Troas

THE SIXT TRAGEdie of the moſt graue and prudent author Lucius, Anneus, Seneca, entituled Troas with diuers and ſundrye addicions to the ſame. Newly ſet forth in Engliſhe by Jaſper Heywood ſtudent in Oxonforde. Anno domini. 1559. Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum ſolum.

TO THE MOST HIGH and verteouſe princeſſe, Elyzabeth by the grace of god Queene of England, Fraunce, and Ireland defender of the faith her highnes moſt humble and obedient ſubiect Iaſper Heywood ſtudient in the vniuerſite of Oxford wiſſheth helth welth, honour, & felicitie.

IF cōſideratiō of your graces goodnes toward vs all your louing ſubiectes whych flieng fame by mowthes of mē reſowndes had not fully in me repreſſed al dreade of reprehenſion (Moſt noble princeſſe and my drad ſoueraigne Lady) If the wiſedome that God at theſe yeres in your highnes hath planted, had not ſeemde to me a ſtrong defence againſt all byt of ſhameles arrogance (reproche wherof flong with diſdainfull wordes from irefull tongues, as adders ſtinges ſhould ſtrike me) finally if the learning wyth whych GOD hath endued your maieſtye had not ben to me a comfortable perſwaſion of your gracious fauour towarde the ſimple gifte and dutie of a ſcholer, I would not haue incurred ſo daungerous note of preſumptiō, in attēpting a ſubiect to his princeſſe, a ſimple ſcholer to ſo excellently learned, a raſhe yong man to ſo noble a Queene by none other ſigne to ſignifie allegeance and dutie toward your highnes ſaue by writing: when ofttimes is the pen the onlye accuſer in ſome pointes of him that therwith doth endite. But now, to ſe (moſt gracious Lady) that thing come to paſſe which to the honour of him and for the welth of vs god hath ordained, a Princeſſe to raigne ouer vs, ſuch one, to whom great fredome is for vs to ſerue, what ioy may ſerue to triumphe at that bliſfull daye, or what ſhould we ſpare with pen to preache abrode that inwarde gladnes of hart that floweth from the breſtes of vs your moſt louing ſubiects? beſeching god that it may pleaſe him to graunt your grace long and proſperous gouernance of the imperyall crowne of Englande. Then well vnderſtāding how gretlye your highnes is delighted in the ſwete ſappe of fine and pure writers, I haue here preſumed to offer vnto you ſuch a ſimple new yeares gift as neyther preſenteth golde nor perle, but dutie & good will of a ſcholler, a piece of Seneca tranſlated into Engliſhe which I the rather enterpriſe to giue to your highnes, as well for that I thought it ſhould not be vnpleaſāt for your grace to ſe ſome part of ſo excellent an author in your owne tong (the reading of whom in laten I vnderſtand delightes greatly your maieſty) as alſo for that none may be a better iudge of my doinges herein, then who beſt vnderſtandeth my author: and the authoritie of your graces fauour towarde this my little worke, may be to me a ſure defence and ſhielde againſt the ſting of reprehēding tōgues. Which I moſt humbly beſeching your highnes ende with prayer to God to ſende vs long the fruition of ſo excellent and gracious a Ladie,

To the Readers.

ALthough (gentle Reader) thou mayſt perhaps thinke me arrogant, for that I onely among ſo many fine wits, and towardlye youth, (with which England this day floriſheth) haue enterpriſed to ſet forth in engliſhe, this preſent piece, of the flowre of all writers Seneca, as who ſaye not fearing, what grauer heddes might iudge of me, in attēpting ſo harde a thing, yet vpon well pondering what next enſueth, I truſt both thy ſelfe ſhalt clere thyne owne ſuſpicion, and thy chaunged opinion, ſhal iudge of me more rightfull ſentence. For neyther haue I taken this worke firſt in hand, as once entēding it ſhould come to light (of well doing whereof I vtterly diſpayred) and being done but for myne owne priuate excercyſe. I am in mine opinion herein blameles, thoughe I haue (to proue my ſelfe) pryuatly taken y^t parte which pleaſed me beſt. of ſo excellent an aucthor. for better is time ſpēt in the beſt then other, and at fyrſt to attempt the hardeſt writers, ſhal make a man more prompt, to tranſlate the eaſier with more facilytie. But now ſins by requeſt, and frendſhip of thoſe, to whome I coulde deny nothing, this worke againſt my will, extorted is out of my handes, I nedes muſt craue thy pacyence in reading, and facilytie of iudgement: when thou ſhalt apparantly ſee, my witles lacke of learning, praying thee to conſyder, how harde a thing it is for me, to touche at full in all poyntes, the aucthoures minde, (being in many places very harde and doubtfull and the worke muche corrupt by the defaute of euill printed bookes) and alſo how farre aboue my powre, to keepe that grace, and maieſtye of ſtyle, that Seneca doth, when both ſo excellent a writer, hath paſt the reache of all imitation, and alſo this our engliſhe toong (as many thinke and I here fynde) is farre vnable, to compare with the latten, but thou (good reader) if I in any place, haue ſwerued from the trew ſence, or not kept y^t Royaltie of ſpeach, meete for a tragedy, impute the tone to my youth and lack of iugement, y^t other to my lacke of eloquence. Now as concerning ſondry places augmented and ſome altered in this my tranſlacion, firſt for as much as thys woorke ſeemed vnto me, in ſome places vnperſyt, (whether left ſo of the authour or part of it loſt as tyme deuoureth all thynges I wotte not) I haue (where I thought good,) with addicion of mine owne pen, ſupplied the want of ſome thynges. as the fyrſt Chorus, after the firſte act beginning thus. O ye to whom &c. Alſo in the ſecond ackt, I haue added the ſpeech of Achilles ſpright, ryſing from hell to require y^t ſacrifice of Polixena beginning in this wiſe. Forſakyng now. &c. Againe the thre laſt ſtaues of the Chorus after the ſame act. y^t as for the thyrd Chorus which in Seneca begynnith thus, Que vocat ſedes? for as much, as nothing is therin but a heaped noumber of farre & ſtrange coūtreies, conſydering with my ſelfe, y^t the names of ſo many vnknowne countreyes mountaynes, deſerts, and woodes ſhould haue no grace in thingliſhe tong, but be a ſtrange and vnpleaſaunt thyng to the readers, (except I ſhoulde expounde the hiſtories of eche one, which would be farre to tedious) I haue in the place therof, made a nother beginning in thys maner. O Ioue that leadſt. &c. whyche alteracyon may be borne withall, ſeeing that the Corus is no part of the ſubſtance of the matter. In y^t reſt I haue for my ſclēder learning, endeuored to keepe touche wyth the Latten, not woord for woorde or verſe for verſe as to expounde it, but neglecting the placyng of the wordes obſerued theyr ſence. Take Jentill reader thys in good worth, with all hys fautes, fauour my firſt beginninges, and amende rather wyth good wyll, ſuche thynges as herein are amis, then to depraue or diſcommēd my laboure and paines, for the fautes, ſeeing that I haue herein, but onely made way to other that cā farre better do thys or lyke, deſyryng them that as they can, ſo they woulde. Fare well gentell reader, & accept my good wyll.

The preface to the tragedye.

THe ten yeres ſiege of Troy, who liſt to here

And of thaffaires, that there befel in fight

Reade ye the workes, y^e long ſins written were

Of all thaſſautes and of that lateſt night,

When Turrets tops, in Troy they blaſed bright

Good clerkes they were, that haue it written well

As for this worke, no worde therof doth tell.

But dares Phrygian, well can all reporte

With Dyctis eke of Crete in Grekiſhe tong

And Homere telles, to Troy the Grekes reſorte

In ſcanned verſe, and Maro hath it ſong

Eche one in writ hath pend a ſtory long

Who doubtes of ought, and caſteth care to knowe

Theſe antique authors, ſhall the ſtory ſhowe.

The ruines twaine of Troy, the cauſe of eche

The glittering helmes, in fielde the banners ſpred

Achilles yres, and Hectors fightes they teache

There may the ieſtes of many a knight be red,

Patroclus, Pirhus, Aiax, Diomed,

With Troylus, Parys, many other more,

That day by day, there ſought in field full ſore.

And how the Grekes at ende an engine made

A hugye horſe where many a warlike knight.

Encloſed was, the Troianes to inuade

With Synons craft, when Grekes had fained flight

While cloſe they lay, at Tenedos from ſight,

Or how Eneas els as other ſay,

and falſe Antenor did the towne betray.

But as for me. I nought therof endight,

Mine author hath not all that ſtory pend.

My pen hys woordes in engliſh muſt reſight.

Of lateſt woes that fell on Troy at end,

What finall fates the crewell gods coulde ſend.

And how the greekes when Troy was burnt, gan wreake

Theyr ire on Troians, therof ſhall I ſpeake.

Not I with ſpeare who pearced was in feelde,

Whoſe throte there cut, or head yeorued was,

Ne bloodſhed blowes, that rent both targe and ſhielde

Shall I reſight, all that I ouer pas.

The woorke I wright, more wofull is alas,

For I the mothers teares muſt here complayne,

And blood of babes, that gyltles haue been ſlayne.

And ſuch as yet, coulde neuer weapon wreſt,

But on the lappe are woont to dandled be,

Ne yet forgotten had the mothers breſt,

Howe greekes them ſlew, alas here ſhall ye ſe,

To make report therof, ay woe is me,

My ſong is miſchiefe, murder myſerye.

And herof ſpeakes, thys dolfull tragedye.

Thou fury fell, that from thy deepeſt den

Couldeſt cauſe thys wrath of hell, on Troy to lyght,

That workeſt woe, guyde thou my hand and pen,

In weepyng verſe of ſobbes and ſighes to wryght,

As doth mine author them bewaile aryght,

Helpe wofull Muſe, for me beſemeth well

Of others teares, with wrepyng eie to tell.

When battred were to grounde the towres of Troye

In writ as auncient authors do reſight.

And Grekes agayne repayrde to ſeas with ioye.

Up ryſeth here from hell Achilles ſpright.

Uengeance he craues with blood his death to quight.

Whom Parys had in Phebus temple ſlayne,

with guyle betrapt for loue of Polyxeyne.

And wrathe of hell there is none other price

That may aſſwage: but blood of her alone

Polyxena he craues for ſacrifice,

With threatninges on the Grecians many one

Except they ſhed her blood before they gone.

The ſprightes, the hell, and depeſt pittes byneathe,

O virgin deere, alas, do thruſt thy deathe.

And Hectors ſoon, Aſtyanax, alas,

Poore ſeely foole his mothers onely ioye,

Is iudge to die by ſentenſe of Calchas

Alas the while, to death is led the boye,

And tumbled downe from Turrets tops in Troye.

What ruthfull teares may ſerue to wayle the woe,

Of Hectors wife that doth her childe forgoe?

Her pinching pang of harte, who may expreſſe,

But ſuch as of like woes, haue borne a parte?

Or who bewayle her ruthfull heuyneſſe

That neuer yet hath felt therof the ſmarte?

Full well they wote the woes of heauy harte.

What is to leeſe a babe from mothers breſt,

They knowe that are in ſuch a caſe diſtreſt.

fyrſt how the quene lamentes the fall of Troy.

As hath myne author done, I ſhall it wright

Next how from Hectors wife they led the boy

To dye: and her complaynts I ſhall reſyght,

The Maydens death then muſt I laſt endyght.

Now who that liſt the Quenes complaynt to heare.

In following verſe, it ſhall forthwith appeare.

The ſpeakers in this tragedie.

Hecuba Queene of Troy.

A company of women.

The ſpright of Achilles.

Talthybius, a Grecian.

Agamemnon, Kyng of greekes.

Calchas.

Pyrrhus.

Chorus.

Andromacha.

An olde man Troian.

Ulyſſes.

Aſtyanax.

Helena.

The meſſenger.

TROAS OF SENECA

The firſt acte

Hecuba.

WHo ſo in pompe of prowde eſtate, or kingdome ſettes delight:

Or who that ioyes in princes court to beare the ſway of might.

Ne dredes y^t fates which frō aboue the wauering Gods downe flinges:

But faſt affiaunce fixed hathe, in fraile and fickle thinges:

Let him in me bothe ſee the face, of fortunes flattring ioye:

And eke reſpect the ruthful ende, of the (O ruinous Troye)

For neuer gaue ſhe plainer proofe, then this ye preſent ſe:

How frayle and brittle is theſtate, of pride and high degre.

The flowre of flowring Aſia, loe whoſe fame the heauens reſounde:

The worthie worke of gods aboue, is batered downe to grounde.

And whoſe aſſawtes they fought afarre, from weſt with baners ſpredde:

Where Tanais colde her branches ſeuen, abrode the worlde doth ſhedde

With hugye hoſt and from the eaſt, where ſpringes the neweſt dea,

Where Luke warme Tygris chanel runs, and metes the ruddy ſea.

And which from wandering lande of Scythe, the bande of widowes ſought:

With fire and ſworde thus battred be, her turrets downe to nought.

The walles but late of high renowne. lot here their ruinous fall:

The buildings burne and flaſhing flame, ſwepes through the palays all.

Thus euery houſe full hye it ſmokes, of olde Aſſaracks lande:

Ne yet the flame witholdes from ſpoile. the gredy victowrs hande.

The ſurging ſmoke the aſure ſkye, and light hath hid away:

And (as with clowde beſet) troyes aſſhes ſtaynes the duſky day.

Through perſt with ire and gredy of hart, the victor from a farre.

Doth vewe the long aſſauted Troye, the gaine of ten yeres warre.

And eke the miſeries therof, abhorres to looke vpon:

An though he ſee it yet ſcant himſelfe, beleues it might be won,

The ſpoiles thereof with gredy hande. they ſnatche and beare away:

A thouſand ſhippes would not receiue a boorde: ſo huge a pray.

The irefull might I doe proteſt, of goddes aduerſe to me,

My coūtraies duſt, and Troiane king, I call to witnes thee.

Whom Troye now hides and vnderneth the ſtones, arte ouer trode:

With all the gods that guyde thy ghoſt, and Troye that lately ſtode.

And you alſo ye flocking ghoſtes, of all my children dere:

Ye leſſer ſprightes: what euer yll, hath hapned to vs here.

What euer Phebus wateriſhe face, in fury hath foreſayde:

At raging riſe from ſeas, when erſte, the monſtres had him frayde.

In childbed bandes I ſawe it yore, and wiſt it ſhould be ſo:

And I in vaine before Caſſandra tolde it long ago.

Not falſe Ulyſſes kindled hath theſe fires, nor none of his:

Not yet deceitfull ſinons craft, that hath byn cauſe of thys.

My fire it is wherwith ye burne, and Paris is the brande:

That ſmoketh in thy towres (O Troie) the flowre of Phrygian lande.

But ay alas vnhappy age, why doſte thou yet ſo ſore,

Bewaile thy contries fatall fall. thou kneweſt it long before.

Beholde thy laſt calamities, and them bewayle with teares:

Accounte as olde Troies ouerturne. and paſt by many yeares.

I ſaw the ſlaughter of the king, and how he loſt his life:

By thawlters ſide (more miſchief was) with ſtroke of Pyrrhus knife.

When in his hand he wounde his lockes. and drew the king to grownde:

And hyd to hiltes his wicked ſworde, in deepe and deadly wownde.

Which when the gored king had toke, as willing to be ſlaine,

Out of the olde mans throte he drewe. his bloody blade againe.

Not pitie of hys yeres, alas, in mans extremeſt age:

From ſlaughter might hys hand withhold, ne yet his yre aſſwage.

The gods are witneſſe of the ſame and eke the ſacrifies,

That in his kingdome holden was, that flat on grounde now lies.

The father of ſo many kynges Priam of awncient name,

Untombed lieth and wants in blaſe of troy: his funerall flame.

Ne yet the gods are wreakt, but loe his ſoons and daughters all,

Such lordes they ſerue as doth by chance of lot, to them befall.

Whom ſhall I follow now for pray? or where ſhall I be led?

There is perhaps among the greekes, that Hectors wife will wed.

Some man deſyres Helen us ſpouſe ſome woulde Antenors haue,

And in the greekes there wantes not ſome that woulde Caſſandra craue.

But I alas moſt wofull wight, whom no man ſekes to chuſe,

I am the onely refuge left, and me they cleane refuſe.

Ye carefull captiue company why ſtintes your wofull crye?

Beate on your breaſtes and piteouſlye complayne with voyce ſo hye,

As meete may be for Troyes eſtate, let your complayntes rebounde

In tops of treeſe: and cauſe the hils, to ring with terible ſounde.

The ſecond ſceane.

The women. Hecuba

NOt folke vnapt, nor new to wepe (o Queene)

thou wilſt to wayle, by practiſe are we taught

For all theſe yeres, in ſuch caſe haue we beene

ſince firſt the Troian gueſt, & my clas ſought:

And ſaylde the ſeas, that ledde hym on his waye

with ſacred ſhip, to Cybell dedicate

From whence he brought, his vnrepyning praye.

the cauſe alas, of all this dyre debate

Ten tymes now hid, the hils of Idey bee.

with ſnowe of ſiluer hewe, all ouer layde.

And bared is, for Troian roges eche tree,

ten tymes in feelde, the harueſt man afrayde,

The ſpykes of corne hath reapt, ſince neuer daye

his wayling wantes: new cauſe renewes our wo.

Lift vp thy hand, (o Queene) crye well away:

we follow thee, we are well taught therto.

HEC. Ye faythfull fellowes of your caſualtye

Untye that tyre, that on your hedes ye weare,

And as behoueth, ſtate of miſerye,

let fall about your wofull necks, your heare.

In duſt of Troy, rub al your armes about,

in ſlacker weede, and let your breſtes be tyde

Downe to your bellies, let your limmes lye out

for what wedlock, ſhoulde you your boſomes hyde?

Your garments looſe, and haue in redines

your furious hands, vpon your breſtes to knock.

Thys habite wel beſeemeth, our diſtres

it pleaſeth me, I knowe the Troian flock.

Renew agayne your long accuſtomed cries

and more then earſt, lament your miſeries.

We bewayle Hectour.

WO. Our heare we haue vntyde, now euery chone

All rent for ſorowes, of our curſed cace

our lockes out ſpreades, the knots we haue vndone.

And in theeſe aſhes ſtayned is our face.

HEC. Fill vp your handes & make therof no ſpare,

for this yet lawfull is, from Troy to take,

Let downe your garmentes, from your ſhoulders bare

and ſuffre not, your clamour ſo to ſlake.

Your naked breaſtes wayt for your handes to ſmight.

now dolour deepe, now ſorow, ſhow thy might.

Make all the coaſtes, that compas Troy about

witneſſe the ſounde, of all your carefull crye.

Cauſe from the caues, the Eccho to caſt out,

Rebounding voyce, of al your miſery:

not as ſhe woontes, the latter woord to ſounde

But all your woe, from farre let it rebounde.

let all the ſeas it here, and eke the lande

Spare not your breſtes, with heauie ſtroke to ſtrik

beate ye yourſelues, each one with crewel hand

For yet your wonted crye, doth me not like.

We bewayle Hector.

WO. Our naked armes, thus here we rent for thee,

and bluddye ſhoulders, (Hector) thus we teare:

Thus with our fiſtes, our heades lo beaten bee

and all for thee, beholde we hale our heare.

Our dugges alas, with mothers handes be torne

and where the fleſhe, is wounded round about

Which for thy ſake, we rent thy death to morne.

the flowing ſtreames of blud, they ſpring therout,

Thy countreyes ſhore, and deſtinies delaye.

and thou to weeried Troians, waſt an ayde:

A wall thou waſt, and on thy ſhoulders Troy,

ten yeres it ſtoode: on thee alone it ſtayde.

With thee it fell: and fatall day alas

of Hector bothe, and Troy but one there was.

HEC. Enough hath hector: turne your plaint & mone

and ſhed your teares, for Priam euery chone.

WO. Receiue our plaintes, O lord of Phrigian land,

and olde twiſe captiue king, receaue our teare

While thou wert king, Troy hurtleſſe then coulde ſtande

though ſhaken twiſe, with Grecian ſworde it weare,

And twiſe dyd ſhot of Hercles quiuers beare:

at latter los of Hecubes ſoons all

and roges for kinges, that high on piles we reare:

thou father ſhut it, our lateſt funerall.

And beaten downe, to Ioue for ſacrifies.

lyke liueles blocke, in Troye thy carcas lies.

HEC. Yet turne ye once your teares, another way.

my Priames death, ſhould not lamented bee

O Troianes all, full happy is Priame ſay,

for free from bondage, downe deſcended hee.

To the loweſt ghoſtes: and neuer ſhall ſuſtaine

his captiue necke, with Grekes to yoked be.

He neuer ſhall, beholde the Atrides twaine

nor falſe Uliſſes, euer ſhall he ſe.

Not he a praye, for Grekes to triumphe at

his neck ſhall ſubiect, to their conqueſtes beare

Ne giue his handes, to tye behinde his backe

that to the rule of ſcepters, wonted weare.

Nor folowing Agamemnons chare, in bande

ſhall he be pompe, to proude Mycenas lande.

WO. Full happy Priame is, eche one we ſay

that tooke with him his kingdome, then that ſtoode

Now ſafe in ſhade, he ſekes the wandring way.

and treades the pathes of all Elizius woode.

And in the bleſſed ſprites, full happie hee,

againe there ſekes, to mete with Hectors ghoſte,

Happy Priame, happy who ſo may ſee,

his kingdome all, at ones with him be loſte.

Chorus added to the tragedie by the tranſlatour.

O Ye to whom, the lord of land and ſeas.

of life and death, hath graūted here the powre,

Lay down your lofty lookes, your pride appeas

the crowned king, fleeth not his fatall howre.

Who ſo thou be, that leadſt thy lande alone

thy life was limite, from thy mothers wombe,

Not purple robe, not glorious glittring throne,

Ne crowne of golde, redemes the from the tombe

A king he was, that waiting for the vaile,

of him that ſlewe, the Mynotaure in fight:

Beguilde with blacknes, of the wonted ſayle

in ſeas him ſonke, and of his name they hight.

So he that wilde, to win the golden ſpoyle

and firſt with ſhip, by ſeas to ſeeke renowne,

In leſſer waue, at length to death gan boyle

and thus the dawghters, brought their father downe,

Whoſe ſonges, the woodes hath drawen, & riuers helde.

and byrdes to heare his notes, dyd theyrs forſake,

In peece meale throwne, amid the Thracian felde,

without returne hath ſought the Stygian lake.

They ſit aboue, that hold our life in line,

and what we ſuffre, downe they fling from hye

No carke, no care, that euer may vntwine

the thrids, that wouen are aboue the ſkye.

As witneſt he, that ſomtime king of Greece,

had Iaſon thought, in drenching ſeas to drowne

Who ſcapte both death, and gainde the golden fleece,

whom ſates aduaunce, there may no powre pluck downe

The hygheſt god, ſometime that Saturne hight

his fall him taught, to credit their decryes

The rule of heauens: he loſt it by their might,

and Ioue his ſoone, now turnes the rolling ſkyes.

Who weneth here, to win eternall welth,

let him beholde, this preſent perfite proofe,

And learne, the ſecrete ſteppe, of chaunces ſtelth,

moſt nere alas, when moſt it ſemes aloofe.

In ſlipper Ioye, let no man put his truſt

let none diſpayre, that heauie happes hath paſt,

The ſweete with ſowre, ſhe mingleth as ſhe luſt

whoſe doubtfull web, pretendeth nought to laſt.

Fraile is the thrid, that Clothoes rocke hath ſponne.

now from the diſtafe drawen, now knapt in twaine,

With all the worlde, at length his ende he wonne,

whoſe works haue wrought, his name ſhold gret remain

And he, whoſe trauelles, twelue, his name diſplaye,

that feared nought, the force of worldly hurt,

In fine alas hath founde his fatall day,

and dyed with ſmarte, of Dianyraes ſhurte.

If prowes might eternitie procure,

then Priame yet ſhould liue, in liking luſt

By portlie pompe of pride, thou art vnſure

to learne by him, O kinges ye are but duſt.

And Hecuba, that waileth now in care,

that was ſo late of high eſtate a Queene

A mirrour is, to teache you what you are

your wauering welth, O princes, here is ſeene.

Whom dawne of day, hath ſene in high eſtate

before ſoons ſet, alas hath had his fall

The cradelles rocke, apointes the life his date

from ſetled Ioye, to ſodeine funerall.

The ſeconde act.

The ſprite of Achilles added to the tragedie by the tranſlatour.

The firſt ſceane.

FOrſaking now the places tenebrous,

and deepe dennes of thinfernall regione,

from all the ſhadowes of elyſious

That wander there the pathes ful many one.

Lo, here am I returned all alone.

The ſame Achill whoſe feerce and heauy hande

Of all the world, no wight might yet withſtande.

What man ſo ſtout of all the Grecians hoſt.

That hath not ſometime craued Achilles aide,

And in the Troians, who of Prowes moſte

That hath not fearde to ſe my banners ſplaide.

Achilles lo, hath made them all afraide.

And in the Grekes, hath ben a piller poſte,

That ſturdy ſtode againſt the Toiane hoſte.

Where I haue lackte, the Grecians went to wracke

Troy hath proude what Achilles ſworde could do,

Where I haue come, the Troianes fled a backe,

Retiring faſt from field their walles vnto,

No man that might Achilles ſtroke fordoe,

I delt ſuch ſtripes amid the Troian route,

That with their blood, I ſtainde the fieldes aboute.

Mighty Memnon, that with his perſian bande,

Would Priams parte, with all his might maintaine

Lo now he lithe and knoweth Achilles hande

Amid the fielde is Troylus alſo ſlaine.

Ye Hector great, whom Troye accounted plaine,

The flowre of chiualrye that might be founde,

All of Achilles had their mortall wounde,

But Paris lo, ſuch was his falſe diſceite,

Pretending mariage of Polyxeine,

Behinde the aulter lay for me in waite,

Where I vnwares haue falne into the traine,

And in Appolloes church he hath me ſlaine

Wherof the hell will now Iuſt vengeauns haue,

And here againe, I come my right to craue.

The deepe Auerne my rage may not ſuſtaine,

Nor beare the angers of Achilles ſpright,

From Acheront, I rent the ſoyle in twaine

And through the ground, I grate againe to ſight,

Hell could not hide Achilles from the light,

Uengeans and blood doth Orcus pit require,

To quenche the furies of Achilles ire.

The hatefull lande, that worſe then Tartare is

And burning thruſt excedes of Tantalus,

I here beholde againe, and Troye is this,

O, trauell worſe, then ſtone of Siſyphus

And paynes that paſſe, the panges of Tityus

To light more lothſome furye hath me ſent

Then hooked wheele, that actions fleſhe doth rent.

Remembred is alowe where ſprites do dwell

The wicked ſlaughter wrought by wily way,

Not yet reuenged hath the depeſt hell,

Achilles blood on them that dyd hym ſlaye

But now of vengeans comes the irefull day

And darkeſt dennes of Tartare from bineathe

Conſpyre the fates: of them that wrought thy deathe.

Now miſchiefe, murder, wrath of hell drauth neere

And dyre Phlegethon flood doth blood requyre

Achilles death ſhalbe reuenged heare

With ſlaughter ſuch as Stygian lakes deſyre

Her daughters blood ſhall ſlake the ſprites yre,

Whoſe ſoon we ſlew: wherof doth yet remaine,

The wrathe beneth, and hell ſhalbe their paine.

From burning lakes the furies wrathe I threate,

And fier that nought but ſtreames of blood may ſlake

The rage of wynde and ſeaes theſe ſhipps ſhall beate,

And Ditis deepe on you ſhall vngeans take

The ſprites crye out, the earth and ſeas do quake

The poole of Styx, vngratefull greekes it ſeath,

With ſlaughtred blood reuenge Achilles death.

The ſoyle doth ſhake to beare my heauy foote

And fearth agayne the ſceptours of my hande

The poales with ſtroke of thunderclap ryng out

The doubtfull ſtarres amid their courſe do ſtande,

And fearful Phebus hydes his blaſing brande.

The trembling lakes agaynſt theyr courſe do ſlyte,

For dreade and terrur of Achilles ſpryte.

Great is the raunſom. ought of dewe to me,

Wherwith yt muſt the ſprightes, and hell appeaſe,

Polyxena ſhall ſacrifiſed be,

Uppon my tombe. theyr ireful wrathe to pleaſe,

And with her blood. ye ſhall aſſwage the ſeaſe,

Your ſhips may not returne to greece agayne,

Till on my tombe Polyxena be ſlaine.

And for that ſhe ſhoulde then haue beene my wife,

I will that Pyrrhus render her to me,

And in ſuch ſolemne ſorte byreeue her life,

As ye are woont the weddinges for to ſee,

So ſhall the wrathe of hell appeaſed bee,

Nought els but thys may ſatiſfye our ire,

Her will I haue, and her I you require.

The ſecond ſceane.

Talthybius. Chorus.

ALas how long the lingryng greekes in hauen do make delaye,

When either war by ſeaes they ſeeke or home to pas theyr way.

CHO. Whye ſhow what cauſe doth holde your ſhipps and Grecyan nauye ſtayes,

Declare if any of the gods haue ſtopt your homeward wayes.

TAL. My mynde is maſde my trembling ſynnews quake and are afearde,

For ſtraunger newes of treuth then theſe I thinke were neuer hearde.

Lo I my ſelfe haue plainly ſeene in dawning of the daye,

When Phebus firſt gan to approche and dryue the ſtarres awaye.

The earth all ſhaken ſodenlye and from the hollow grounde,

My thought I herd with roring crye a deepe and dreadfull ſounde.

That ſhooke the woods and all the treeſe ronge out with thunder ſtroake,

From Ida hilles downe fell the ſtones the mountaine tops were broake.

And not the Earthe hath onely quakte but all the Sea likewiſe,

Achilles preſence felt and knewe and high the ſurges riſe.

The clouen ground Erebus pitts then ſhewed and deepeſt dennes,

That downe to Godds that guide beneath, the way appearde from hence.

Then ſhooke the tombe from whence anon in flame of fyrie light,

Appeared from the hollowe caues Achylles noble ſpryght,

As wonted he his Thracian armes and baners to diſploye,

And welde hys waightye weapons well, Agaynſt thaſſautes of Troye,

The ſame Achilles ſemed he than that he was wont to be,

Amid the hoſtes and eaſly coulde I know, that thys was he.

With carkas ſlayne in furious fight that ſtopt and fild eche flood,

And who by ſlaughter of hys hande made Xanthus roon with blood,

As when in chariot highe he ſate with loftye ſtomacke ſtought.

While Hector bothe and Troye at once he drewe the walles abought.

A lowde he cryde and euery coaſte, range with Achilles ſounde

And thus with hollow voyce he ſpake, from bottom of the grounde,

The grekes ſhall not with little price, redeme Achilles ire,

A princely raunſome muſt they geeue, for ſo the fates require.

Unto my aſhes Polyxene, ſpouſed ſhal here be ſlayne,

By pyrhus hand, and all my tombe her blood ſhall ouerſtayne.

This ſayde, he ſtrayght ſanke downe agayne, to plutoes deepe regyone,

The earthe then cloaſde the hollowe caues were vaniſhed and gone

Therwith the wether waxed cleere the raging wyndes dyd ſlake

The tombling ſeas began to reſt, and al the tempeſt brake.

The third ſceane.

Pyrrhus. Agamemnon. Calchas.

WHat tyme our ſayles we ſhould haue ſpred, vpon sygeon ſeas,

With ſwift returne from long delaye, to ſeeke our homeward wayes.

Achilles roſe whoſe onely hand, hath geeuen greekes the ſpoyle.

Of Troia ſore annoyde by hym and leueld with the ſoyle.

With ſpede requighting hys abode, and former long deleae,

At Scyros yle and Leſbos bothe amid the Egeon ſeae.

Till he came here in doubte it ſtoode, of fall or ſure eſtate,

Then though ye haſt to graunte his wyll, ye ſhall it giue to late.

Now haue the other captaynes all, the price of theyr manhood,

What les rewarde for hys prowes, then her all onely blood?

Are hys deſerts thynke you but light, that when he might haue fled,

And paſſing Pelyus yeres in peace, a quiet life haue led.

Detectyd yet his mothers craftes, forſooke hys womans weede

And with hys weapons proued hym ſelfe, a manly man in deede?

The king of Myſya Telephus that woulde the greekes withſtand,

Coming to Troy forbiddyng vs, the paſſage of hys land.

To late repenting to haue felte, Achilles heauy ſtroke,

Was glad to craue hys health agayne, where he his hurte had toke.

For when hys ſore might not be ſalued as tolde Appollo playne,

Except the ſpeare that gaue the hurte reſtored helpe agayne.

Achilles plaſters cured his cutts and ſaued the kyng aliue,

His hand both might and mercy knew to ſlay and then reuiue.

When Thebes fell: Eetion ſaw it and might it not withſtande,

The captiue king coulde nought redres the ruine of his lande.

Lyrneſus little likewyſe felte his hand and downe it fill,

With ruine ouerturned lyke from top of haughty hill.

And taken Bryſeis land it is and pryſoner is ſhe caught

The cauſe of ſtrife betwene the kinges is Chryſes come to naught.

Tenedos ile wel knowne by fame and fertile ſoyle he tooke

That foſtreth fatte the Thracyan flocks and ſacred Cilla ſhooke.

What bootes to blaſe the brute of him whom trompe of fame doth ſhowe,

Through all the coaſtes where Cayicus floode with ſwelling ſtreame doth flowe?

The ruthfull ruine of theſe realmes ſo many townes bette downe.

Another man woulde glory counte and worthy greate renowne.

But thus my father made hys ways and theſe his iourneis are,

And battayles many one he ſought while warre he doth prepare,

As whiſht I may his merites more ſhall yet not this remayne,

Well knowen and counted prayſe enoughe that he hath Hector ſlayne?

During whoſe life the Grecyans all might neuer take the towne,

My father onley vanquiſht Troye and you haue pluckt it downe.

Reioyſe I may my parentes prayſe and brute abrode his actes,

It ſeamth the ſoon to follow well his noble fathers factes.

In ſight of Pryam Hector ſlayne and Memnon both they laye,

With heauy cheere his parentes waylde to mourne his dying daye,

Himſelfe abhorde his handy worke in ſight that had them ſlayne,

The ſoons of Coddes Achilles knewe were borne to dye agayne.

The woman Queene of Amaſons that greende the Greekes full ſore

Is turnde to flight then ceaſt out feare we drade their bowes no more.

If ye weil way hys worthines Achilles ought to haue.

Though he from Argos or Mycenas would a virgin craue.

Doubte ye herein? allow ye not that ſtreight his will be doon.

And count ye crewel Pryames blood, to geeue to Peleus ſoon?

For Helens ſake your owne childes blood, appeaſde Dyanaes yre,

A woonted thyng and doone ere thys, it is that I requyre.

AG. The onely faute of youth it is, not to refrayne his rage,

The fathers blood all ready ſturres, in Pyrrus wanton age.

Somtime Achylles greeuous checkes, I bare with pacient hart,

The more thou mayſt the more thou oughtfte to ſuffre in good part.

Whereto woulde ye with ſlaughtred blood a noble ſpyryte ſlayne?

Thinke what is meete the greekes to doo and troians to ſuſtayne.

The proude eſtate of tyranye may neuer long endure,

The kyng that rules with modeſt meane of ſaftye may be ſure.

The higher ſteppe of princely ſtate that fortune hath vs ſynde,

The more behouthe a happy man humilytie of mynde.

And dreade the chaunge that chaūce may bring whoſe giftes ſo ſone be loſte

And cheefly then to feare the gods, while they the fauour moſte.

In beating downe that warre hath wonne, by proofe I haue ben taught,

What pompe and pride, in twinke of Iye, may fall and come to naught.

Troye made me fierce and prowde of minde, Troy makes me frayde with all:

The Grekes now ſtande where Troy late fell, eche thing may haue his fall.

Sometime I graunt I dyd my ſelfe, and Sceptors proudly beare,

The thing that might aduaunce my harte, makes me the more to feare.

Thou Priame perfite proofe preſentſt. thou arte to me eftſones:

A cauſe of pride, a glas of feare, a mirrour for the nones.

Should I account, the ſceptors owght, but glorious vanitye?

Muche like the borowed brayded here, the face to beawtefye.

One ſodaine chaunce may turne to naught, and maime the might of men,

With fewer then a thouſande ſhippes, and yeres in les then ten.

Not ſhe that guides the, ſlipper whele, of fate: doth ſo delaye:

That ſhe to all poſſeſſion grauntes, of ten yeres ſetled ſtaye.

With leaue of Greece I will confeſſe, I would haue wonne the towne,

But not with ruine thus errteme, to ſe it beaten downe.

But loe the battel made by night and rage of feruent mynde,

Coulde not abyde the brydeling bitte that reaſon had aſſynde.

The happye ſworde once ſtaynde with bloode vnſacyable is,

And in the darke the feruent rage doth ſtrike the more amis.

Now are we wreakt on Troy to much let all that may remayne.

A virgin borne of princes blood for offring to be ſlayne,

And geuen be to ſtayne the tombe and aſhes of the ded,

And vnder name of wedlocke ſe the giltles blood be ſhed,

I will not graunte: for mine ſholde bee therof bothe faute and blame,

Who when he may forbiddeth not offence: dothe will the ſame.

PYR. And ſhall hys ſprightes haue no rewarde theyr angers to appayſe?

AG. Yes very greate, for all the worlde ſhall celebrate hys prayſe.

And landes vnknowne that neuer ſawe the man ſo prayſde by fame,

Shall here and keepe for many yeres, the glory of hys name.

If bloodſhed vayle hys aſhes ought ſtrike of an oxes hed,

And lette no blood that may be cauſe of mothers teares be ſhed.

What furious franſye may thys be that doth your will ſo leade,

This earneſt carefull ſute to make in trauell for the deade?

Let not ſuch enuy towarde your father in your hart remayne.

That for hys ſacryfice ye woulde procure an others payne.

PYR. Proude tyrant while proſperitie thy ſtomacke dothe aduaunce,

And cowardly wretche that ſhrinkes for feare in caſe of fearefull chaunce.

Is yet agayne thy breſt enflamde, with brande of venus might?

Wilt thou alone ſo oft depriue Achilles of hys right?

This hand ſhall giue the ſacrifice the which if thou withſtande,

A greater ſlaughter ſhall I make, and worthy Pyrrhus hande.

And now to long from princes ſlanghter dothe my hand abyde,

And meete it weare that Polyreyne were layde by Pryames ſyde.

AG. I nought deny but Pyrrhus cheefe renowne: in warre is thys,

That Pryam ſlayne with cruell ſworde, to your father humbled is.

PYR. My fathers foes we haue them knowne ſubmit themſelues humblye,

And Pryam preſently ye wotte, was gladdde to craue mercye,

But thou for feare not ſtout to rule, lyeſt cloſe from foes vp ſhit

While thou to Aiax and vliſſes, dooſte thy will commit.

AG. But nedes I muſt and will confeſſe your father dyd not feare:

When burnt our fleete with Hectors brandes, and Greckes they ſlawghtred weare,

While loytring then a loofe he lay, vnmindefull of the fight.

In ſteade of armes with ſcratche of quill, his ſownding harpe to ſmight.

PYR. Great Hector then deſpiſing the Achilles ſonges dyd feare:

And theſſale ſhippes in greateſt drede, in quiet peace yet weare.

AG. For why aloofe the theſſale fleete they lay from Troians handes,

And well your father might haue reſt, he felt not Hectors brandes.

PYR. Well ſemes a noble king to gyue an other king reliefe,

AG. Whie haſt thou then a worthie king berieued of hys lyefe?

PYR. A point of mercye ſomtime is, what liues in care to kyll.

AG. But now your mercie moueth you a virgins death to will.

PYR. Account ye cruell now her death whoſe ſacrifice I craue.

Your owne dere daughter once ye know, your ſelfe to thaulters gaue.

AG. Nought els could ſaue the Grekes from ſeas, but thoniye blood of her:

A king before his children ought, his countrey to prefer.

PYR. The law doth ſpare no captiues blood nor wilthe their death to ſtay.

AG. That which the law doth not forbid, yet ſhame doth ofte ſay naye.

PYR. The conquerour what thing he lyſt, may lawfully fulfyll.

AG. So much the les he ought to lyſt, that may do what he will.

PYR. Thus boaſt ye theſe as though in all ye onely dare the ſtroke:

When Pyrhus looſed hath the Greekes, from bond of ten yeres yoke.

AG. Hath Scyros yle ſuch ſtomaks bred? PYR. No bretherns wrath it knowes.

AG. Beſet about it is with waue. PYR. The ſeas: it do encloſe.

Thyeſtes noble ſtocke I knowe, and Atreus eke full well,

And of the bretherns dire debate. perpetuall fame doth tell.

AG. And thou a baſtard of a mayde, deflowred priuely.

Whom (then a boy) Achilles gate, in filthy letcherye.

PYR. The ſame Achill that doth poſſes, the raigne of gods aboue.

With Thetys ſeas: with Cacus ſprightes, the ſtarred heauen with Ioue.

AG. The ſame Achilles that was ſtaine, by ſtroke of parys hande

PYR. The ſame Achilles, whom no god, durſt euer yet withſtande

AG. The ſtouteſt man I rather would, his cheks he ſhould refraine,

I coulde them tame, but all your bragges, I can full well ſuſtaine.

For euen the captiues ſpares my ſworde: let Calchas called be.

If deſtenies require her blood. I will therto agre.

Calchas whoſe counſell rulde our ſhippes, and nauy hyther brought,

Unlokſt the poale and haſt by arte, the ſecretes therof ſought.

To whom the bowelles of the beaſt, to whom the thunder clap,

And blaſing ſtarre with flaming traine, betokeneth what ſhall hap,

Whoſe wordes with decreſt price I bought, now tell vs by what meane,

The will of Gods agreeth that we returne to Greece ageane.

CAL. The fates apoint the Grekes to bye, theyr wayes with wonted price.

And with what coſt ye came to Troye, ye ſhall repaire to Griece

With blood ye came, with blood ye muſt, from hence returne againe,

And where Achilles aſhes lyeth, the virgin ſhall be ſlaine,

In ſmely ſorte of habite, ſuch as maydens wont ye ſe,

Of Theſſalie, or Mycenas els, what time they wedded be.

With Pyrrhus hande ſhe ſhalbe ſlaine, of right it ſhalbe ſo.

And mete it is, that he the ſoon, his fathers right ſhould do.

But not this only ſtayeth our ſhippes, our ſayles may not be ſpred,

Before a worthier blood then thine, (Polyxena) be ſhed.

Which thirſt the fates: for Priames nephew, Hectors lyttle boye:

The Grekes ſhall tumble hedlong downe, from higheſt towre in Troye.

Let him there dye, this only waye ye ſhall the gods appeas,

Then ſpreade your thouſand ſailes with ioy, ye nede not feare the ſeas.

Chorus.

MAy thys be true or doth the fable faine,

When corps is dead the ſprite to liue as yet?

Whē death our tyes with heauy hand doth ſtraine

And fatall day our leames of light hath ſhet,

And in the tombe: our aſhes once be ſet:

Hath not the ſoule likewiſe his funerall,

But ſtill alas do wretches liue in thrall?

Or els doth all at once together dye?

And may no part his fatall howre delay.

But with the breath the ſoule from hence dothe flye?

Amid the cloudes to vaniſhe quight awaye,

As dankye ſhade fleethe from the poale by day?

And may no iote eſcape from deſtenye,

When once the brande hath burnde the bodye?

What euer then the ryſe of ſoon may ſee,

And what the weſte that ſetts the ſoon dothe knowe,

In all Neptunus raigne what euer bee,

That reaſtles ſeas doe waſhe and ouer flowe,

with purple waues ſtill tombling to and fro,

Age ſhall conſume: eche thing that liuthe ſhall dye,

With ſwifter race then Pegaſus dothe flye.

And with what whyrle, the twyſe ſyxe ſignes do flye,

With courſe as ſwifte, as rectoure of the ſpheares,

Doth guide thoſe gliſtring globes eternallye,

And Hecate her chaunged hornes repeares,

So drauthe on deathe, and life of eache thing weares,

And neuer may the man, retourne to ſight,

That once hath felte the ſtroke of Parcas myght,

For as the fume that from the fyre dothe pas,

With tourne of hande, doth vaniſhe out of ſight

And ſwifter then the northen boreas,

With whirling blaſte and ſtorme of raging myght,

Driuthe far awaye and putts the cloudes to flyght,

So fleeth the ſpryght that rules our life awaye,

And nothing taryeth after dying daye.

Swift is the race wee roon, at hand the marke,

Laye downe your hope, that weight here ought to wyn,

And who dreades ought, caſte of thy carefull carke,

Wilt thou it wotte what ſtate thou ſhalt be in,

When deade thou arte? as thou hadſt neuer bin.

For greedy time it dothe deuour vs all,

The worlde it ſwayes to Chaos heape to fall.

Death hurtes the corps and ſpareth not the ſpryght,

And as for all the dennes of Tenare deepe,

With Cerberus kingdome darke that knowes no lyght,

And ſtreighteſt gates, that he there ſitts to keepe,

They fantſyes are, that followe folke by ſleepe

Suche rumours vayne, but fayned lies they are,

And fables, lyke the dreames in heauy care,

Theſe three ſtaues following are added by the tranſlatour.

O dreadfull day: alas the ſory tyme,

Is come of all the mothers ruthfull wo,

Iſtyanax alas thy fatall lyne,

Of life is worne, to deathe ſtraight ſhalte thou go,

The ſiſters haue decreed yt ſhould be ſo,

There may no force alas eſcape their hande,

The mightye Ioue their will may not withſtande.

To ſee the mother her tender childe forſake,

What ientle harte that may from teares refryane,

Or who ſo fierce that woulde not pittie take,

To ſee alas the gyltles infant ſlayne.

For ſory harte the teares mine iyes do ſtayne,

To thinke what ſorowe ſhall her hart oppreſſe,

Her little chylde to leeſe remedyleſſe,

The double cares of Hectors wife to wayle,

Good Ladies haue your teares in redines

And you with whom ſhould pitie moſt preuaile.

Rue on her greefe: bewaile her heauines:

With ſobbing hart, lament her deepe diſtres:

When ſhe with teares, ſhall take leaue of her ſoon,

And now (good ladies) here what ſhall be doon.

The thyrde acte.

Andromacha. Senex. Vlyſſes.

Alas ye carefull companye why hale ye thus your heares?

Why beate you ſo your boyling breſtes and ſtayne your iyes with teares?

The fall of Troy is newe to you but vnto me not ſo,

I haue foreſene this carefull caſe ere thys time long ago

When fierce Achilles Hector ſlewe and drew the corps abought

Then then me thought I wiſt it well, that Troy ſhould come to nought.

In ſorowes ſonke, I ſenſles am and wrapt alas in woe,

But ſone except thys babe me helde, to Hector woulde I goe.

Thys ſeely ſoole my ſtomack tames amydde my miſerye,

And in the houre of heuyeſt happes, permittes me not to dye,

Thys onely cauſe conſtraynth me yet the Godds for hym to praye,

With trackt of time prolonges my payne, delayes my dying daye.

He takes fro me the lacke of feare the onely frute of yll.

For while he liues yet haue I lefte wherof to feare me ſtyll.

No place is left for better chaunce, with woorſe we are oppreſt:

To ſcare alas and ſet no hope, is worſte of all the reſt.

SEN. What ſodeyne feare thus moues your minde, and vexeth you ſo ſore?

ANDR. Still ſtill alas of one miſhap there ryſeth more and more.

Not yet the dolefull deſtyines of Troy become to ende

SEN. And what more greeuous chaunces yet prepare the gods to ſende?

ANDR. The caues and dens of hell be rent for Troians greater feare,

And from the bottomes of theyr tombes the hidden ſpryghtes appeare.

May none but Greekes alone from hell returne to lyfe agayne?

Woulde God the fates woulde finiſhe ſoone the ſorowes I ſuſtaine,

Death thankfull were, a common care the Troians all oppres,

But me alas amaſeth moſte the fearefull heauines.

That all aſtonied am for dreade, and horrour of the ſight:

That in my ſlepe appearde to me, by dreame this latter night.

SEN. Declare what ſightes your dreame hath ſhowed and tell what doth you feare.

ANDR. Two partes of all the ſylent nyght, almoſt then paſſed weare.

And then the clere ſeuen cluſtred beames of ſtarres: were fallen to reſt.

And firſte the ſleepe ſo long vnknowne my weryed iyes oppreſt.

If this be ſlepe the aſtonied maſe, of minde in heauy moode,

When ſodenly before myne iyes, the ſpright of Hector ſtoode.

Not like as he the Greekes was wont to battaile to require

Or when amid the Grecians ſhippes, he threw the brandes of fyre.

Nor ſuch as raging on the Grekes, with ſlaughtring ſtroke had ſlaine,

And bare in dede the ſpoiles of him that did Achilles fayne.

His countenance not now ſo bright. Nor of ſo liuely chere,

But ſad and heauye like to owres, and cladde with vglie heare.

It dyd me good to ſe him though, when ſhaking, then his hed:

Shake of thy ſlepe in haſt he ſayd, and quickly leaue thy bed.

Conuey into ſome ſecret place, our ſoon, O faithfull wife,

Thys onely hope there is of helpe, finde meane to ſaue his life.

Leaue of thy piteous teares he ſayd, dooſt thou yet waile for Troye?

Would god it lay on grownde full flatte, ſo ye might ſaue the boye.

Up ſtirre he ſayd thye ſelfe in haſt, conuaye him priutlie,

Saue if ye may the tender blood, of Hectors progenye.

Then ſtraight in trembling feare I wakte, and roulde myne iyes abought

Forgetting long my childe, pore wretche, and after Hector ſought.

But ſtraight alas, I wiſt not how the ſpright away dyd paſſe,

And me forſoke before I coulde, my huſbande once embraſſe.

O childe: O noble fathers broode and Troians only ioye,

O worthie ſeede of thauncient bloode. and beaten houſe of Troye.

O ymage of thy father loe, thou liuelye bearſt his face,

Thys countenance, loe my Hector had, and euen ſuch was his pace.

The pitche of all his body ſuch, hys handes thus would he beare.

His ſhoulders hygh, hys thretning browes, euen ſuch as thine they weare.

O ſoon: begotte to late for Troye but borne to ſoone for me,

Shall euer tyme yet come agayne and happy day may be,

That thou mayſte once reuenge, and builde againe the towres of Troye,

And to the towne and Troians bothe reſtore theyr name with ioye?

But why do I, forgetting ſtate of preſent deſteny.

So greate thinges wiſhe? enoughe for captiues is to liue onely.

Alas what priuye place ys lefte my little chylde to hyde?

What ſeate ſo ſecrete may be founde where thou mayſte ſafely bide?

The toure that with the walls of Godds ſo valiaunt was of might,

Through all the worlde ſo notable ſo flouriſhing to ſyght,

Is turnde to duſt: and fyre hath all conſumde that was in Troye,

Of all the towne not ſo muche now is left to hyde the boye.

What place were beſt to chooſe for guyle the holly tombe is heere,

That thenmies ſworde will ſpare to ſpoyle where lythe my huſbande deere.

Which coſtly worke hys father buylte kyng Pryame lyberall,

And it vp rayſde with charges greate, for Hectors funerall.

Herein the bones and aſhes bothe of Hector loe they lye,

Beſt ys that I committe the ſoon to hys fathers cuſtodye.

A colde and fearefull ſwette dothe roon, through out my membres all,

Alas I carefull wretche do feare, what chaunce may thee befall.

SEN. Hyde hym away: this onely way hath ſaued many more,

To make the enmies to beleeue, that they were deade before.

He wilbe ſought: ſcant any hope remayneth of ſafenes,

The payſe of hys nobilitie dothe hym ſo ſore oppres.

ANDR. What waye were beſt to worke: that none our doinges might bewraye?

SEN. Let none beare witnes what ye doe remoue them all awaye.

ANDR. What if the enmies aſke me: wheare Aſtianax dothe remayne?

SEN. Then ſhall ye boldely aunſwer make that he in Troy was ſlayne.

ANDR. What ſhall it helpe to haue him hyd? at length they will hym fynde.

SEN. At fyrſte the enmyes rage is feerce delay dothe ſlake hys minde.

ANDR. But what preuailes, ſince free from feare we can him neuer hyde?

SEN. Let yet the wretche take hys defence more careles there to byde.

ANDR. What lande vnknowne out of the way what vnfrequented place,

May kepe thee ſafe? who aydes our feare? who ſhall defende our caſe?

Hector Hector, that euermore thy frendes didſt well defende

Now chiefly ayde thy wife and chylde and vs ſome ſuccour ſende.

Take charge to keepe and couer cloſe the treaſures of thy wife,

And in thy aſhes hyde thy ſoon preſerue in tombe hys life.

Draw nere my chylde vnto the tombe why flieſte thou backwarde ſo?

Thou takeſte great ſcorne to lurke in dens thy noble hart I knowe.

I ſee thou arte aſhamde to feare ſhake of thy princely mynde,

And beare thy breſte as thee behoues as chaunce hath thee aſſynde.

Beholde our caſe: and ſee what flocke remayneth now of Troy

The tombe: I wofull captyue wretche and thou a ſeely boye.

But yelde we muſt to ſory fates thy chaunce muſt breake thy breſte,

Go to: creepe vnderneath, thy fathers holy ſeates to reſte.

I fought the fates, may wretches helpe thou haſt thy ſauegarde there.

If not: all ready then poore foole thou haſt thy ſepulchere.

SEN. The tombe hym cloſely hydes: but leaſt your feare ſhould hym detraye,

Let him heare lye, and farre from hence goe ye ſome other waye

ANDR. The les he feares that feares at hande and yet if neede be ſo,

If ye thynke meete a little hens for ſafety let vs go.

SEN. A little while keepe ſylence now refrayne your playnte and crye,

Hys curſed foote now hyther moues the lord of Cephalye.

AN. Now open earth, and thou my ſpouſe from Styx rent vp the grounde,

Deepe in thy boſome hyde my ſoon that he may not be founde.

Ullyſſes comes with doutfull pace and chaunged countenaunce,

He knitts in hart deceytfull craft for ſome more greuous chaunce.

ULY. Though I be made the meſſenger of heauy newes to you,

Thys one thyng fyrſt I ſhall deſyre that ye take thys for true,

That though the wordes come from my mouth, and I my meſſage tell,

Of trueth yet are they none of myne ye may beleue me well.

It is the woorde of all the Greekes and they the authors bee,

Whom Hectors blood doth yet forbyd theyr countreys for to ſee.

Our carefull truſt of peace vnſure doth ſtill the Grekes detaine,

And euermore our doutful feare, yet draweth vs backe againe.

And ſuffreth not our weried handes, our weapons to forſake,

In childe yet of Andromacha, Whyle Troians comfort take,

AN. And ſaith your Augure Calchas ſo? ULYS. Though Calchas nothing ſaide

Yet Hector telles it vs himſelfe, Of whoſe ſeede are we frayde.

The worthy blood of noble men, oftetimes we ſe it plaine,

Doth after in their heyres ſuccede, and quickely ſpringes againe.

For ſo the horneles yonglyng yet, of high and ſturdy beſte,

With lofty neck, and braunched browe, doth ſhortly rule the reſt.

The tender twyg, that of the lopped ſtocke do[t]h yet remayne,

To matche the tree that bare the boughe, in time ſtartes vp againe.

With equall toppe to former wood, the rome it doth ſupplye,

And ſpreddes on ſoile alowe the ſhade, to heauen hys braunches hye.

Thus of one ſparke by chaunce yet left it happeneth ſo ful oft.

The fire hath quikly caught his force, and flamthe agayne aloft.

So feare we yet leaſt Hectors blood, might riſe ere it be long,

Feare caſtes in all thextremitie and oft interprets wrong.

If ye reſpeckte our caſe, ye may not blame theſe olde ſouldiars

Though after yeres & monthes twiſe fiue, they feare againe the wars.

And other trauailes, dreading Troye, not yet to be well woon,

A great thing doth the Grecians moue, the feare of Hectors ſoon.

Ryd vs of feare, this ſtayeth our fleete, and pluckes their backe againe,

And in the hauen our nauie ſtickes, till Hectors blood be ſlaine.

Count mee not feerce for that by fates I Hectors ſoon require,

For I as well if chaunce it woulde Oreſtes ſhould deſire.

But ſins that nedes it muſt be ſo, beare it with pacient hart,

And ſuffre that which Agamemnon, ſuffred in good part.

AN. Alas my childe would god thou werte, yet in thy mothers hande,

And that I knewe what deſtenies, the helde, or in what lande.

For neuer ſhould the mothers faith, her tender childe forſake,

Though through my breſt the enimies all, their cruell weapons ſtrake.

Nor though the Greekes, with pinching bandes of yron: my handes had bounde,

Or els in feruent flame of fyre beſette my body rounde.

But now my little chylde (poore wretche) alas where might he be?

Alas what cruell deſtenye, what chaunce hath hapt to the?

Art thou yet rangyng in the feeldes and wandreſt there abrode?

Or ſmothered els in duſty ſmoke of Troy: or ouertrode?

Or haue the Greekes thee ſlayne alas and laught to ſee thy blood?

Or torne art thou with Iawes of beaſtes or caſt to fowles for foode?

ULY. Diſſemble not, harde is for thee Ulyſſes to diſceyue,

I can full well the mothers craftes and ſubteltye perceyue.

The policy of Goddeſſes, Ullyſſes hath vndoon,

Set all theſe fayned woordes aſyde, tell me where is thy ſoon?

ANDR. Where is Hector? where all the reſte that had with Troy their fall?

Where Pryamus? you aſke for one but I requyre of all.

ULY. Thou ſhalt conſtrayned be to tell the thyng thou dooſt denye.

AN. A happy chaunce were death, to her that doth deſyre to dye,

ULY. Who moſt deſyres to dye: would fayneſt liue when death drawthe on,

Theſe noble wordes with preſent feare of death: would ſoone be gon.

ANDR. Ulyſſes if ye will conſtrayne Andromacha with feare,

Threten my life, for now to dye my chiefe deſyre it weare.

ULY. With ſtripes, with fyre, tormenting death we will the treuth out wreſt.

And dolour ſhall thee force, to tell the ſecretes of thy breſt.

And what thy hart hath deepeſt hyd for payne thou ſhalt expres.

Oftymes thextremytie preuayles, much more then ientlenes.

ANDR. Set me in midſt of burning flame, with woundes my body rent,

Uſe all the meanes of crueltye, that ye may all inuent.

Proue me with thyrſt, and hunger both, and euery torment trye,

Pearce through my ſides with burning yrons, in priſon let me lye.

Spare not the worſt ye can deuiſe, (if ought be woorſe then thys)

Yet neuer geat ye more of me I wott not where he is.

ULY. It is but vaine to hyde the thyng that ſtraight ye will deteckte.

No feares may moue the mothers hart. ſhe doth them all neglecte.

This tender loue ye beare your childe, wherin ye ſtande ſo ſtoute.

So muche more circumſpectly warnthe, the Greekes to looke aboute.

Leaſt after ten yeres trackte of time. and battaile borne ſo farre.

Some one ſhould liue that on our children, might renew the warre.

As for my ſelfe, what Calchas ſayeth, I would not feare at all.

But on Telemachus I dreade, the ſmarte of warres woulde fall.

AN. Now will I make Ulyſſes gladde, and all the Greekes alſo,

Needes muſt thou wofull wretch confeſſe, declare thy hidden wo.

Reioyce ye ſoons of Atreus, there is no cauſe of dred.

Be glad Ullyſſes tell the Greekes, that Hectors ſoon is ded.

ULY. By what aſſurance proueſt thou that? How ſhall we credite the?

AN. What euer thing the enmies hand, may threaten, happe to me

Let ſpedy fates me ſlaye forthwith, and earth me hide at ones,

And after death from tombe againe, remoue yet Hectors bones,

Except my ſoon already now, do reſt among the ded,

And that except Aſtyanax. into his tombe be led.

ULY. Then fully are the fates fulfilde with Hectors childes diſceace:

Now ſhall I beare the Grecians worde, of ſure and certaine peace.

Ulyſſes why what dooſt thou now? the Greekes will euery chone,

Beleue thy wordes: whom credit ſhe thou? the mothers tale alone.

Thinkſt thou for ſauegarde of her chylde the mother will not lie?

And dread the more the worſe miſchaunce, to gyue her ſoon to dye?

Her faith ſhe bindes with bonde of othe, the trueth to verifie,

What thing is more of weight to feare, then ſo to ſweare and lye?

Now call thy craftes togither all, beſtirre thy wits and minde,

And ſhow thy ſelfe Ulyſſes now, the truthe herin to finde.

Searche well the mothers minde: beholde ſhe weepes and waileth out,

And here and there with doutfull pace, ſhe rangeth all about.

Her careful eares ſhe doth applie, to harken what I ſay,

More fraide ſhe ſeemes then ſorowfull. Now worke ſome wilye way.

For now moſt nede of wit there is, and crafty pollecie,

Yet once againe by other meanes, I will the mother trie.

Thou wretched woman mayſt reioye, that dead he is: alas,

More dolefull death by deſteny for him decreed ther was.

From Turrets top to haue byn caſt, and cruelly been ſlaine.

Which only towre of all the reſt, doth yet in Troy remaine.

ANDR. My ſpright failth me, my limmes do quake feare doth my wittes confownde,

And as the ice congeales with froſt, my blood with colde is bownde.

ULYS. She trembleth lo: this way, this way, I will the trueth out wreſt,

The mothers feare detecteth all, the ſecretes of her breſt.

I will renew her feare: go ſears beſtirre ye ſpedely,

To ſeke this enmie of the Greekes, where euer that he lie.

Well done:he will be found at length, go to ſtill ſeeke him out.

Now ſhall he dye: what dooſt thou feare? whie dooſt thou looke about?

ANDR. Would god that any cauſe ther were, yet left that myght me fray:

My hart at laſt now all is loſte, hath layde all feare away.

ULYS. Sins that your childe now hath ye ſay already ſuffred deathe

And with his blood we may not pourge, the hoſtes as Calchas ſaythe.

Our flete paſſe not (as well inſpired, doth Calchas prophecie)

Tyll Hectors aſhes caſt abrode, the waues may pacify,

And tombe be rent, now ſins the boy, hath ſcapt his deſtenye.

Nedes muſt we breake this holy tombe, where Hectors aſſhes lie.

ANDR. What ſhall I doe? my minde diſtracted, is with double feare,

On thone my ſoon, on thother ſide, my huſbandes aſſhes deare.

Alas which part, ſhould moue me moſt, the cruell goddes I call,

To witnes with me in the truthe, and ghoſtes that guide thee all.

Hector, that nothing in my ſoon is els that pleaſeth me,

But thou alone: god graunt him life, he might reſemble the.

Shall Hectors aſſhes drowned be? bide I ſuch crueltie,

To ſe his bones caſt in the ſeas? yet let Aſtianax dye.

And canſt thou wretched mother bide, thine owne childes death to ſe?

And ſuffre from the hie towres toppe. that hedlong throwne he be?

I can: and will take in good parte, his death and cruell paine,

So that my Hector after death, be not remoued agayne.

The boye that life and ſenſes hathe may feele hys payne and dye,

But Hector loe hys deathe hathe plaſte, at reſt in tombe to lye.

What dooſt thou ſtay? determyne which thou wilt preſerue of twayne.

Art thou in doubte? ſaue thys: loe here thy Hector dothe remayne.

Dothe Hectors be, thone quick of ſpright and drawing toward hys ſtrengthe

And one that may perhaps reuenge hys fathers deathe at lengthe.

Alas I can not ſaue them bothe I thinke that beſt it weare.

That of the twayne I ſaued hym, that dothe the Grecyans feare.

ULY. It ſhalbe done that Calchas woordes to vs dothe Prophecye,

And nowe ſhall all thys ſumpteous woorke be throwne downe vtterlye.

AN. That once ye ſolde? UL. I will it all from toppe to bottom rende

ANDR. The fayth of Godds I call vppon Achilles vs defende.

And Pyrrhus ayde thy fathers ryght ULY. Thys tombe abrode ſhall lye

ANDR. O miſchiefe, neuer durſt the Greekes ſhowe yet ſuche crueltye.

Ye ſtrayne the Temples, and the Godds that moſte haue fauorde you,

The deade ye ſpare not, on theyr tombes your furye rageth now.

I will theyr weapons all reſiſt my ſelfe wyth naked hande,

The yre of harte ſhall geeue me ſtrength, theyr armoure to withſtande.

As fierce as dyd the Amaſones beate downe the Greekes in fight,

And Menas once enſpyrde with God, in ſacryfice dothe ſmyght:

With ſpeare in hande, and while with furious pace ſhe treades the grounde.

And woode as one in rage: ſhe ſtrikes and feelythe not the wounde:

So wyll I ronne on midſte of them and on theyr weapons dye,

And in defence of Hectors tombe, among hys aſſhes lye.

ULY. Ceaſe ye? dothe rage and fury vayne of woman moue ye ought.

Diſpatch with ſpeede what I commaunde, and diucke downe all to nought.

ANDR. Slay me rather here with ſwoorde ridde me out of the waye.

Breake vp the deepe Auerne, and ryd my deſtenies delaye.

Ryſe Hector and byſet thy foes breake thou Ulyſſes yre,

A ſpright arte good enough for hym, beholde he caſteth fyre.

And weapon ſhakes with mighty hande do ye not Greekes hym ſee?

Or els dothe Hectors ſpright appeare but onely vnto me?

ULY. Down quight withall. AN. What wilt thou ſuffer both thy ſoon be ſlaine,

And after death thy huſbandes bones to be remoued againe?

Perhaps thou mayſt with prayer yet, appeaſe the Grecians all,

Els downe to ground the holly tombe of Hector, ſtraight ſhall fall.

Let rather dye the childe poore wretche and let the Grekes hym kill,

Then father and the ſoon ſhould cauſe the tone the others ill.

Ulyſſes, at thy knees I fall, and humblye aſke mercye.

Theſe hands that no mans feete els knew, fyrſt at thy fete they lie,

Take pitie on the mothers caſe, and ſorowes of my breſt,

Uouchſafe my prayers to receiue, and graunt me my requeſt.

And by how muche the more the goddes, haue the aduaunced hye,

More eaſly ſtrike the poore eſtate, of wretched miſerie.

God graunt the chaſt bed of thy godlye wife Penelope,

May the receiue, and ſo againe, Laerta may the ſee,

And that thy ſoon Telemachus, may mete the ioyfully,

His grawndſers yeres, and fathers witte, to paſſe full happelye.

Take pitie on the mothers teares, her little childe to ſaue.

He is my onely comforte left, and thonly ioy I haue.

ULY. Bring forth thy ſoon and aſke.

The ſeconde ſceane.

Andromacha.

COme hyther childe, out of thy dens to me

thy wretched mothers lamentable ſtore,

This babe Ulyſſes, loe this babe is he,

that ſtayeth your ſhipps, a feareth you ſo ſore.

Submit thy ſelf my ſoon with humble hande,

and worſhip flatte on ground, thy maſters feete:

Think it no ſhame, as now the caſe doth ſtand

the thing y^t fortune wilth a wretch is meete,

Forget thy worthy ſtocke of kingly kinde.

thinke not on Priames great noblitte,

And put thy father Hector from thy minde.

ſuch as thy fortune let thy ſtomake be.

Behaue thy ſelfe as captiue, bend thy kne:

and though thy grief pearce not thy tender yeares,

Yet learne to wayle thy wretched state by me,

and take enſample, at thy mothers teares.

Once Troye hath ſeene the weping of a childe,

when little Priame turnde Alcydes threates,

And he to whom all beaſtes in ſtrength dyd yelde,

that made hys way from hell, and brake theyr gates:

Hys little enmyes teares yet ouercame,

Pryame (he ſayd) receiue thy lybertye,

In ſeate of honor keepe thy kingly name,

but yet thy ſceptors rule more faythfullye.

Loc ſuch the conqueſt was of Hercules

of him yet learne your hartes to mollifye.

Do onely Hercles cruell weapons pleaſe

and may no ende be of your crueltye?

No leſſe then Pryame kneeles to thee this boy

that lyeth and aſketh onely life of thee.

As for the rule and gouernaunce of Troy

where euer fortune will there let it bee.

Take mercy on the mothers ruthfull teares

that with theyr ſtreames my checkes do ouerflowe

And ſpare thys giltles infants tender yeares

that humbly falleth at thy feete ſo lowe.

The thyrde ſceane.

Vlyſſes. Andromacha. Aſtyanax

OF treuthe the mothers greate ſorow, dothe moue my hart full ſore.

But yet the mothers of the Greekes, of neede muſt moue me more.

To whom thys boye may cauſe in tyme a greate calamitie.

ANDR. may euer he the burnt ruynes of Troy reedifie?

And ſhall theſe handes in time to come, ereckt the towne agayne?

If thys be thonely helpe we haue, there dothe no hope remayne

For Troy, we ſtand not now in caſe to cauſe your feare of mynde,

Doth ought auaile hys fathers force, or ſtock of noble kinde?

Hys fathers harte abated was. he drawne the walles abought.

Thus euell happs, the haughtieſt hart at length they bryng to nought.

If ye will needes oppreſſe a wretche what thyng more greeuous weare.

Then on hys noble necke he ſhoulde the yoke of bondage beare?

To ſerue in life, doth any man thys to a king deny?

ULY. Not Ulyſſes wylth hys deathe but Calchas Prophecy

ANDR. O falſe inuentor of diſceyte and heynous crueltye.

By manhode of whoſe hand in warre, no man dyd euer dye.

But by diſceite and craftye trayne of mynde that miſchefe ſeekes,

Before thys tyme full many one deade is: ye of the Greekes.

The Prophets woordes and giltleſſe gods ſayſte thou my ſonne requyre?

Naye: miſchiefe of thy breſte it iſ thou dooſte hys death deſyre.

Thou night ſouldier, and ſtought of harte a little chylde to ſtaye,

Thys enterpryſe thou takſte alone and that by open daye.

ULY. Ulyſſes manhode well to Greekes to much to you is knone:

I may not ſpend the tyme in wordes, our nauy wyl be gone.

AN. A little ſtay, while I my laſt farewell gyue to my chylde,

And haue with oft embracing hym, my greedy ſorowes fylde.

ULY. Thy greuons ſorowes to redres, would god it lay in me,

But at thy will to take delaye of time: I graunt it the.

Now take thy laſt leaue of thy ſonne and fill thy ſelfe with teares,

Oft tymes the weeping of the iyes, the inward grief out weares.

ANDR. O deere, o ſwete, thy mothers pledge, farewell my onely ioye.

Farewell the floure of honour left of beaten houſſe of Troy.

O Troians laſt calamitye and feare to Grecyans parte,

Farewell thy mothers onley hope, and vayne comfort of harte.

Oft wyſhte I thee thy fathers ſtrengthe and halfe thy graundſyres yieres,

But all for nought, the Goddes haue all diſpoynted our deſyeres.

Thou neuer ſhalt in regall courte thy ſceptors take in hande,

Nor to thy people giue decreeſe, nor leade with lawe thy lande.

Nor yet thyne enmyes ouercome by might of handy ſtroke,

Nor lende the conquerd nacyons all vnder thy ſeruyle yoke.

Thou neuer ſhalt beate downe in fight and Grekes with ſworde purſewe,

Nor at thy Charyot Pyrrhus plucke as Achylles Hector drewe.

And neuer ſhall theſe tender handes thy weapons welde and wreſte,

Thou neuer ſhalte in woddes purſue the wylde and mighty beaſte.

Nor as accuſtomde is by guyſe and ſacryfice in Troye,

With meaſure ſwifte: betwene the aulters ſhalte thou daunce with ioye.

O greeuous kynde of cruell deathe that dothe remayne for thee,

More wofull thyng then Hectors deathe the walles of Troye ſhall ſee.

ULYS. Now breake of all thy mothers teares I may no more tyme ſpende.

The greuous ſorowes of thy harte will neuer make an ende.

ANDR. Ulyſſes ſpare as yet my teares and graunte a while delaye,

To cloſe hys eyes yet with my hands ere he departe awaye.

Thou dyeſt but yong: yet fearde thou arte thy Troy doth wayte for thee,

Goe noble hart thou ſhalt agayne the noble Troians ſee.

AS. Helpe me mother? AN. Alas my childe why takſte thou holde by me?

In vayne thou calte where helpe none is I can not ſuccoure thee.

As when the little tender beaſte that heares the Lyon crye,

Strayght for defence he ſeekes hys dam and crowching downe dothe lye.

The cruell beaſte when once remoued is the dam awaye,

In greedy iawe with rauening bit doth ſnatch the tender praye

So ſtraight the enmies will thee take and from my ſyde the Beare.

Receyue my kiſſe and teares poore chylde receyue my rented heare.

Departe thou hence now full of me and to thy father goe,

Salute my Hector in my name and tell him of my woe.

Complayne thy mothers griefe to hym if former cares may moue,

The ſpryghtes: and that in funerall flame they leeſe not all theyr loue.

O crewell Hector ſuffreſt thou thy wife to be oppreſt?

With bonde of Grecyans heauy yoke and lyeſt thou ſtill at reſt?

Achylles roſe : take here agayne my teares and rented heare,

And (all that I haue lefte to ſende) thys kiſſe thy father beare.

Thy coate yet for my comfort leaue the tombe hath touched it

If of hys aſhes ought here lye I will ſeke it euery whit.

ULY. There is no meaſure of thy teares I may no lenger ſtaye

Deferre no farder our returne breake of our ſhipps delaye.

Chorus altered by the tranſlator.

O Ioue that leadſt the lampes of fyre

and dekſt with ſlamyng ſtarres the ſky

Why is it euer thy deſyre

to care theyr courſe ſo orderly?

That now the froſt the leaues hath worne

and now the ſpryng dothe cloath the tree,

Now fyry Leo rypes the Corne

and ſtill the ſoyle ſhoulde changed be?

But why arte thou that all dooſte guide

betwene whoſe handes the poales do ſwaye

And at whoſe will the Orbes do ſlide

careles of mans eſtate alwaye?

Regarding not the good mans caſe,

nor caring how to hurte the ill

Chaunce beareth rule in euery place,

and turneth mans eſtate at will.

She geues the wrong the vpper hande

the better parte ſhe dothe oppreſſe,

She makes the higheſt lowe to ſtande

her kyngdome all is orderleſſe.

O parfitte proofe of her frayltie,

the princely towres of Troye bet downe

The flowre of Aſya here ye ſee

with turne of hande quight ouerthrowne

The tuthfull ende of Hectors ſonne

whome to his death the Greekes haue led

Hys fatall howre is come and gonne

and by thys tyme the childe is ded

Yet ſtill alas more cares encreaſe,

o Troians dolefull deſtenye,

Faſt dothe approche the maydes deceaſe

and now Polyxena ſhall dye.

The fourth ackte.

Helena. Andromacha. Hecuba.

WHat euer wofull wedding yet, were cauſe of funerall.

Of walling, teares, blood, ſlaughter els or other miſchiefs all,

A worthy matche for Helena, and meete for me it ware,

My wedding torche hath byn the cauſe, of all the Troians care.

I am conſtrainde to hurt them yet, after theyr ouerthrowe

The falſe and fained mariages, of Pyrthus muſt I ſhowe.

And geue the maide the Greekes attire and by my poliecye,

Shall Parys ſiſter be betraide, and by diſceit ſhall dye.

But let her be beguiled thus, the les ſhould be her paine

If that unware, without the feare of death: ſhe myght be ſlaine.

What ceaſeſt thou the will of Greekes, and meſſage to fulfill?

Of hurt conſtrainde the faute returnthe to thauthor of the ill.

O noble virgin of the famous houſe: and ſtocke of Troy,

To thee, the Grecians haue me ſent I bring thee newes of ioy.

The gods rue on thy afflicted ſtate, more mercifull they be,

A great and happy mariage loe, they haue preparde for the.

Thou neuer ſhould if Troy had ſtoode, ſo nobly wedded be,

Nor Priame neuer could preferre, thee to ſo hye degree.

Whom flowre of all the Grecyan name, the prince of honour hongur hye.

That beares the ſcepters ouer all, the lande of Theſſalie,

Dothe in the lawe of wedlocke choſe and for his wife require,

To ſacred rightes of lawfull bed, doth Pyrrhus thee deſire.

Loe Thetys great : with all the reſt, of gods that guide by ſea,

Eche one ſhall thee account as theyrs, and ioy thy wedding dea.

And Peleus ſhall thee daughter call, when thou arte Pyrthus wife,

And Nereus ſhall account thee hys the ſpace of all thy life.

Put of thy mourning garment now. thys regall veſture weare

Forget henceforth thy cantiue ſtate, and ſemely broyde thy heare.

Thy fall hath lift thee higher vp. and doth thee more aduaunce.

Oft to be taken in the warre, doth bring the better chaunce.

AN. This ill the Troians neuer knew in all their griefes and paine,

Before this time ye neuer made, vs to reioyce in vaine.

Troye towres geue light, o ſemely tyme for mariage to be made

Who woulde refuſe the wedding daye that Helayne dothe perſwade?

The Plague and Ruine of eche parte beholde doſte thou not ſee,

Theſe tombes of noble men: and how theyr boanes here ſcattered bee?

Thy bryde bed hath bene cauſe of thys for thee all theſe be ded,

For thee the blood of Aſya bothe and Europe hath bene ſhed.

When thou in ioy and pleaſure bothe the fighting folke from farre,

Haſte veude: in doubte to whom to wiſhe the glory of the warre.

Goe to prepare the maryages what neede the torchis light?

Be holde the towres of Troy do ſhyne with brandes that blaſe full bright.

O Troians all ſet to your handes, thys wedlock celebrate:

Lament thys day with wofull cry and teares in ſeemely rate.

HELE. Though care do cauſe the want of wit and reaſons rule denye.

And heauy hap dothe oftimes hate hys mates in myſerye,

Yet I before moſte hatefull iudge dare well defende my parte,

That I of all your grieuous cares ſuſtayne the greateſt ſmarte.

Andromacha for Hector weepes, for Pryame Hecuba,

For onely Parys priuely bewayleth Helena.

A harde and grieuous thing it is captyuytie to beare.

In Troy that yoke I ſuffred long a pryſoner whole ten yeare.

Turnde are the fates, Troy beaten downe, to Greece I muſt repeare,

The natiue countrey to haue loſte is ill, but woorſe to feare.

For dreade thereof you neede not care your euils all be paſte.

On me bothe partes will vengeance take all lightes to me at laſte.

Whom eche man pryſoner takes God wott ſhe ſtandes in ſlipper ſtaye,

And me not captiue made by lotte yet Parys led awaye

I haue bene cauſe of all theſe warres and then your woes were wrought,

When fyrſt your ſhippes the Spartane ſeas and land of Grecia ſought.

But if the Goddeſſe wilde it ſo that I theyr praye ſhoulde be,

And for rewarde to her beautyes iudge ſhe had appoynted me.

Then pardon Parys: thinke thys thynge in wrathfull iudge dothe lye,

The ſentence Menclaus geues and he thys caſe ſhall trye.

Now turne thy plaintes Andromacha. and weepe for Polyxeyne,

mine iyes for ſorowes of my hart, theyr teares may not refreyne.

AN. Alas what care makes Heleyne weepe? What griefe doth ſhe lament?

Declare what craftes Uliſſes caſtes, what miſchief hath he ſent?

Shall ſhe from heyght of Idey hill be hedlong tombled downe?

Or els out of the turrets toppe in Troy, ſhall ſhe be throwne?

Or will they caſt her from the cliues, into Svgeon ſeaes?

In bottome of the ſurging waues, to ende her ruthfull dayes?

Show what thy countenance hides, a tell the ſecretes of thy breſt:

Some woes in Pyrrhus wedding are farre woorſe then all the reſt.

Goe to, geue ſentenſe on the mayde, pronounce her deſtenye:

Delude no lenger our miſhaps, we are preparde to dye.

HEL. Would god thexpounder of the gods would geue his dome ſo right:

That I alſo on poynt of ſworde myght leeſe the lothſome light.

Or at Actulles tombe, with ſtroke of Pyrrhus hand be ſlayne:

And beare a part of all thy fates O wretched Polyxeyne.

Whom yet Achilles wooth to wed, and where his aſſhes lie,

Requireth that thy blood be ſhed, and at his tombe to die.

AN. Beholde loe, how her noble minde of death doth gladly heare,

She decks her ſelfe: her regall weede, in ſemely wiſe to weare.

And to her hed ſhe ſettes her hande, the broyded heare to lay,

To wed ſhe thought it death: to dye, ſhe thinkes a wedding day.

But helpe, alas, my mother ſowndes, to heare her daughters death,

Ariſe: plucke vp your hart and take, againe the panting breath.

Black good mother how ſlender ſtay, that doth thy life ſuſtaine?

A little thing ſhall happye thee. thou arte almoſt paſt thy payne.

Her brethe returnes: ſhe doth reuiue, her limmes their life do take.

So ſe when wretches faine would die, how death doth them forſake.

HEC. Doth yet Achilles liue alas, to worke the Troians ſpight?

Doth he rebell agaynſt vs yet? O hande of Parys light.

The very tombe and aſſhes loe, yet thirſteth for our blood.

A happy heape of childern late, on euery ſide me ſtood.

It weried me to deale the mothers kiſſe among them all

The reſt are loſt and this alone, now doth me mother call.

Thou only childe of Hecuba, a comfort left to mee,

A ſtayer of my ſory ſtate, and ſhall I now leeſe thee?

Departe O wretched ſoule, and from this carefull carcas flye,

And caſe me of ſuch ruthfull fates, to ſe my daughter dye.

My weping wettes, alas my eyes, and ſtaines them ouer all,

And down my cheekes the ſodein ſtreames and ſhowres of teares do fall.

But thou dere doughter mayſt be gladde Caſſandra woulde reioyce,

Or Hectors wife thus wed to bee if they might haue theyr choyce.

AN. We are the wretchis Hecuba in curſed caſe we ſtande,

Whom ſtrayght the ſhippe ſhall toſſe by ſeas into a foreine lande.

But as for Heleyns grieues be gone and turned to the beſt,

She ſhall agayne her natiue contrey ſee: and liue at reſt.

HELE. Ye woulde the more enuy my ſtate if ye might knowe your owne,

AN. And grouthe there yet more griefe to me that erſte I haue not knowne?

HELE. Such maiſters muſt ye ſerue as doth by chaunce of lotts befall

ANDR. Whoſe ſeruant am I then become whome ſhall I maiſter call?

HELE. By lotte ye fall to Pyrrhus hands you are hys pryſoner.

ANDR. Caſſandra is happye: fury ſaues perhaps and Phebus her.

HELE. Theſe king of Greekes Caſſandra keepes and hys captiue is ſhee

HEC. Is any one among them all that pryſoner woulde haue me?

HELE. You chaunſed to Ulyſſes are hys pray ye are become.

HEC. Alas what cruell, dyre and yrefull dealer of the dome.

What god vniuſt doth ſo deuide, the captiues to their lordes?

What greuous arbiter is he? that to ſuch choyſe accordes.

What cruell hand to wretched folke, ſo euill fates hath caſte?

Who hath among Achilles armour, Hectors mother plaſte?

Now am I captiue and beſet, with all calamitee.

My bondage greeues me not, but him to ſerue it ſhameth mee.

He that Achilles ſpoyles hath woon, ſhall Hectors alſo haue:

Shall barraine lande encloſde with ſeas, receyue my boanes in graue?

Leade me Ulyſſes where thou wilt, leade me, I make no ſtay,

My maiſter I, and me my fates, ſhall follow euery way.

Let neuer calme come to the ſeas, but let them rage with winde,

Come fire and ſword, myne own miſchaūce and Priames let me finde.

In meane time haps this deepe diſtres my cares can know no calme:

I ran the race with Priamus but he hath woon the Palme.

But Pyrthus comes with ſwiftened pace and thretning browes doth wreſt.

What ſtayeſt thou Pyrthus? ſtrike thy ſworde now through this wofull breſt.

And both at ones the parents of thy fathers wyfe now ſlay,

Murderer of age, lykes thee her blood? he drawth my daughter awaye.

Defile the gods and ſtaine the ſprightes of hell with ſlaughtred blood,

To aſke your mercye what auayles? our praiers do no good.

The vengeance aſke I on your ſhips, that it the gods may pleas,

According to this ſacrifice. to guide you on the ſeas.

This wiſhe I to your thouſand ſayles, Gods wrath light on them all,

Euen to the ſhip that beareth me, what euer may befall.

Chorus.

A Comfort is to mans calamitie

A dolefull flocke of felowes in diſtres.

And ſwete to him that morurnes in miſerie

To heare them wayle whom ſorowes like oppres

In depeſt care his griefe him bytes the les,

That his eſtate bewailes not all alone,

But ſeeth with him the teares of many one.

For ſtill it is the chefe delight in woe,

And ioy of them that ſonke in ſorowes are,

To ſee lyke fates byfall to many moe,

That may take parte of all their wofull fare.

And not alone to be oppreſt with care.

Ther is no wight: of woe that doth complayne,

When al the reſt do like miſchaunce ſuſtaine.

In all this world if happy man were none,

None (though he were) would thinke hymſelf a wretche,

Let once the rytche with heapes of gold be gone,

whoſe hundred hed his paſtours ouerretche,

Then would the poore mans hart begyn to ſtretche

There is no wretche whoſe lyfe him doth diſpleaſe

But in reſpect of thoſe that liue at eaſe.

Swete is to hym that ſtandes in depe diſtres,

To ſee no man in ioyfull plight to be,

Whoſe only veſſell, wynd and waue oppres,

Full ſore hys chaunce bewayles and wepeth he,

That with his owne none others wracke doth ſe

When he alone makthe ſhipwrak on the ſande

And naked falles to long deſyred lande.

A thouſand ſayle who ſeeth to drenche in ſeas

with better will the ſtorme hath ouerpaſt

His heauy hap doth him the leſſe diſpleaſe,

When broken boardes abrode be many caſt

And ſhypwrackt ſhyppes to ſhore they flit full faſt,

With doubled waues when ſtopped is the flood,

With heape of them that there haue loſt theyr good.

Full ſore dyd Phryxus Hellens loſſe complayne,

What tyme the leader of hys flocke of ſhepe,

Upon hys backe alone he bare them twayne,

And wet hys golden lockes amyd the depe.

In piteous playnt alas he gan to wepe

The death of her it dyd hym depe diſpleaſe,

That ſhypwrak made amyd the drenchyng ſeas.

And piteous was the playnt and heauy moode

Of wofull Pyrrha and eke Deucalion,

That nought behelde about them but the floode,

When they of all mankynde were left alone

Amyd the ſeas full ſore they made theyr mone

To ſee themſelues thus left alyue in woe

When neyther land they ſaw nor fellowes moe.

A non theſe playnts, and Troianes teares ſhall quaile,

And here and there the ſhyppe them toſſe by ſeas

When trompets ſounde ſhall warne to hoyſe vp ſayle

And through the waues with wynd to ſeke theyr wayes:

Then ſhall theſe captiues goe to ende theyr dayes

In land vnknowne: when once with haſty ore

The drenching depe they take and ſhonne the ſhore.

What ſtate of mynde ſhall then in wretches be,

When ſhore ſhall ſynke from ſyght and ſeas aryſe?

When Idey hyll to lurke aloofe they ſee?

Then poynt with hand from farre where Troia lyſe,

Shall chyld and mother: talking in thys wyſe:

Loe yonder Troye, where ſmoke it fumeth hye,

By this the Troianes, ſhall theyr countrey ſpye.

The fifth acte.

Meſſenger. Andromacha. Hecuba.

ODyre fierce, wretched, horrible, o cruel fates accuſte,

Of Mars hys ten yeres bloodſhed blowes. the wofulſt and the wurſte.

Alas which ſhould I fyrſt bewayle? thy cares Andromacha?

Or els lament the wretched age of wofull Hecuba?

HEC What euer mans calamyties ye wayle, for myne it is

I beare the ſmart of all theyr woes, eche other feeles but hys.

Who euer be, I am the wretche all happes to me at laſt.

MES. Slaine is the mayde, and from the walles of Troy: the childe is caſt

But bothe, (as them became) they toke theyr deathe, with ſtomack ſtout.

ANDR. Declare the double ſlaughters then, and tell the whole throughout.

MES. One towre of all the reſt ye knowe, doth yet in Troy remayne.

Where Pryam wonted was to ſit, and vewe the armyes twayne.

Hys little Nephew eke with hym to leade and from a farre,

Hys fathers fightes with fyre and ſwoorde to ſhowe, and feates of warre.

This towre, ſomtyme well knowne by fame, and Troians honor moſte,

Is now with Captaynes of the Greekes, beſet on euery coaſte.

With ſwifte recourſe and from the ſhippes, in cluſtred heapes anone,

Bothe tagge and ragge, they ronne to gaſe, what thyng ſhoulde there be done.

Some clyme the hilles, to ſeeke a place, where they might ſee it beſt,

Some on the rockes a tiptoe ſtande, to ouerlooke the reſt.

Some on theyr temples weare the Pyne, ſome beeche, ſome crownes of baye,

For garlandes torne is euery tree, that ſtandeth in theyr waye.

Some from the higheſt mowntaynes top, aloofe beholdeth all

Some ſcale the buyldings halfe yburnte, and ſome the ruynous wall

Ye ſome there weare (o miſchiefe loe) that for the more deſpyght,

The tombe of Hector ſitts vpon, beholders of the ſight.

With pryncely pace Ulyſſes then, paſt through the preaſyd bande

Of Greekes, kyng Pryames little Nephew, leadyng by the hande.

The chylde with vnrepining gate paſt through hys enmyes handes,

Up toward the walles, and as anone in turretts top he ſtandes,

From thence adowne, hys loftye lookes he caſt on euery parte,

The neerer death more free from care he ſeemde, and feare of harte.

Amyd hys foes, hys ſtomake ſwelles, and fierce he was to ſyght,

Like Tygers whelpe, that threats in vaine with toothleſſe chap to byght,

Alas, for pittye them eche one, rew on hys tender yeares,

And all the rowte that preſent were, for him they ſhed theyr teares.

Yea not Ulyſſes them reſtraynde, but tricklyng downe they fall,

And onely he, wept not, (poore foole,) whome they bewayled all.

But whyle on Gods Ulyſſes callde, and Calchas woords expounde,

In midſte of Pryames land alas, the childe leapte downe to grounde.

AN. What crewell Colchus coulde or ſcythe ſuch ſlaughter take in hande?

Or by the ſhore of Caſpyan ſea, what barbarous lawles lande?

Buſyrides to thaulters yet, no infantes bloode hath ſhed:

Nor neuer yet were children ſlayne, for feaſte of Dyomed.

Who ſhall alas in tombe thee laye, or hyde thy limmes againe?

MES. What lymmes frō ſuch a hedlong fall, coulde in a chylde remayne?

Hys bodyes payſe, throwne downe to grounde, hathe battred all hys boanes,

Hys face, hys noble fathers markes, are ſpoylde agaynſt the ſteanes.

Hys necke vnioynted is: hys hed ſo daſhte with flint ſtone ſtroake,

That ſcattred is the brayne aboute, the ſculle is all to broake.

Thus lieth he now diſmembred corps, deformde, and all to rent.

ANDR. Lot herein doth he yet likewiſe, hys father repreſent.

MES. What tyme the chylde, had hedlong falne thus from the walles of Troye,

And all the Greekes them ſelues bewaylde, the ſlaughter of the boye,

Yet ſtreyght returne they backe, and at Achilles tombe agayne

The ſecond miſchiefe goe to woorke, the deathe of Polyxeyne

This tombe the waues of ſurging ſeas, beſet the vtter ſyde,

The other parte the feeldes encloaſe aboute, and paſtours wyde.

In vale enuyroned with hilles, that rounde aboute do ryſe.

A ſloape on heyght erected are the bankes, in theater wyſe.

By all the ſhore then ſwarme the Greekes, and thyck on heapes they preaſe:

Some hoape that by her death, they ſhall theyr ſhippes delay releaſe.

Some other ioye, theyr enmies ſtocke thus beaten downe to bee:

A greate parte of the people, bothe the ſlaughter hate and ſee.

The Troians eke, no leſſe frequent theyr owne calamyties,

And all affrayde, behelde the laſt of all theyr myſeryes.

When fyrſte proceedyd torches bryght as guiſe of wedlock is.

And author therof led the way the lady Tyndaris.

Such wedlocke (pray the Troians then) God ſende Hermyona:

And would god to her huſband ſo, reſtorde wer Helena.

Feare maſde eche parte, but Polyxeyne, her baſhefull looke downe caſt,

And more then erſte her glyttring iyes, and bewty ſhinde at laſt.

As ſweteſt ſemes then Phebus light, when downe his beames do ſway,

When ſtarres againe, with night at hande, oppreſſe the doutfull day.

Aſtonyed much the people were, and all, they her commende

And now much more then euer earſt, they praiſde her, at her ende.

Some with her beauty moued were, ſome with her tender yeares:

Some to beholde the turnes of chaunce, and how eche thing thus weares.

But moſt them moues her valiant mynde, and lofty ſtomake hye,

So ſtrong, ſo ſtout, ſo redy of hart, and well preparde to dye.

Thus paſſe they furth, and bolde, before king Pyrrhus, gothe the mayde.

They pitie her, they meruell her, their hartes were all afrayde.

As ſoone as then, the hard hill top, (where dye ſhe ſhould) they trode,

And hye vppon his fathers tombe, the youthfull Pyrrhus ſtode.

The manly mayde ſhe neuer ſhronke, one foote, nor backwarde drewe

But boldely turnes to meete the ſtroke, with ſtoute vnchanged he we

Her corage moues eche one, and loe a ſtrange thing monſtrouſe lyke,

That Pyrthus euen himſelf ſtoode ſtyll, for dreade, and durſt not ſtryke.

But as he had, his glittering ſworde, in her to hills vp doon,

The purple blood, at mortall wounde, then guſſhing out it ſpoon.

Ne yet her corage her forſooke, when dyeng in that ſtownde,

She fell as therthe ſhould her reuenge, with Ireful rage to grownde.

Eche people wept: the Troians fyrſt, with preuye fearefull crye.

The Grecians eke, eche one bewaylde, her death, apparantly.

This order had the ſacrifice, her blood the tombe vp droonke,

No drop remaynth aboue the grounde, but downe forthwith it ſoonke.

HEC. Now go, now go ye Grekes, & now, repayre yt ſafelie home,

With careles ſhips, and hoyſed ſayles, Now cut the ſallt ſea ſome.

The childe and virgin, both be ſlaine, your battels finyſht are.

Alas where ſhall I end my age? or whether beare my care?

Shall I my dawghter, or my nephew? or my huſband mone?

My contrey els, or all at once? or els my ſelfe alone?

My wiſhe is deathe, that children doth and virgins fierſly takes

Where euer crewell death dothe haſte to ſtryke, it me forſakes.

Amyd the enmies weapons all, amyd bothe ſworde and fyre,

All night ſought for, thou fleeſte from me, that do thee moſte deſyre.

Not flame of fyre, not fall of towre, nor cruell enmyes hande,

Hath ryd my life: how neere alas, coulde death to Pryame ſtande?

MES. Now captiues all, with ſwyft recourſe repayre ye to the ſeayes,

Now ſpreade the ſhips, theyr ſayles abroade, and foorthe they ſeeke theyr wayes.

Finis.

Imprinted at London in Fleteſtrete within Temple barre, at the ſigne of the hand and ſtarre, by Richard Tottyll.

Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum ſolum.