Lorrique. In heaven, I hope.
Hoffman. True madam, he did perish in the wreck
When he came first by sea from lubeck haven.
Martha. What false imposter then hath mocked my care?
Abused my princely brother Ferdinand?
Gotten his dukedom in my dead son’s name?
Hoffman. I grant him an imposter, therein false,
130 But when your highness hears the circumstance,
I know your wisdom and meek piety
Will judge him well-deserving in your eyes.
Martha. What can be said now I have lost my son?
Or how can this base, two-tongued hypocrite
Excuse concealing of his master’s death?
Unhappy Martha, in thy age undone:
Robbed of a husband, cheated of a son.
Hoffman. Hear me with patience, for that pity’s sake
You showed my captive body, by the tears
140 You shed when my poor father, dragged to death,
Endured all violence at their hands;
By all the mercies poured on him and me
That like cool rain somewhat allayed the heat
Of our sad torment, and red sufferings:
Hear me but speak a little, to repay
With gratitude the favours I received.
Martha. Art thou the luckless son of that sad man,
Lord of Burtholme, sometime admiral?
Hoffman. I was his only son, whom you set free,
150 Therefore submissively I kneel, and crave
You would with patience hear your servant speak.
Martha. Be brief, my swollen heart is at point to break.
Hoffman. I stood upon the top of the high scar,
Where I beheld the splitted ship let in
Devouring ruin in the shape of waves.
Some got on rafts, but were as soon cast off
As they were seated; many strid the mast,
But the sea’s working was so violent
That nothing could preserve them from their fury.
160 They died and were entombed in the deep,
Except some two the surges washed ashore
Prince Otho being one, who on lorrique’s back,
Hang with clasped hands, that never could unfold.
Martha. Why not as well as he, lorrique doth live?
Or how was he found clasped upon his back,
Except he had had life to fold his hands?
Hoffman. Madam, your highness errs in that conceit,
For men that die by drowning, in their death
Hold surely what they clasp, while they have breath.
170 Lorrique. Well he held me, and sunk me too.
Hoffman. I’ll witness, when I had recovered him,
The prince’s head being split against a rock
Past all recover, lorrique in desperate rage
Sought sundry means to spoil his new-gained life,
Exclaiming for his master, cursing heaven
For being unjust to you, though not to him,
For robbing you of comfort in your son.
‘Oh gracious lady,’ said this grieved man
‘Could I but work a means to calm her grief,
180 Some reasonable course to keep black care
From her white bosom; I were happy then.
But knowing this, her heart will sink with woe
And I am ranked with miserablest men.’
Lorrique. Ay, God’s my witness, these were my laments,
Till Hoffman being as willing as myself;
Did, for his love to you that pitied him,
Take on him to be called by your son’s name,
Which now he must refuse, except your grace
Accept his service in Prince Otho’s place.
190 Martha. If this that you protest be true, your care
Was like a long reprieve: the date worn out,
The execution of my woe is come,
And I must suffer it with patience.
Where have you laid the body of my son?
Hoffman. Within the chapel of an hermitage,
Some half a mile hence.
Martha. I’ll build me there a cell,
Made like a tomb; till death therein I’ll dwell.
Yet for thy wrongs, young man, attend my words:
200 Since neither Ferdinand nor Saxony
Have an heir to sway their several states,
I’ll work what lies in me to make thee duke;
And since thou art accepted for my son,
Attempting it only to do me good
I here adopt thee mine; christen thee Otho.
Mine eyes are now the font, the water tears,
That do baptize thee in thy borrowed name.
Hoffman. I thank your highness, and of just heaven crave
The ground I wrong you in may turn my grave.
210 Martha. lights to our chamber. Now our fears are past:
What we long doubted is proved true at last.
Attend us, son.
Exeunt Martha and lorrique.
Hoffman. We’ll wait upon your grace.
Son! This is somewhat; this will bear the eyes
Of the rude vulgar, but this serves not me.
Dukedoms, I will have them. My sword shall win
If any interposer cross my will.
But, new-made mother, there’s another fire
Burns in this liver: lust and hot desire
220 Which you must quench. Must? ay, and shall: I know
Women will like however they say no;
And since my heart is knit unto her eyes
If she, being sanctimonious, hate my suit
In love, this course I’ll take: if she deny,
Force her. True, so: si non blanditus, vi. Exit.
Act 5
Scene 1
Enter Saxony, Rodorick, Mathias, severally.
Mathias. Have you not found her yet?
Saxony. Not I.
Rodorick. Nor I.
Mathias. Then I believe, borne by her fits of rage,
She has done violence to her bright fame,
And fallen upon the bosom of the Balt.
Saxony. What reason leads ye to believe it, son?
Mathias. I did perceive her some half hour since
Clambering upon the steepness of the rock;
10 But whether up or down I could not guess
By reason of the distance.
Enter lucibella with rich clothes.
Rodorick. Stand aside, she comes: let her not ’scape us now.
Saxony. What has she got, apparel? Ay, and rich.
Poor soul, she in her idle lunacy
Hath took it from some house where ’twill be missed.
Mathias. let’s circle her about, lest spying us
She run away with wonted nimbleness.
Fairest, well met.
Lucibella. Well overtaken, sir.
20 Saxony. What have ye here?
Lucibella. And you too, heartily.
Rodorick. I am sure you know.
Lucibella. Why that’s well, I like that; that you are well and you, and you: goodbye.
Saxony. Nay, nay, you must not go, we’ll hold you now.
Lucibella. Why that’s well done. Pray come, see my house,
I have a fine house now, and goodly knacks
And gay apparel. look ye here, this is brave:
And two lean porters starved for lack of meat,
30 Pray let go mine arms, look here they be.
[Reveals the skeletons.]
All. Oh, horrid sight!
Lucibella. Nay, never start, I pray; is it not like I keep
A princely house, when I have such fat porters at my gate?
Saxony. What should this mean? Why in this wood,
So thick, so solitary, and remote
From common road of men, should these hang thus?
Brother, your hermitage is not far hence,
When kne
w you any execution here?
Rodorick. I never knew any, and these bones are green;
40 This less anatomy has not hung long.
The bigger, by the moss and dryness seems
Of more continuance.
Mathias. What’s on their heads?
Lucibella. Why golden crowns: my porters shall be kings,
And hide these bare bones with these gay weeds.
Saxony. I do remember: the admiral
Hoffman, that kept the island of Burtholme,
Was by the duke of Prussia adjudged
To have his head seared with a burning crown,
50 And after made a bare anatomy,
Which by his son was from the gallows stolen.
Lucibella. Ay, that same son of his, but where lives he?
Saxony. No doubt, he doth possess some cave hard by.
Lucibella. Come, go with me: I’ll show you where he dwells,
Or somebody; I know not who it is.
Here, look, look here, here is a way goes down,
Down, down a down, hey down, down.
I sung that song, while lodowick slept with me.
Rodorick. This is some cave, let’s boldly enter in,
60 And learn the mystery of that sad sight.
Come lady, guide us in, you know the way.
Lucibella. True, that’s the way, you cannot miss the path;
The way to death and black destruction
Is the wide way. Nobody is now at home –
Or tarry, peradventure, here comes some will tell you more.
Enter Martha and lorrique.
Mathias. Stand close: this is lorrique. I do not know the lady comes with him.
Saxony. I ha’ seen that countenance.
Rodorick. Stand close, I pray: my heart divines
70 Some strange and horrid act will be revealed.
Lucibella. Nay that’s most true, a fellow with a red cap told me so,
And bade me keep these clothes, and give them
To a fair lady in a mourning gown.
Let go my arms: I will not run away.
I thank you now, now you shall see me stay;
By my troth I will, by my maidenhead I will.
Martha. lorrique, return into the beaten path,
I ask’st thee for a solitary plot,
And thou hast brought me to the dismal’st grove
80 That ever eye beheld; no wood-nymphs here
Seek with their agile steps to outstrip the roe,
Nor doth the sun suck from the queachy plot
The rankness and venom of the earth.
It seems frequentless for the use of men:
Some basilisks’, or poisonous serpents’, den!
Lorrique. It is indeed an undelightful walk,
But if I do not err in my belief,
I think the ground, the trees, the rocks, the springs,
Have, since my princely master Otho his wreck,
90 Appeared more dismal, than they did before,
In memory of his untimeless fall.
For hereabouts, hereabouts the place
Where his fair body lay deformed by death;
Here Hoffman’s son and I embalmed him,
After we had concluded to deceive
Your sacred person and Duke Ferdinand
By causing Hoffman to assume his name.
Saxony. This is very strange.
Lucibella. Nay tarry, you shall hear all the knavery anon.
100 Martha. And where’s the chapel that you laid him in?
Lorrique. It’s an old chapel near the hermitage.
Martha. But was the hermit at his burial?
Lorrique. No, Hoffman and I only digged the grave;
Played priest and clerk, to keep his burial close.
Rodorick. Most admirable!
Saxony. Nay, pray you peace!
Martha. Alas! poor son, the soul of my delights.
Thou in thy end were robbed of funeral rites;
None sung thy requiem, no friend closed thine eyes,
110 Nor laid the hallowed earth upon thy lips.
Thou wert not houseled, neither did the bells ring –
Blessed peals – nor toll thy funeral knell.
Thou went’st to death as those that sink to hell.
Where is the apparel that I bade him wear
Against the force of witches and their spells?
Lorrique. We buried it with him: it was his shroud;
The desert woods no fitter means allowed.
Lucibella. I think he lies.
Now by my troth, that gentleman smells knave.
120 Martha. Swear one thing to me, ere we leave this place:
Whether young Hoffman did the most he might
To save my son.
Lorrique. By heaven, it seems he did, but all was vain.
The flinty rocks had cut his tender skull,
And the rough water washed away his brain.
Lucibella. liar, liar lick-dish.
Martha. How now, what woman’s this? what men are these?
Lucibella. A poor maiden, mistress, has a suit to you,
And ’tis a good suit: very good apparel.
130 Lo, here I come a-wooing my ding-ding,
Lo, here we come a-suing, my darling,
Lo, here I come a-praying, so bide-a, bide-a.
How do you lady? well, I thank God; will you buy
A bargain, pray? it’s fine apparel.
Martha. Run my life’s blood; comfort my troubled heart,
That trembles at the sight of this attire.
Lorrique, look on them: knowest thou not these clothes?
Nor the distracted bringer? prithee, speak.
Lorrique. Ay me, accursed and damned: I know them both;
140 The bringer is the Austrian lucibel.
Lucibella. Ay, you say true, I am the very same.
Lorrique. The apparel was my lord’s, your princely son’s.
Martha. This is not sea-wet: if my son were drowned
Then why thus dry is his apparel found?
Lorrique. O me accursed, o miserable me?
Fall heaven, and hide my shame; gape earth, rise sea,
Swallow, o’erwhelm me. Wherefore should I live,
The most perfidious wretch that ever breathed,
And base consenter to my dear lord’s death?
150 Lucibella. Nay, look you here, do you see these poor starved ghosts? Can you tell whose they be?
Martha. Alas! what are they? What are you that seem
In civil habits to hide ruthless hearts?
Lorrique, what are they? what wilt thou attempt?
[Lorrique makes to kill himself.]
Help gentlemen, if ye be gentlemen,
And stay this fellow from despairing ill.
Lorrique. I was ordained unto perdition, stay me not;
For when ye know the mischiefs I have done –
At least, consented to, through coward fear –
160 You would not stop me, if I skipped in quick
To that black, bottomless and ruthless gulf,
Where everlasting sorrows like linked chains
Fetter the wretched in eternal night.
Martha. What hast thou done?
Lucibella. Knavery I warrant you: tell truth and shame the devil, my boy; do, and thou shalt have a fine thing by and by.
Saxony. I take your highness for that reverend duchess
Late wife unto the duke of Prussia.
Martha. I am the wretched, childless widow, sir.
170 Lorrique. Princess, hear me, and I will briefly tell
How you became childless, you brotherless,
You husbandless, and fatherless; all, all,
I’ll tell you. Having ended, act my fall.
Mathias. Well, forward.
Lorrique. Be it so; I have deserved a greater cruelty,
To be kept living when I long to die.
Martha. I charge thee, setting by al
l circumstance,
Thou utter what thou knowest: my heart is steel,
Nor can it suffer more than it doth feel.
180 Lorrique. Then thus: Prince Otho and I escaped the wreck,
Came safe ashore to this accursed plot,
Where we met Hoffman, who upon yon tree
Preserved his father’s bare anatomy –
The biggest of them two were those strong bones
That acted mighty deeds.
Hoffman the son, full of revenge and hate
’Gainst every hand that wrought his father’s hurt,
Yet gilded o’er his envy with fair shows,
And entertained us with as friendly terms
190 As falsehood could invent; and ’tis well known,
Bitter deceit useth the sweetest speech.
At length he took advantage: bound my lord,
And in a chain tied him to yonder rock;
While with a burning crown he seared in twain
The purple veins, strong sinews, arteries, nerves,
And every cartilage about the head;
In which sad torment, the mild prince fell dead.
Martha. Did Hoffman this? and thou conceal’st the deed?
Lorrique. Pardon my fear, dread madam.
200 Martha. Well, go on, I am confident to hear all cruelty;
And I am resolved to act some, if no hand
Will else attempt the murderer’s end but mine.
Lorrique. Be patient, you will find associates,
For there are many murderers more behind.
Martha. What did he with the body of my son?
Lorrique. Buried the flesh; the bones are they that hang
Close by his father’s.
Martha. let them hang awhile,
Hope of revenge in wrath doth make me smile.
210 Lucibella. Pray let him tell the rest.
Lorrique. This acted, Hoffman forced me to conceal
The murder of my lord, and threatened more
Than death by many torments, till I swore
To call him Otho, and say he was your son.
I swore and kept my oath.
Rodorick. O heaven!
Saxony. O devil!
Lucibella. Nay, I pray you, peace.
Lorrique. Then sent he me for you, and you he sent,
220 Or as I best remember, led you on
Unto the chapel porch, where he himself
Appointed them to stay, and there you know
What happened in your wrath.
Lucibella. To me asleep,
And to my harmless lodowick in my arms.
Mathias. On, on: that deed is writ among the acts of guilt;
A brother’s sword a brother’s lifeblood spilt.
Saxony. Proceed, what’s next? Killed he not Austria?
Lorrique. He did.
230 Lucibella. O villain, did he kill my father?
And make my brother kill my husband too?
Five Revenge Tragedies: The Spanish Tragedy, Hamlet, Antonio's Revenge, The Tragedy of Hoffman, The Revenger's Tragedy (Penguin Classics) Page 30