HIERO. See, see, oh, see thy shame, Hieronimo! See here a loving father to his son: Behold the sorrows and the sad laments That he deliv'reth for his son's decease. If love's effect so strives in lesser things, If love enforce such moods in meaner wits, If love express such power in poor estates, Hieronimo, as when a raging sea, Toss'd with the wind and tide, o'er-turneth then The upper-billows course of waves to keep, Whilst lesser waters labour in the deep, Then sham'st thou not, Hieronimo, to neglect The swift revenge of thy Horatio? Though on this earth justice will not be found, I'll down to hell and in this passion Knock at the dismal gates of Pluto's court, Getting by force, as once Alcides did, A troupe of furies and tormenting hags, To torture Don Lorenzo and the rest. Yet, lest the triple-headed porter should Deny my passage to the slimy strand, The Thracian poet thou shalt counterfeit; Come on, old father, be my Orpheus; And, if thou canst no notes upon the harp, Then sound the burden of thy sore heart's grief Till we do gain that Proserpine may grant Revenge on them that murdered my son. Then will I rent and tear them thus and thus, Shiv'ring their limbs in pieces with my teeth! Tears the papers. I CIT. Oh, sir, my declaration! Exit HIERONIMO and they after. II CIT. Save my bond! Enter HIERONIMO. II CIT. Save my bond! III CIT. Alas my lease, it cost me Ten pound, and you, my lord, have torn the same! HIERO. That can not be, I gave it never a wound; Show me one drop of blood fall from the same! How is it possible I should slay it then? Tush, no! Run after, catch me if you can! Exeunt all but DON BAZULTO. BAZULTO remains till HIERONIMO enters again, who, staring him in the face, speaks: And art thou come, Horatio, from the depth, To ask for justice in this upper earth? To tell thy father thou art unreveng'd? To wring more tears from Isabella's eyes, Whose lights are dimm'd with over-long laments? Go back, my son, complain to Eacus; For here's no justice. Gentle boy, begone; For justice is exiled from the earth. Hieronimo will bear thee company. Thy mother cries on righteous Radamant For just revenge against the murderers. BAZULTO. Alas, my lord, whence springs this troubled speech? HIERO. But let me look on my Horatio: Sweet boy, how art thou chang'd in death's black shade! Had Proserpine no pity on thy youth, But suffer'd thy fair crimson-colour'd spring With wither'd winter to be blasted thus? Horatio, thou are older than thy father: Ah, ruthless father, that favour thus transforms. BA. Ah, my good lord, I am not your young son.