesy, and thy knee to bow, Till to revenge thou know when, where and how. How now? what noise, what coil is that you keep? A noise within. Enter a SERVANT. SER. Here are a sort of poor 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 several actions? Why, let them enter, and let me see them. Enter three CITIZENS and an OLD MAN [DON BAZULTO]. I CIT. So I tell you this: for learning and for law There is not any advocate in Spain That can prevail or will take half the pain That he will in pursuit of equity. HIERO. Come near, you men, that thus importune me! [Aside] Now must I bear a face of gravity, For thus I us'd, before my marshallship, To plead in causes as corrigedor.-- Come on, sirs, what's the matter? II CIT. Sir, an action. HIERO. Of battery? I CIT. Mine of debt. HIERO. Give place. II CIT. No, sir, mine is an action of the case. III CIT. Mine an ejectionae firmae by a lease. HIERO. Content you, sirs; are you determined That I should plead your several actions? I CIT. Aye, sir; and here's my declaration. II CIT. And here is my bond. III CIT. And here is my lease. They give him papers. HIERO. But wherefore stands yon silly man so mute, With mournful eyes and hands to heav'n uprear'd? Come hither, father; let me know thy cause. SENEX, [DON BAZULTO]. O worthy sir, my cause but slightly known May move the hearts of warlike Myrmidons, And melt the Corsic rocks with ruthful tears! HIERO. Say, father; tell me what's thy suit! BAZULTO. No, sir, could my woes Give way unto my most distressful words, Then should I not in paper, as you see, With ink bewray what blood began in me. HIERO. What's here? "The Humble Supplication Of Don Bazulto for his Murder'd Son." BAZULTO. Aye, sir. HIERO. No, sir, it was my murder'd son! Oh, my son, my son! oh, my son Horatio! But mine or thine, Bazulto, be content; Here, take my handkerchief and wipe thine eyes, Whiles wretched I in thy mishaps may see The lively portrait of my dying self. He draweth out a bloody napkin. O, no; not this! Horatio, this was thine! And when I dy'd it in thy dearest blood, This was a token twixt thy soul and me That of thy death revenged I should be. But here: take this, and this! what? my purse? Aye, this and that and all of them are thine; For all as one are our extremities. I CIT. Oh, see the kindness of Hieronimo! II CIT. This gentleness shows him a gentleman.