BALT. [acting] Erasto is my friend; and, while he lives,
Perseda never will remove her love.
HIERO. [acting] Let not Erasto live to grieve great Suleiman!
BALT. [acting] Dear is Erasto in our princely eye.
HIERO. [acting] But, if he be your rival, let him die!
BALT. [acting] Why, let him die! so love commaundeth me.
Yet grieve I that Erasto should so die.
HIERO. [acting] Erasto, Suleiman saluteth thee,
And lets thee wit by me his Highness' will,
Which is, thou should'st be thus employ'd.
Stabs him.
BEL. [acting] Ay, me, Erasto! See, Suleiman, Erasto's slain!
BALT. [acting] Yet liveth Suleiman to comfort thee.
Fair queen of beauty, let not favour die,
But with a gracious eye behold his grief,
That with Perseda's beauty is increas'd,
If by Perseda grief be not releas'd.
BEL. [acting] Tyrant, desist soliciting vain suits;
Relentless are mine ears to thy laments
As thy butcher is pitiless and base
Which seiz'd on my Erasto, harmless knight.
Yet by thy power thou thinkest to command,
And to thy power Perseda doth obey;
But, were she able, thus she would revenge
Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince;
Stabs him.
And on herself she would be thus revengd.
Stabs herself.
KING. Well said, old marshall! this was bravely done!
HIERO. But Bel-imperia plays Perseda well.
VICE. Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia,
You would be better to my son than so.
KING. But now what follows for Hieronimo?
HIERO. Marry, this follows for Hieronimo!
Here break we off our sundry languages,
And thus conclude I in our vulgar tongue:
Haply you think--but bootless are your thoughts--
That this is fabulously counterfeit,
And that we do as all tragedians do,--
To die today, for fashioning our scene,
The death of Ajax, or some Roman peer,
And, in a minute starting up again,
Revive to please tomorrow's audience.
No, princes; know I am Hieronimo,
The hopeless father of a hapless son,
Whose tongue is tun'd to tell his latest tale,
Not to excuse gross errors in the play.
I see your looks urge instance of these words:
Behold the reason urging me to this!
Shows his dead son.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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