HIERO. That shall I roundly. The chronicles of Spain Record this written of a knight of Rhodes; He was betroth'd, and wedded at the length, To one Perseda, an Italian dame, Whose beauty ravish'd all that her beheld, Especially the soul of Suleiman, Who at the marriage was the chiefest guest. By sundry means sought Suleiman to win Perseda's love, and could not gain the same. Then 'gan he break his passions to a friend, One of his bashaws whom he held full dear. Her has this bashaw long solicited, And saw she was not otherwise to be won But by her husband's death, this knight of Rhodes, Whom presently by treachery he slew. She, stirr'd with an exceeding hate therefore, As cause of this, slew Sultan Suleiman, And, to escape the bashaw's tyranny, Did stab herself. And this is the tragedy. LOR. O, excellent! BEL. But say, Hieronimo: What then became of him that was the bashaw? HIERO. Marry thus: Moved with remorse of his misdeeds, Ran to a mountain top and hung himself. BAL. But which of us is to perform that part? HIERO. O, that will I, my lords; make no doubt of it; I'll play the murderer, I warrant you; For I already have conceited that. BAL. And what shall I? HIERO. Great Suleiman, the Turkish emperor. LOR. And I? HIERO. Erastus, the knight of Rhodes. BEL. And I? HIERO. Perseda, chaste and resolute. And here, my lords, are several abstracts drawn, For each of you to note your several parts. And act it as occasion's offer'd you. You must provide you with a Turkish cap, A black moustache and a fauchion. Gives paper to BALTHAZAR. You with a cross, like a knight of Rhodes. Gives another to LORENZO. And, madame, you must then attire yourself He giveth BEL-IMPERIA another. Like Phoebe, Flora, or the huntress Dian, Which to your discretion shall seem best. And as for me, my lords, I'll look to one, And with the ransom that the viceroy sent So furnish and perform this tragedy As all the world shall say Hieronimo Was liberal in gracing of it so. BAL. Hieronimo, methinks a comedy were better. HIERO. A comedy? fie! comedies are fit for common wits; But to present a kingly troupe withal, Give me a stately-written tragedy,-- Tragedia cothurnata, fitting kings, Containing matter, and not common things! My lords, all this our sport must be perform'd, As fitting for the first night's revelling. The Italian tragedians were so sharp Of wit that in one hour's meditation They would perform any-thing in action. LOR. And well it may, for I have seen the like In Paris, 'mongst the French tragedians. HIERO. In Paris? mass, and well remembered!-- There's one thing more that rests for us to do.