LITMIR.BIZ

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       Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name.

       But in the haruest of my sommer ioyes

       Deaths winter nipt the blossomes of my blisse,

       Forcing diuorce betwixt my loue and me;

       For in the late conflict with Portingale

       My valour drew me into dangers mouth

       Till life to death made passage through my wounds.

       When I was slaine, my soule descended straight

       To passe the flowing streame of Archeron;

       But churlish Charon, only boatman there,

       Said that, my rites of buriall not performde,

       I might not sit amongst his passengers.

       Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis lap,

       And slakte his smoaking charriot in her floud,

       By Don Horatio, our knight-marshals sonne,

       My funerals and obsequies were done.

       Then was the fariman of hell content

       To passe me ouer to the slimie strond

       That leades to fell Auernus ougly waues.

       There, pleasing Cerberus with honied speech,

       I past the perils of the formost porch.

       Not farre from hence, amidst ten thousand soules,

       Sate Minos, Eacus and Rhadamant;

       To whome no sooner gan I make approach,

       To craue a pasport for my wandring ghost,

       But Minos in grauen leaues of lotterie

       Drew forth the manner of my life and death.

       "This knight," quoth he, "both liu'd and died in loue;

       And for his loue tried fortune of the warres;

       And by warres fortune lost both loue and life."

       "Why then," said Eacus, "convey him hence

       To walke with lovers in our field of loue

       And the course of euerlasting time

       Vnder greene mirtle-trees and cipresse shades."

       "No, no!" said Rhadamant, "it were not well

       With louing soules to place a martialist.

       He died in warre, and must to martiall fields,

       Where wounded Hector liues in lasting paine,

       And Achilles Mermedons do scoure the plaine."

       Then Minos, mildest censor of the three,

       Made this deuice, to end the difference:

       "Send him," quoth he, "to our infernall king,

       To dome him as best seemes his Maiestie."

       To this effect my pasport straight was drawne.

       In keeping on my way to Plutos court

       Through dreadfull shades of euer-glooming night,

       I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell

       Or pennes can write or mortall harts can think.

       Three waies there were: that on the right hand side

       Was ready way vnto the foresaid fields

       Where louers liue and bloudie martialists,

       But either sort containd within his bounds;

       The left hand path, declining fearfuly,

       Was ready downfall to the deepest hell,

       Where bloudie Furies shakes their whips of steele,

       And poore Ixion turnes an endles wheele,

       Where vsurers are choakt with melting golde,

       And wantons are imbraste with ougly snakes,

       And murderers groane with neuer-killing wounds,

       And periured wights scalded in boiling lead,

       And all foule sinnes with torments ouerwhelmd;

       Twixt these two waies I trod the middle path,

       Which brought me to the faire Elizian greene,

       In midst whereof there standes a stately towre,

       The walles of brasse, the gates of adamant.

       Heere finding Pluto with his Proserpine,

       I shewed my pasport, humbled on my knee.

       Whereat faire Proserpine began to smile,

       And begd that onely she might giue me doome.

       Pluto was pleasd, and sealde it with a kisse.

       Forthwith, Reuenge, she rounded thee in th' eare,

       And bad thee lead me though the gates of horn,

       Where dreames haue passage in the silent night.

       No sooner had she spoke but we weere heere,

       I wot not how, in the twinkling of an eye.

       REUENGE. Then know, Andrea, that thou ariu'd

       Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,

       Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingale,

       Depriu'd of life by Bel-imperia:

       Heere sit we downe to see the misterie,

       And serue for Chorus in this tragedie.

      [ACT I. SCENE 1.]

       [The Spanish Court]

       Enter SPANISH KING, GENERALL, CASTILLE, HIERONIMO.

       KING. Now say, l[ord] generall: how fares our campe?

       GEN. All wel, my soueraigne liege, except some few

       That are deceast by fortune of the warre.

       KING. But what portends thy cheerefull countenance

       And posting to our presence this in hast?

       Speak, man: hath fortune giuen vs victorie?

       GEN. Victorie, my liege, and that with little losse.

       KING. Out Portugals will pay vs tribute then?

       GEN. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithall.

       KING. Then blest be Heauen, and Guider of the heauens,

       From whose faire influence such iustice flowes!

       CAST. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether,

       Et coniuratae curato poplite gentes

       Succumbent: recto soror est victoria iuris!

       KING. Thanks to my loving brother of Castille.

       But, generall, vnfolde in breefe discourse

       Your forme of battell and your warres successe,

       That, adding all the pleasure of thy newes

       Vnto the height of former happines,

       With deeper wage and gentile dignitie

       We may reward thy blisfull chiualrie.

       GEN. Where Spaine and Portingale do ioyntly knit

       Their frontiers, leaning on each others bound,

       There met our armies in the proud aray:

       Both furnisht well, both full of hope and feare,

       Both menacing alike with daring showes,

       Both vaunting sundry colours of deuice,

       Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes,

       Both raising dreadfull clamors to the skie,

       That valleis, hils, and riuers made rebound

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