ece,
The newes are more delightfull to his soule
Then myrrh or incense to the offended Heauens.
In person, therefore, will be come himselfe
To see the marriage rites solemnized
And in the presence of the court of Spaine
To knit a sure [inextricable] band
Of kingly loue and euerlasting league
Betwixt the crownes of Spaine and Portingale.
There will he giue his crowne to Balthazar,
And make a queene of Bel-imperia.

KING. Brother, how like you this our vice-roies loue?

CAST. No doubt, my lord, it is an argument
Of honorable care to keepe his freend
And wondrous zeale to Balthazar, his sonne.
Nor am I least indebted to his Grace,
That bends his liking to my daughter thus.

EM. Now last, dread lord, heere hath his Highnes sent--
Although he send not that his sonne returne--
His ransome doe to Don Horatio.

HIERO. Horatio? who cals Horatio?

KING. And well remembred, thank his Maiestie!
Heere, see it giuen to Horatio.

HIERO. Iustice! O iustice! iustice, gentle king!

KING. Who is that? Hieronimo?

HIERO. Iustice! O iustice! O my sonne! my sonne!
My sonne, whom naught can ransome or redeeme!

LOR. Hieronimo, you are not well aduisde.

HIERO. Away, Lorenzo! hinder me no more,
For thou hast made me bankrupt of my blisse!
Giue me my sonne! You shall not ransome him!
Away! Ile rip the bowels of the earth,

He diggeth with his dagger.

And ferrie ouer th' Elizian plaines
And bring my sonne to shew his deadly wounds.
Stand from about me! Ile make a pickaxe of my poniard,
And heere surrender vp my marshalship;
For Ile goe marshall vp the feends in hell,
To be auenged on you all for this.

KING. What means this outrage?
Will none of you restraine his fury?

HIERO. Nay, soft and faire; you shall not need to striue!
Needs must he goe that the diuels driue.

Exit.

KING. What accident hath hapt [to] Hieronimo?
I haue not seene him to demeane him so.

LOR. My gratious lord, he is with extreame pride
Conceiued of yong Horatio, his sonne,
And couetous of hauing himselfe
The ransome of the yong prince, Balthazar,
Distract, and in a manner lunatick.

KING. Beleeue me, nephew, we are sorie for 't;
This is the loue that fathers beare their sonnes.
But, gentle brother, goe giue to