_Enter the_ KING OF PORTUGAL, BALTHEZAR, ALEXANDRO, DON VOLLUPO, _and others: a Peal of Ordnance; within, a great shout of People._
KING. What is the meaning of this loud report?
ALEX. An embassy, my lord, is new arrived from Spain.
KING. Son Balthezar, we pray, do you go meet him, And do him all the honour that belongs him.
BAL. Father, my best endeavour shall obey you: Welcome, worthy lord, Spain’s choice embassador, Brave, stout Andrea; for so I guess thee.
AND. Portugal’s heir, I thank thee, Thou seems no less than what thou art, a prince And an heroic spirit: Portugal’s king, I kiss my hand, and tender on thy throne My master’s love, peace and affection.
KING. And we receive them and thee, worthy Andrea; Thy master’s high-prized love unto our heart, Is welcome to his friend, thou to our court.
AND. Thanks, Portugal. My lords, I had in charge, At my depart from Spain, this embassage, To put your breast in mind of tribute due Unto our master’s kingdom, these three years Detained and kept back; and I am sent to know Whether neglect or will detains it so.
KING. Thus much return unto thy king, Andrea; We have with best advice thought of our state, And find it much dishonoured by base homage: I not deny, but tribute hath been due To Spain by our forefathers’ base captivity, Yet cannot rase out their successors’ merit. ’Tis said, we shall not answer at next birth Our fathers’ faults in heaven; why then on earth? Which proves and shows, that which they lost By base captivity, We may redeem with honoured valiancy. We borrow nought: our kingdom is our own: He’s a base king that pays rent for his throne.
BAL. Ay, Spain; A royal answer too, which I’ll maintain.
OMNES. And all the peers of Portugal the like.
AND. Then thus all Spain, which but three minutes ago Was thy full friend, is now returned thy foe.
BAL. An excellent foe; we shall have scuffling good.
AND. Thou shalt pay tribute, Portugal, with blood.
BAL. Tribute for tribute, then, and foes for foes.
BAL. I, sudden blows, and that’s as good as wars. Don, I’ll not bate An inch of courage nor a hair of fate: Pay tribute I with strokes.
AND. Aye, with strokes you shall; Alas, that Spain should correct Portugal!
BAL. Correct! O, in that one word such torments do I feel, That I could lash thy ribs with valiant steel.