Yet by thy power thou thinkest to commaund,
And to thy power Perseda doth obey;
But, were she able, thus she would reuenge
Thy treacheries on thee, ignoble prince;
Stab him.
And on herselfe she would be thus reuengd.
Stab herselfe.
KING. Well said, old marshall! this was brauely done!
HIERO. But Bel-imperia plauies Perseda well.
VICE. Were this in earnest, Bel-imperia,
You would be better to my sonne then so.
KING. But now what followes for Hieronimo?
HIERO. Marrie, this followes for Hieronimo!
Heere breake we off our sundrie languages,
And thus conclude I in our vulgare tung:
Happely you think -- but bootles are your thoughts --
That this is fabulously counterfeit,
And that we doo as all trageians doo, --
To die to-day, for fashioning our scene,
The death of Aiax, or some Romaine peer,
And, in a minute starting vp againe,
Reuiue to please tomorrows audience.
No, princes; know I am Hieronimo,
The hopeles father of a haples sonne,
Whose tung is tun'd to tell his latest tale,
Not to excuse grosse errors in the play.
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