Hiero monologue — The Spanish Tragedy

And yet, though somewhat nearer me concerns I will, to ease the grief that I sustain, Take truce with sorrow while I read on this. [Reads] "My lord, I writ, as mine extremes requir'd, That you would labour my delivery: If you neglect, my life is desperate, And in my death I shall reveal the troth. You know, my lord, I slew him for your sake, And was confed'rate with the prince and you; Won by rewards and hopeful promises, I holp to murder Don Horatio too."-- Holp he to murder mine Horatio? And actors in th' accursed tragedy Wast thou, Lorenzo? Balthazar and thou, Of whom my son, my son deserv'd so well? What have I heard? what have mine eyes beheld? O sacred heav'ns, may it come to pass That such a monstrous and detested deed, So closely smoother'd and so long conceal'd, Shall thus by this be venged or reveal'd? Now see I what I durst not then suspect, That Bel-imperia's letter was not feign'd, Nor feigned she, though falsely they have wrong'd Both her, myself, Horatio and themselves. Now may I make compare 'twixt hers and this Of every accident. I ne'er could find Till now, and now I feelingly perceive, They did what Heav'n unpunish'd should not leave. O false Lorenzo! are these thy flattering looks? Is this the honour that thou didst my son? And, Balthazar,--bane to thy soul and me!-- What this the ransom he reserv'd for thee? Woe to the cause of these constrained wars! Woe to thy baseness and captivity! Woe to thy birth, thy body and thy soul, Thy cursed father, and thy conquer'd self! And bann'd with bitter execrations be The day and place where he did pity thee! But wherefore waste I mine unfruitful words, When naught but blood will satisfy my woes? I will go plain me to my lord the king, And cry aloud for justice through the court, Wearing the flints with these my wither'd feet, And either purchase justice by entreats Or tire them all with my revenging threats.