And bad thee lead me though the gates of horn,
Where dreames haue passage in the silent night.
No sooner had she spoke but we weere heere,
I wot not how, in the twinkling of an eye.

REUENGE. Then know, Andrea, that thou ariu'd
Where thou shalt see the author of thy death,
Don Balthazar, the prince of Portingale,
Depriu'd of life by Bel-imperia:
Heere sit we downe to see the misterie,
And serue for Chorus in this tragedie.



[ACT I. SCENE 1.]
[The Spanish Court]

Enter SPANISH KING, GENERALL, CASTILLE, HIERONIMO.

KING. Now say, l[ord] generall: how fares our campe?

GEN. All wel, my soueraigne liege, except some few
That are deceast by fortune of the warre.

KING. But what portends thy cheerefull countenance
And posting to our presence this in hast?
Speak, man: hath fortune giuen vs victorie?

GEN. Victorie, my liege, and that with little losse.