Part 46 (1/2)

ISA. O, pity my Hortenzo!

HOR. Farewell, my Isabel; my life, adieu.

ALL. Mischief and horror let the Moor pursue!

ELE. A concert! that amain;[74] play that amain; Amain, amain. No; so soon fallen asleep!

Nay, I'll not lose this music; sirrah, sirrah, Take thou a drum, a trumpet thou; and hark, Mad them with villanous sounds.

ZAR. Rare sport; let's go.

[_Exeunt_ ZARACK _and_ BALTHAZAR.

ELE. About it: music will do well in woe.

How like you this?

ISA. Set my Hortenzo free, And I'll like anything.

ELE. A fool, a fool.

Hortenzo free! why, look you, he free! no; Then must he marry you; you must be queen, He in a manner king; these dignities, Like poison, make men swell; this ratsbane honour, O, 'tis so sweet! they'll lick it, till all burst: He will be proud; and pride, you know, must fall.

Come, come, he shall not; no, no, 'tis more meet To keep him down safe standing on his feet.

ISA. Eleazar!

ELE. Mark, the imperial chair of Spain Is now as empty as a miser's alms: Be wise, I yet dare sit in't; it's for you, If you will be for me; there's room for two.

Do--meditate--muse on't: its best for thee To love me, live with me, and lie with me.

ISA. Thou know'st I'll first lie in the arms of death.

My meditations are how to revenge Thy b.l.o.o.d.y tyrannies. I fear thee not, Inhuman slave, but to thy face defy Thy l.u.s.t, thy love, thy barbarous villany.

ELE. Zarack.

_Enter_ ZARACK.

ZAR. My lord.

ELE. Where's Balthazar?

ZAR. A-drumming.

ELE. I have made them rave and curse, and so guard her.

Your court shall be this prison; guard her, slaves, With open eyes: defy me! see my veins Struck't out, being overheated with my blood, Boiling in wrath; I'll tame you.

ISA. Do, do.

ELE. Ha, I will! and once more fill a kingdom's throne.

Spain, I'll new-mould thee: I will have a chair Made all of dead men's bones; and the ascents Shall be the heads of Spaniards set in ranks: I will have Philip's head, Hortenzo's head, Mendoza's head, thy mother's head, and this-- This head, that is so cross, I'll have't.

The scene wants actors; I'll fetch more, and clothe it In rich cothurnal pomp: a tragedy Ought to be grave: graves this shall beautify.