The Spanish Tragedie

[ACT IV. SCENE 2.]

                [HIERONIMO's garden.]

                Enter ISABELLA with a weapon.

  [ISA.]  Tell me no more!  O monstrous homicides!
    Since neither pietie nor pittie moues
    The king to iustice or compassion,
    I will reuenge my-selfe vpon this place,
    Where thus they murdered my beloued sonne.

                She cuts downe the arbour.

    Downe with these branches and these loathsome bowes
    On this vnfortunate and fatall pine!
    Downe with them, Isabella; rent them vp,
    And burnes the roots from whence the rest is sprung!
    I will leaue not a root, a stalke, a tree,
    A bowe, a branch, a blossome, nor a leafe,—
    Not, not a hearb within this garden plot,
    Accursed complot of my miserie!
    Fruitlesse for-euer may this garden be,
    Barren the earth, and blislesse whosoeuer
    Immagines not to keep it vnmanurde!
    An easterne winde comixt with noisome aires
    Shall blast the plants and yong saplings [here],
    The earth with serpents shalbe pestered,
    And passengers, for feare to be infect,
    Shall stand aloofe, and, looking at it, tell
    There murdred dide the sonne of Isabell.
    I, heere he dide, and heere I him imbrace!
    See where his ghoast solicites with his wounds
    Reuenge on her that should reuenge his death!
    Hieronimo, make haste to see thy sonne,
    For Sorrow and Dispaire hath scited me
    To heare Horatio plead with Radamant.
    Make haste, Hieronimo, to holde excusde
    Thy negligence in pursute of their deaths
    Whose hatefull wrath breau'd him of his breath.
    Ah, nay;  thou dost delay their deaths,
    Forgiues the murderers of thy noble sonne;
    And none but I bestirre me,—to no end!
    And, as I cursse this tree from further fruit,
    So shall my wombe be cursed for his sake;
    And with this weapon will I wound this brest,—
    That haples brest that gaue Horatio suck!

                She stabs her-selfe.