Thy master’s high-prized love unto our heart,
Is welcome to his friend, thou to our court.
AND. Thanks, Portugal. My lords, I had in charge,
At my depart from Spain, this embassage,
To put your breast in mind of tribute due
Unto our master’s kingdom, these three years
Detained and kept back; and I am sent to know
Whether neglect or will detains it so.
KING. Thus much return unto thy king, Andrea;
We have with best advice thought of our state,
And find it much dishonoured by base homage:
I not deny, but tribute hath been due
To Spain by our forefathers’ base captivity,
Yet cannot rase out their successors’ merit.
’Tis said, we shall not answer at next birth
Our fathers’ faults in heaven; why then on earth?
Which proves and shows, that which they lost
By base captivity,
We may redeem with honoured valiancy.
We borrow nought: our kingdom is our own:
He’s a base king that pays rent for his throne.
AND. Is this thy answer, Portugal?
BAL. Ay, Spain;
A royal answer too, which I’ll maintain.
OMNES. And all the peers of Portugal the like.
AND. Then thus all Spain, which but three minutes ago
Was thy full friend, is now returned thy foe.
BAL. An excellent foe; we shall have scuffling good.
AND. Thou shalt pay tribute, Portugal, with blood.
BAL. Tribute for tribute, then, and foes for foes.
AND. I bid you sudden wars.
BAL. I, sudden blows, and that’s as good as wars.
Don, I’ll not bate
An inch of courage nor a hair of fate:
Pay tribute I with strokes.
AND. Aye, with strokes you shall;
Alas, that Spain should correct Portugal!
BAL. Correct!
O, in that one word such torments do I feel,
That I could lash thy ribs with valiant steel.
AND. Prince Balthezar, shall’s meet?
BAL. Meet, Don Andrea? yes, in the battle’s bowels;
Here is my gage, a never-failing pawn;
’Twill keep his day, his hour, nay minute, ’twill.
AND. Then thine and this, possess one quality.
BAL. O, let them kiss!
Did I not understand thee noble, valiant,
And worthy my sword’s society with thee,
For all Spain’s wealth, I’d not grasp hands.
Meet Don Andrea? I tell thee, noble spirit,
I’d wade up to the knees in blood, I’d make
A bridge of Spanish carcases, to single thee
Out of the gasping army.
AND. Woot thou, prince?
Why even for that I love [thee.]
BAL. Tut, love me, man, when we have drunk
Hot blood together; wounds will tie
An everlasting settled amity,
And so shall thine.
AND. And thine.
BAL. What! give no place?
AND. To whom?
BAL. To me.
AND. To thee?
Why should my face, that’s placed above my mind,
Fall under it?
BAL. I’ll make thee yield.
AND. Aye, when you get me down;
But I stand even yet--jump crown to crown.
BAL. Dar’st thou?
AND. I dare.
BAL. I am all vex’d.
AND. I care not.
BAL. I shall forget the law.
AND. Do, do.
BAL. Shall I?
AND. Spare not.
BAL. But thou wilt yield first.
AND. No.
BAL. O, I hug thee for’t!
The valiant’st spirit e’er trod the Spanish court:
Here let the rising of our hot blood set.
ALEX. My liege, two nobler spirits never met.
BAL. Until we meet in purple, when our swords
Shall----
AND. Agreed, right valiant prince:--
Then, Portugal, this is thy resolute answer?
KING. So, return, it’s so: we have bethought us,
What tribute is; how poor that monarch shows,
Who for his throne a yearly pension owes:
And what our predecessors lost to Spain,
We have fresh spirits that can renew’t again.
AND. Then I unclasp the purple leaves of war:
Many a new wound must gasp through an old scar.
So, Portugal, I leave thee.
KING. Ourself in person
Will see thee safe aboard: come, son, come, lords,
Instead of tribute we must pay our swords.
BAL. Remember, Don Andrea, that we meet.
AND. Up hither sailing in a crimson fleet.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ ALCARIO.
LOR. Do you affect my sister?
ALCA. Affect! above affection, for
Her breast is my life’s treasure; O, entire
Is the condition of my hot desire!
LOR. Then this must be your plot.
You know Andrea’s gone embassador,
On whom my sister Bell’-Imperia
Casts her affection?
You are in stature like him, speech alike,
And had you but his vestment on your back,
There’s no one living but would swear ’twere he:
Therefore sly policy must be your guide.
I have a suit just of Andrea’s colours,
Proportioned in all parts:--nay, ’twas his own--
This suit within my closet shall you wear,
And so disguis’d woo, sue, and then at last--
ALCA. What?
LOR. Obtain thy love.
ALCA. This falls out rare; in this disguise I may both
Wed, bed, and board her.
LOR. You may, you may:
Besides, within these few days he’ll return.
ALCA. Till this be acted, I in passion burn.
LOR. All falls out for the purpose: all hits jump;[298]
The date of his embassage, nigh expired,
Gives strength unto our plot.
ALCA. True, true; all to the purpose.
LOR. Moreover, I will buzz Andrea’s landing
Which, once but crept into the vulgar mouths,
Is hurried here and there, and sworn for troth:
Think, ’tis your love makes me create this guise,
And willing hope to see your virtue rise.
ALCA. Lorenzo’s bounty I do more enfold
Than the great’st mine of India’s brightest gold.
LOR. Come, let us in; the next time you shall show
All Don Andrea, not Alcario.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ JERONIMO _trussing of his points_; HORATIO
_with pen and ink._
JER. Come, pull the table this way: so, ’tis well.
Come write, Horatio, write;
This speedy letter must away to-night.
[HORATIO _folds the paper the contrary way_.
What! fold paper that way to a nobleman?
To Don Andrea, Spain’s embassador!
Fie! I am ashamed to see it: hast thou worn
Gowns in the university, toss’d[299] logic, suck’d
Philosophy, ate cues, drunk cees,[300] and cannot give
A letter the right courtier’s crest?
O, there’s a kind of state
In everything, save in a cuckold’s pate!
Fie, fie, Horatio! what, is your pen foul?
HOR. No, father, cleaner than Lorenzo’s soul;
That’s dipp’d in ink made of an envious gall,
Else had my pen no cause to write at all.
JER. Signior Andrea, say.
HOR. Signior Andrea----
JER. ’Tis a villainous age this.
HOR. ’Tis a villainous age this----
JER. That a nobleman should be a knave as
Well as an ostler.
HOR. That a nobleman should be a knave as
Well as an ostler----
JER. Or a serjeant.
HOR. Or a serjeant----
JER. Or a broker.
HOR. Or a broker----
JER. Yet I speak not this of Lorenzo,
For he’s an honest lord.
HOR. ’S foot, father, I’ll not write him honest lord.
JER. Take up thy pen, or I’ll take up thee.
HOR. What! write him honest lord? I’ll not agree.
JER. You’ll take it up, sir?
HOR. Well, well.
JER. What went before? thou hast put me out: beshrew
Thy impudence or insolence!
HOR. Lorenzo’s an honest lord----
JER. Well, sir; and has hired one to murder you.
HOR. O, I cry you mercy, father, meant you so?
JER. Art thou a scholar, Don Horatio,
And canst not aim at figurative speech?
HOR. I pray you, pardon me; ’twas but youth’s
Hasty error.
JER. Come, read then.
HOR. And has hired one to murder you----
JER. He means to send you to heaven, when
You return from Portugal.
HOR. From Portugal----
JER. Yet he’s an honest duke’s son.
HOR. Yet he’s an----
JER. But not the honest son of a duke.
HOR. But not the honest----
JER. O that villainy should be found in the great chamber!
HOR. O that villainy----
JER. And honesty in the bottom of a cellar.
HOR. And honesty----
JER. If you’ll be murdered, you may.
HOR. If you’ll be----
JER. If you be not, thank God and Jeronimo.
HOR. If you be not----
JER. If you be, thank the devil and Lorenzo.
HOR. If you be, thank-----
JER. Thus hoping you will not be murdered, and you can choose.
HOR. Thus hoping you will-----
JER. Especially being warned beforehand.
HOR. Especially----
JER. I take my leave, boy; Horatio, write _leave_
Bending in the hams like an old courtier:--
Thy assured friend, say, ’gainst Lorenzo and
The devil,--little Jeronimo Marshal.
HOR. Jeronimo Marshal.
JER. So, now read it o’er.
HOR. Signior Andrea, ’tis a villainous age this,
That a nobleman should be a knave as well
As an ostler, or a serjeant, or a broker; yet
I speak not this of Lorenzo: he’s an
Honest lord, and has hired one to murder you,
When you return from Portugal: yet
He’s an honest duke’s son, but not the
Honest son of a duke. O that villainy
Should be found in the great chamber, and honesty
In the bottom of the cellar!
JER. True, boy: there’s a moral in that; as much
To say, knavery in the court, and honesty in a
Cheese-house.
HOR. If you’ll be murdered, you may: if you be
Not, thank God and Jeronimo: if you be,
Thank the devil and Lorenzo. Thus hoping
You will not be murdered, and you can choose;
Especially being warned beforehand, I take my leave.
JER. Horatio, hast thou written _leave_, bending in the
Hams enough, like a gentleman-usher? ’Sfoot,
No, Horatio; thou hast made him straddle too much
Like a Frenchman: for shame, put his legs closer,
Though it be painful.
HOR. So, ’tis done, ’tis done.--
Thy assured friend ’gainst Lorenzo and the devil;
Little Jeronimo Marshal.
_Enter_ LORENZO _and_ ISABELLA.
ISA. Yonder he is, my lord; pray you speak to him.
JER. Wax, wax, Horatio: I had need wax too,
Our foes will stride else over me and you.
ISA. He’s writing a love-letter to some Spanish lady,
And now he calls for wax to seal it.
LOR. God save you, good knight Marshal.
JER. Who’s this? my lord Lorenzo? welcome, welcome;
You’re the last man I thought on, save the devil:
Much doth your presence grace our homely roof.
LOR. O Jeronimo,
Your wife condemns you of an uncourtesy
And over-passing wrong; and, more, she names
Love-letters which you send to Spanish dames.
JER. Do you accuse me so, kind Isabella?
ISA. Unkind Jeronimo!
LOR. And, for my instance, this in your hand is one.
JER. In sooth, my lord, there is no written name
Of any lady, nor[301] no Spanish dame.
LOR. If it were not so, you would not be afeard
To read or show the waxed letter:
Pray you, let me behold it.
JER. I pray you pardon me.
I must confess, my lord, it treats of love,
Love to Andrea, ay, even to his very bosom.
LOR. What news, my lord, hear you from Portugal?
JER. Who, I? before your grace it must not be;
The badger feeds not, till the lion’s served:
Nor fits it news so soon kiss subjects’ ears,[302]
As the fair cheek of high authority.
Jeronimo lives much absent from the court,
And, being absent there, lives from report.
LOR. Farewell, Jeronimo.
ISA. Welcome, my lord Lorenzo.
[_Exeunt_ LORENZO _and_ ISABELLA.
JER. Boy,
Thy mother’s jealous of my love to her.
HOR. O, she play’d us a wise part; now ten to one
He had not overheard the letter read,
Just as he enter’d.
JER. Though it had happen’d evil,
He should have heard his name yoked with the devil.
Here, seal the letter with a loving knot:
Send it with speed; Horatio, linger not;
That Don Andrea may prevent his death,
And know his enemy by his envious breath.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ LORENZO, _and_ ALCARIO _disguised like_ ANDREA.
LOR. Now, by the honour of Castile’s true house,
You are as like Andrea, part for part,
As he is like himself: did I not know you,
By my cross I swear, I could not think you but
Andrea’s self, so legg’d, so faced, so speech’d,
So all in all; methinks I should salute
Your quick return and speedy haste from Portugal:
Welcome, fair lord, worthy ambassador,
Brave Don Andrea! O, I laugh to see
How we shall jest at her mistaking thee!
ALC. What, have you given it out Andrea is return’d?
LOR. ’Tis all about the court in every ear,
And my invention brought to me for news
Last night at supper; and which the more to cover,
I took a bowl, and quaff’d a health to him,
When it would scarce go down for extreme laughter,
To think how soon report had scatter’d it.
ALC. But is the villain Lazarotto
Acquainted with our drift?
LOR. Not for Spain’s wealth;
Though he be secret, yet suspects the worst,
For confidence confounds the stratagem.
The fewer in a plot of jealousy
Build a foundation surest, when multitudes
Make it confused, ere it come to head.
Be secret then; trust not the open air,
For air is breath, and breath-blown words raise care--
This is the gallery, where she most frequents.
ALC. Within this walk have I beheld her dally
With my shape’s substance. O immortal powers!
Lend your assistance; clap a silver tongue
Within this palate that, when I approach
Within the presence of this demi-goddess,
I may possess an adamantic power,
And so bewitch her with my honey’d speech,
Have every syllable a music-stop,
That, when I pause, the melody may move,
And hem persuasion ’tween her snowy paps,
That her heart hearing may relent and yield!
LOR. Break off, my lord: see where she makes approach.
_Enter_ BELL’-IMPERIA.
ALC. Then fall into your former vein of terms.
LOR. Welcome, my lord, welcome, brave Don Andrea,
Spain’s best of spirit! what news
From Portugal? tribute or war?
But see, my sister Bell’-Imperia comes:
I will defer it to some other time,
For company hinders love’s conference.
[_Exit_ LORENZO.
BEL. Welcome, my life’s self-form, dear Don Andrea.
ALC. My words iterated give thee as much:
Welcome, my self of self.
BEL. What news, Andrea? treats it peace or war?
ALC. At first they cried all war, as men resolved
To lose both life and honour at one cast:
At which I thunder’d words all clad in proof,
Which struck amazement to their palled speech,
And tribute presently was yielded up.
But, madam Bell’-Imperia, leave we this,
And talk of former suits and quests of love.
_They whisper. Enter_ LAZAROTTO.
LAZ. ’Tis all about the court Andrea’s come:
Would I might greet him! and I wonder much,
My lord Lorenzo is so slack in murder,
Not to afford me notice all this while.
Gold, I am true;
I had my hire, and thou shalt have thy due:
Was’t possible to miss him so? soft! soft!
This gallery leads to Bell’-Imperia’s lodging;
There he is, sure, or will be, sure. I’ll stay:
The evening too begins to slubber day:[303]
Sweet, opportuneful season; here I’ll lean,
Like a court-hound, that licks fat trenchers clean.
[_Aside_.
BEL. But has the king partook your embassy?
ALC. That till to-morrow shall be now deferr’d.
BEL. Nay, then you love me not:
Let that be first despatch’d; till when receive this token.
[_She kisses him. Exit_ BELL’-IMPERIA.
ALC. I to the king with this unfaithful heart!
It must not be: I play too false a part.
LAZ. Up, Lazarotto; yonder comes thy prize;
Now lives Andrea, now Andrea dies.
[LAZAROTTO _kills him_.
ALC. That villain Lazarotto has kill’d me,
Instead of Andrea.
_Enter_ ANDREA _and_ ROGERO, _and Others._
ROG. Welcome home, lord embassador.
ALC. O, O, O.
AND. Whose groan was that? what frightful villain’s this,
His sword unsheathed? whom hast thou murdered, slave?
LAZ. Why, Don, Don Andrea.
AND. No, counterfeiting villain.
He says, my lord, that he hath murdered me.
LAZ. Aye, Don Andrea, or else Don the devil.
AND. Lay hands on him; some rear up
The bleeding body to the light.
ROG. My lord, I think ’tis you: were you not here,
A man might swear ’twere you.
AND. His garments, ha! like mine, his face made like!
An ominous horror all my veins doth strike.
Sure, this portends my death; this misery
Aims at some fatal pointed tragedy.
_Enter_ JERONIMO _and_ HORATIO.
JER. Son Horatio, see Andrea slain!
HOR. Andrea slain! then, weapon, cling[304] my breast.
AND. Live, truest friend, for ever lov’d and bless’d.
HOR. Lives Don Andrea?
AND. Aye, but slain in thought,
To see so strange a likeness forged and wrought.
Lords, cannot you yet descry,
Who is the owner of this red melting body?
ROG. My lord, it is Alcario, duke Medina’s son;
I know him by this mole upon his breast.
LAZ. Alcario slain! hast thou beguiled me, sword?
Arm, hast thou slain thy bountiful kind lord?
Why then rot off and drop upon the ground,
Strow all the galleries with gobbets round.
_Enter_ LORENZO.
LOR. Who names Alcario slain? it is Alcario!
O cursed deed!
Couldst thou not see, but make the wrong man bleed?
LAZ. ’Sfoot, ’twas your fault, my lord; you brought no word.
LOR. Peace; no words: I’ll get thy pardon:
Why, mum, then.
_Enter_ BELL’-IMPERIA.
BEL. Who names Andrea slain? O, ’tis Andrea!
O, I swoon, I die:
LOR. Look to my sister Bell’-Imperia!
AND. Raise up, my dear love, Bell’-Imperia!
O, be of comfort, sweet: call in thy spirits;
Andrea lives: O, let not death beguile thee!
BEL. Are you Andrea?
AND. Do not forget;
That was Alcario, my shape’s counterfeit.
LOR. Why speaks not this accurs’d, damn’d villain?
LAZ. O good words, my lords; for those are courtiers’ vails:
The king must hear; why should I make two tales?
For to be found in two, before the king
I will resolve you all this strange strange thing:
I hit, yet miss’d; ’twas I mistook my part.
HOR. Aye, villain; for thou aim’st at this true heart.
JER. Horatio, ’twas well, as fortune stands,
This letter came not to Andrea’s hands.
HOR. ’Twas happiness indeed.
BEL. Was it not you, Andrea, questioned me
’Bout love?
AND. No, Bell’-Imperia.
Belike, ’twas false Andrea; for the first
Object mine eyes met was that most accurst,
Which, I much fear me, by all signs portends
Most doubtful wars and dangerous pointed ends
To light upon my blood.
BEL. Angels of heaven, forefend it!
AND. Some take up the body; others take charge
Of that accursed villain.
LOR. My lord, leave that to me; I’ll look to him.
JER. Mark, mark, Horatio: a villain guard a villain.
AND. The king may think my news is a bad guest,
When the first object is a bleeding breast.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ KING OF SPAIN, CASTILE, MEDINA, ROGERO,
_and Others; a Dead March within._
KING. My lords,
What heavy sounds are these?--nearer and nearer! ha!
Andrea the forerunner of these news?
Nay, then I fear Spain’s inevitable ill.
Ha! Andrea, speak! what news from Portugal?
What, is [the] tribute paid? Or peace or wars?
AND. Wars, my dread liege.
KING. Why then
That bleeding object doth presage what shall
Hereafter follow. What’s he that lies there slain,
Or hurt, or both? Speak.
AND. My liege, Alcario, duke Medina’s son;
And by that slave this purple act was done.
MED. Who names Alcario slain? ah me, ’tis he:
Art thou that villain?
LAZ. How didst thou know my name?
I see an excellent villain hath his fame,
As well as a great courtier.
MED. Speak, villain: wherefore didst thou this accursed deed?
LAZ. Because I was an ass, a villainous ass;
For had I hit it right, Andrea had lain there;
He walk’d upright: this ominous mistake,
This damned error,
Breedeth in my soul an everlasting terror.
KING. Say, slave, how came this accurs’d evil?
LAZ. Faith, by myself, my short sword, and the devil.
To tell you all without a tedious tongue,
I’ll cut them down, my words shall not hang[305] long.
That hapless bleeding lord Alcario,
Which this hand slew, pox on’t, was a huge doater
On Bell’-Imperia’s beauty, who replied
In scorn, and his hot suit denied;
For her affections were all firmly planted
In Don Andrea’s bosom; yet, unwise,
He still pursued it with blind lover’s eyes.
Then hired he me with gold--O fate, thou elf!
To kill Andrea, which here killed himself;
For, not content to stay the time of murder,
He took Andrea’s shape unknown to me,
And in all parts disguised, as there you see,
Intending, as it seemed by that sly shift,
To steal away her troth; short tale to tell,
I took him for Andrea--down he fell.
KING. O impious deed,
To make the heir of honour melt and bleed!
Bear him away to execution.
LAZ. Nay, lord Lorenzo, where’s the pardon? ’sfoot,
I’ll peach else. [_Aside._
LOR. Peace, Lazarotto, I’ll get it of the king. [_Aside._
LAZ. Do it quickly then, or I’ll spread villainy. [_Aside._
LOR. My lord, he is the most notorious rogue,
That ever breath’d,
[_In his ear._
KING. Away with him.
LOR. Your highness may do well to bar his speech,
’Tis able to infect a virtuous ear.
KING. Away with him, I will not hear him speak.
LAZ. My lord Lorenzo is a----
[_They stop his mouth, and bear him in._
JER. Is not this a monstrous courtier?
HOR. He is the court-toad, father.
KING. Tribute denied us? ha!
AND. It is, my liege, and that with no mean words:
He will redeem his honour lost with swords.
KING. So daring! ha! so peremptory!
Can you remember the words he spake?
AND. Word for word, my gracious sovereign,
And these they were--thus much--return to Spain:
Say, that our settled judgment hath advised us
What tribute is, how poor that monarch shows
Who for his throne a yearly pension owes;
And what our predecessors lost to Spain,
We have fresh spirits that can renew it again.
KING. Ha! so peremptory, daring, stout!
AND. Then, my liege,
According to your gracious dread command,
I bad defiance with a vengeful hand.
SPAIN. He entertained it?
AND. Aye, and returned it with menacing brows;
Prince Balthezar his son
Grew violent, and wish’d the fight begun.
_Enter_ LORENZO.
LOR. So, so, I have sent my slave to hell;
Though he blab there, the devils will not tell.
_A Tucket within._[306]
SPAIN. How now! what means this trumpet’s sound?
_Enter a Messenger._
MES. My liege, the Portugals
Are up in arms, glittering in steel.
SPAIN. Where’s our lord general, Lorenzo, stout Andrea,
With whom I rank sprightly Horatio?
What! for shame, shall the Portugals
Trample the fields before you?
GEN. No, my liege, there’s time enough
To let out blood enough: tribute shall flow
Out of their bowels, and be tendered so.
SPAIN. Farewell, brave lords; my wishes are bequeath’d,
A nobler rank of spirits never breath’d.
[_Exeunt King and Nobles._
JER. O my sweet boy, heaven shield thee still from care!
O, be as fortunate as thou art fair!
HOR. And heaven bless you, my father, in this fight,
That I may see your grey head crown’d in white!
[_Exeunt._
_Enter_ ANDREA _and_ BELL’-IMPERIA.
BEL. You came but now, [and] must you part again?
You told me that your spirit
Should put on peace; but, see, war follows war.
AND. Nay, sweet love, cease;
To be denied our honour: why, ’twere base
To breathe and live; and war[307] in such a case
Is even as necessary as our blood.
Swords are in season then when right’s withstood:
Deny us tribute, that so many years
We have in peace told out? why, it would raise
Spleen in the host of angels! ’twere enough
To make our tranquil saints of angry stuff.
BEL. You have o’erwrought the chiding of my breast;
And by that argument you firmly prove
Honour to soar above the pitch of love.
Lend me thy loving and thy warlike arm,
On which I knit this soft and silken charm,
Tied with an amorous knot: O, may it prove
Enchanted armour, being charm’d by love;
That when it mounts up to thy warlike crest,
It may put by the sword, and so be blest.
AND. O, what divinity proceeds from love!
What happier fortune than myself can move!--
Hark! the drum beckons me; sweet dear, fare well!
This scarf shall be my charm ’gainst foes and hell.
BEL. O, let me kiss thee first.
AND. The drum again!
BEL. Hath that more power than I?
AND. Do’t quickly then: farewell!
[_Exit_ ANDREA.
BEL. Farewell! O cruel part!
Andrea’s bosom bears away my heart.
[_Exit_ BELL’-IMPERIA.
_Enter_ BALTHEZAR, ALEXANDRO, VOLLUPO, _Don_ PEDRO,
_with Soldiers, Drum, and Colours._
BAL. Come, valiant spirits, you peers of Portugal,
That owe your lives, your faiths, and services,
To set you free from base captivity.
O, let our fathers’ scandal ne’er be seen
As a base blush upon our free-born cheeks;
Let all the tribute that proud Spain received
Of those all captive Portugals deceased,
Turn into chafe, and choke their insolence.
Methinks, no moiety, not one little thought
Of them whose servile acts live in their graves,
But should raise spleens big as a cannon-bullet
Within your bosoms: O, for honour,
Your country’s reputation, your lives’ freedom,
Indeed your all, that may be termed revenge,
Now let your bloods be liberal as the sea;
And all those wounds that you receiv[’d] of Spain,
Let theirs be equal to quit yours again.
Speak, Portugals! are you resolved as I,
To live like captives, or as free-born die?
VOL. Prince Balthezar, as you say, so say we;
To die with honour, scorn captivity.
ALEX. Why, spoke like true Portugals indeed;
I am assured of your forwardness.
Now, Spain, sit firm, I’ll make thy towers shake,
And all that gold thou hadst from Portugal,
Which makes thy court melt in luxuriousness,
I vow to have it treble at thy hands.
Hark, Portugals! I hear their Spanish drum:
March on, and meet them; this must be the day,
That all they have received they back must pay.
[_The Portugals march about._
_Enter_ JERONIMO, ANDREA, HORATIO, LORENZO, LORD GENERAL, ROGERO,
_and Attendants, with Drum and Colours._