Tuesday, May 5, 2020

The Spanish Tragedy †A monologue from the play by Thomas Kyd Analysis Essay Example For Students

The Spanish Tragedy – A monologue from the play by Thomas Kyd Analysis Essay A monologue from the play by Thomas Kyd NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from The Spanish Tragedy. Thomas Kyd. London: J. M. Dent Co., 1898. GHOST: When this eternal substance of my soul Did live imprisond in my wanton flesh: Each in their function serving others need, I was a courtier in the Spanish Court. My name was Don Andrea, my descent Though not ignoble, yet inferior far To gracious fortunes of my tender youth: For there in prime and pride of all my years, By Duteous service and deserving love, In secret I possessd a worthy dame, Which hight sweet Bel-imperia by name. But in the harvest of my summer joys, Deaths winter nippd the blossoms of my bliss, Forcing divorce betwixt my love and me. For in the late conflict with Portingale, My valour drew me into dangers mouth, Till life to death made passage through my wounds. When I was slain, my soul descended straight, To pass the flowing stream of Acheron: But churlish Charon, only boatman there, Said that my rites of burial not performd, I might not sit amongst his passengers. Ere Sol had slept three nights in Thetis lap And slakd his smoking chariot in her flood: By Don Horatio our Knight Marshals son, My funerals and obsequies were done. Then was the ferryman of hell content To pass me over to the slimy strond, That leads to fell Avernus ugly waves: There pleasing Cerberus with honeyd speech, I passd the perils of the foremost porch. Not far from hence amidst ten thousand souls, Sat Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanth, To whom no sooner gan I make approach, To crave a passport for my wandring ghost: But Minos in graven leaves of lottery, Drew forth the manner of my life and death. This knight (quoth he) both livd and died in love, And for his love tried fortune of the wars, And by wars fortune lost both love and life. Why then, said Aeacus, convey him hence, To walk with lovers in our fields of love: And spend the course of everlasting time, Under green myrtle trees and cypress shades. No, no, said Rhadamanth, It were not well, With loving souls to place a martialist: He died in war, and must to martial fields: Where wounded Hector lives in lasting pain, And Achilles myrmidons do scour the plain. Then Minos mildest censor of the three, Made this device to end the difference. Send him (quoth he) to our infernal King: To doom him as best seems his majesty. To this effect my passport straight was drawn. In keeping on my way to Plutos court, Through dreadful shades of ever-glooming night, I saw more sights than thousand tongues can tell, Or pens can write, or mortal hearts can think. Three ways there were, that on the right hand side Was ready way unto the foresaid fields, Where lovers live, and bloody martialists, But either sort containd within his bounds. The left hand path declining fearfully, Was ready downfall to the deepest hell, Where bloody furies shake their whips of steel, And poor Ixion turns an endless wheel. Where userers are chokd with melting gold, And wantons are embracd with ugly snakes: And murderers groan with never killing wounds, And perjurd wights scalded in boiling lead, And all foul sins with torments overwhelmd. Twixt these two ways, I trod the middle path, Which brought me to the fair Elysian green. In midst whereof there stands a stately tower, The walls of brass, the gates of adamant. Here finding Pluto with his Proserpine, I showd my passport humbled on my knee. Whereat fair Proserpine began to smile, And beggd that only she might give my doom. Pluto was pleasd, and seald it with a kiss. Forthwith (Revenge) she rounded thee in th ear, And bad thee lead me through the Gates of Horn, Where dreams have passage in the silent night. 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