BEL-IMPERIA. Is this the love thou bear'st Horatio? Is this the kindness that thou counterfeit'st, Are these the fruits of thine incessant tears? Hieronimo, are these thy passions, Thy protestations and thy deep laments, That thou wert wont to weary men withal? O unkind father! O deceitful world! With what excuses canst thou show thyself,-- With what dishonour, and the hate of men,-- Thus to neglect the loss and life of him Whom both my letters and thine own belief Assures thee to be causeless slaughtered? Hieronimo! for shame, Hieronimo, Be not a history to after times Of such ingratitude unto thy son! Unhappy mothers of such children then! But monstrous fathers, to forget so soon The death of those whom they with care and cost Have tender'd so, thus careless should be lost! Myself, a stranger in respect to thee, So lov'd his life as still I wish their deaths. Nor shall his death be unreveng'd by me. Although I bear it out for fashion's sake; For here I swear in sight of heav'n and earth, Shouldst thou neglect the love thou shouldst retain And give it over and devise no more, Myself should send their hateful souls to hell That wrought his downfall with extremest death! HIE. But may it be that Bel-imperia Vows such revenge as she hath deign'd to say? Why then, I see that heav'n applies our drift, And all the saints do sit soliciting For vengeance on those cursed murtherers. Madame, 'tis true, and now I find it so. I found a letter, written in your name, And in that letter, how Horatio died. Pardon, O pardon, Bel-imperia, My fear and care in not believing it! Nor think I thoughtless think upon a mean To let his death be unreveng'd at full. And here I vow, so you but give consent And will conceal my resolution, I will ere long determine of their deaths That causeless thus have murdered my son. BEL. Hieronimo, I will consent, conceal, And aught that may effect for thine avail, Join with thee to revenge Horatio's death. HIER. On then, and whatsoever I devise, Let me entreat you grace my practice, For-why the plot's already in mine head.-- Here they are! Enter BALTHAZAR and LORENZO. BAL. How now, Hieronimo? What, courting Bel-imperia? HIERO. Aye, my lord, Such courting as, I promise you, She hath my heart, but you, my lord, have hers. LOR. But now, Hieronimo, or never We are to entreat your help. HIE. My help? Why, my good lords, assure yourselves of me; For you have giv'n me cause,-- Aye, by my faith, have you!