Troas

The Sixth Tragedy of the most grave and prudent author Lucius Anneus Seneca, entitled Troas with diverse and sundry additions to the same. Newly set forth in English by Jasper Heywood student in Oxonford.

Anno domini 1559.

Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum solum.

To the Most High and virtuous princess Elyzabeth by the grace of God Queen of England, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith, her highness most humble and obedient subject Jasper Heywood student in the university of Oxford wisheth health, wealth, honour, & felicity.

If consideration of your grace’s goodness toward us all your loving subjects which flying fame by mouths of men resounds had not fully in me repressed al dread of reprehension (most noble princess and my dread sovereign Lady); if the wisdom that God at these years in your highness hath planted had not seemed to me a strong defence against all bit of shameless arrogance, reproach whereof flung with disdainful words from ireful tongues, as adders stings should strike me; finally if the learning with which God hath endued your majesty had not ben to me a comfortable persuasion of your gracious favour toward the simple gift and duty of a scholar, I would not have incurred so dangerous note of presumption in attempting a subject to his princess, a simple scholar to so excellently learned, a rash young man to so noble a Queen, by none other sign to signify allegiance and duty toward your highness save by writing, when ofttimes is the pen the only accuser in some points of him that therewith doth endite.

But now, to see, most gracious Lady, that thing come to pass which to the honour of him and for the wealth of us God hath ordained, a Princess to reign over us, such one, to whom great freedom is for us to serve, what joy may serve to triumph at that blissful day, or what should we spare with pen to preach abroad that inward gladness of heart that floweth from the breasts of us your most loving subjects? Beseeching God that it may please him to grant your grace long and prosperous governance of the imperial crown of England. Then well understanding how greatly your highness is delighted in the sweet sap of fine and pure writers, I have here presumed to offer unto you such a simple new year’s gift as neither presenteth gold nor pearl, but duty & good will of a scholar, a piece of Seneca translated into English which I the rather enterprise to give to your highness, as well for that I thought it should not be unpleasant for your grace to see some part of so excellent an author in your own tongue (the reading of whom in Latin I understand delights greatly your majesty) as also for that none may be a better judge of my doings herein, then who best understandeth my author, and the authority of your grace’s favour toward this my little work, may be to me a sure defence and shield against the sting of reprehending tongues. Which I most humbly beseeching your highness end with prayer to God to send us long the fruition of so excellent and gracious a Lady.

To the Readers.

Although, gentle reader, thou mayst perhaps think me arrogant, for that I only among so many fine wits, and towardly youth, with which England this day florisheth, have enterprised to set forth in English, this present piece of the flower of all writers Seneca, as who say not fearing, what graver heads might judge of me in attempting so hard a thing, yet upon well pondering what next ensueth, I trust both thy self shalt clear thine own suspicion and thy changed opinion shall judge of me more rightful sentence. For neither have I taken this work first in hand, as once intending it should come to light (of well doing whereof I utterly despaired) and being done but for mine own private exercise. I am in mine opinion herein blameless, though I have (to prove myself) privately taken that part which pleased me best of so excellent an author for better is time spent in the best then other, and at first to attempt the hardest writers shall make a man more prompt to translate the easier with more facility. But now since, by request and friendship of those to whom I could deny nothing, this work against my will extorted is out of my hands, I needs must crave thy patience in reading and facility of judgement when thou shalt apparently see my witless lack of learning, praying thee to consider how hard a thing it is for me to touch at full in all points the authors’ mind, (being in many places very hard and doubtful and the work much corrupt by the default of evil printed books) and also how far above my power to keep that grace and majesty of style that Seneca doth, when both so excellent a writer hath past the reach of all imitation and also this our English tongue (as many think and I here find) is far unable to compare with the Latin. But thou (good reader) if I in any place have swerved from the true sense or not kept that royalty of speech meet for a tragedy, impute the tone to my youth and lack of judgement, that other to my lack of eloquence.

Now as concerning sundry places augmented and some altered in this my translation, first for as much as this work seemed unto me in some places unperfect, whether left so of the author or part of it lost as time devoureth all things I wot not, I have, where I thought good, with addiction of mine own pen supplied the want of some things as the first Chorus, after the first act beginning thus: “O ye to whom &c”. Also in the second act, I have added the speech of Achilles spright, rising from hell to require that sacrifice of Polyxena beginning in this wise: “Forsaking now. &c”. Again, the three last staves of the Chorus after the same act, that as for the third Chorus which in Seneca beginnith thus: “Que vocat sedes?” For as much as nothing is therein but a heaped number of far & strange countries, considering with myself that the names of so many unknown countries’ mountains, deserts, and woods should have no grace in th’ English tong, but be a strange and unpleasant thing to the readers (except I should expound the histories of each one, which would be far too tedious) I have in the place thereof made another beginning in this manner: “O Jove that leadst &c.” which alteration may be borne withal, seeing that the Chorus is no part of the substance of the matter. In that rest I have for my slender learning, endeavoured to keep touch with the Latin, not word for word or verse for verse as to expound it, but neglecting the placing of the words observed their sense.

Take gentle reader this in good worth, with all his faults, favour my first beginnings and amend rather with good will such things as herein are amiss, then to deprave or discommend my labour and pains, for the faults seeing that I have herein but only made way to other that can far better do this or like, desiring them that as they can, so they would.

Fare well gentle reader & accept my good will.

The preface to the tragedy.

The ten years siege of Troy, who list to here

And of th’ affaires that there befell in fight

Read ye the works, that long since written were

Of all th’ assaults and of that latest night

When Turrets tops in Troy they blazed bright

Good clerks they were, that have it written well

As for this work, no word thereof doth tell.

But dares Phrygian well can all report

With Dictys eke of Crete in Greekish tongue

And Homere tells, to Troy the Greeks resort

In scanned verse and Maro  hath it song,

Each one in writ hath penn’d a story long

Who doubts of ought, and casteth care to know

These antique authors shall the story show.

The ruins twain of Troy, the cause of each

The glittering helms, in field the banners spread

Achilles’ ires and Hector’s fights they teach,

There may the jests of many a knight be read:

Patroclus, Pyrrhus, Ajax, Diomed,

With Troilus, Paris, many other more

That day by day there sought in field full sore.

And how the Greeks at end an engine made

A huge horse where many a warlike knight

Enclosed was, the Trojans to invade

With Sinon’s craft when Greeks had fained flight

While close they lay, at Tenedos from sight ,

Or how Eneas else as other say

and false Antenor did the town betray.

But as for me, I nought thereof indite,

Mine author hath not all that story penn’d.

My pen his words in English must recite

Of latest woes that fell on Troy at end,

What final fates the cruel gods could send.

And how the Greeks when Troy was burnt gan wreak

Their ire on Trojans, thereof shall I speak.

Not I with spear who pierced was in field,

Whose throat there cut or head yeorued was,

Ne bloodshed blows that rent both targe and shield

Shall I resight all that I over pass.

The work I wright more woeful is alas,

For I the mothers’ tears must here complain,

And blood of babes that guiltless have been slain.

And such as yet, could never weapon wrest,

But on the lap are wont to dandled be,

Ne yet forgotten had the mothers’ breast,

How Greeks them slew, alas here shall ye se,

To make report thereof, ay woe is me!

My song is mischief, murder misery,

And hereof speaks this doleful tragedy.

Thou fury fell that from thy deep’st den

Could’st cause this wrath of hell on Troy to light,

That workest woe, guide thou my hand and pen

In weeping verse of sobs and sighs to wright,

As doth mine author them bewail aright,

Help woeful Muse, for me beseemeth well

Of others tears with weeping eye to tell.

When batt’red were to ground the towers of Troy

In writ as ancient authors do resight

And Greeks again repaired to seas with joy

Up riseth here from hell Achilles’ spright.

Vengeance he craves with blood his death to quiet,

Whom Paris had in Phebus temple slain

with guile betrapt for love of Polyxena.

And wrath of hell there is none other price

That may asswage but blood of her alone,

Polyxena he craves for sacrifice

With threatening on the Grecians many one

Except they shed her blood before they gone.

The sprights, the hell, and deep’st pitts beneath,

O virgin dear, alas, do thrust thy death.

And Hectors son, Astyanax, alas,

Poor silly fool, his mother’s only joy,

Is judge[d] to die by sentence of Calchas.

Alas the while, to death is led the boy

And tumbled down from turrets tops in Troy.

What ruthful tears may serve to wail the woe

Of Hector’s wife that doth her child forgo?

Her pinching pang of heart who may express

But such as of like woes have borne a part?

Or who bewail her ruthful heaviness

That never yet hath felt thereof the smart?

Full well they wot the woes of heavy heart.

What is to leese  a babe from mothers breast,

They know that are in such a case distrest.

First how the queen laments the fall of Troy.

As hath mine author done, I shall it wright

Next how from Hector’s wife they led the boy

To dye, and her complaints I shall resight,

The Maidens’ death then must I last indite.

Now who that list the Queen’s complaint to hear.

In following verse, it shall forthwith appear.

The speakers in this tragedy.

Hecuba, Queen of Troy.

A company of women.

The spirit of Achilles.

Talthybius, a Grecian.

Agamemnon, King of Greeks.

Calchas.

Pyrrhus.

Chorus.

Andromacha.

An old man Trojan.

Ulysses.

Astyanax.

Helena.

The messenger.

TROAS OF SENECA

[1.1]

Hecuba.

HECUBA

Who so in pomp of proud estate or kingdom sets delight,

Or who that joys in princes court to bear the sway of might

Ne dreads the fates which from above the wavering Gods down flings

But fast affiance fixed hath in frail and fickle things.

Let him in me both see the face of fortunes flatt’ring joy

And eke respect the ruthful end of the, oh ruinous Troy.

For never gave she plainer proof than this ye present see:

How frail and brittle is the state of pride and high degree,

The flower of flowering Asia lo, whose fame the heavens resound,

The worthy work of gods above is battered down to ground.

And whose assaults they fought afar, from west with banners spread

Where Tanais  cold, her branches seven, abroad the world doth shed

With huge host; and from the east, where springs the newest dee,

Where lukewarm Tigris channel runs, and meets the ruddy sea.

And which from wandering land of Scythe the band of widows sought

With fire and sword thus battered be, her turrets down to nought.

The walls but late of high renown lot here their ruinous fall:

The buildings burn and flashing flame sweeps through the palace all.

Thus, every house full high it smokes, of old Assaracks  land

Ne yet the flame withholds from spoil the greedy victor’s hand.

The surging smoke the azure sky and light hath hid away

And, as with cloud beset, Troy’s ashes stains the dusky day.

Through perst with ire and greedy of heart, the victor from afar

Doth view the long-assaulted Troy, the gain of ten years war.

And eke the miseries thereof abhors to look upon.

And though he see it yet scant himself, believes it might be won,

The spoils thereof with greedy hand they snatch and bear away,

A thousand ships would not receive aboard so huge a pray.

The ireful might I do protest of goddess adverse to me,

My country’s dust and Trojan king I call to witness thee

Whom Troy now hides and underneath the stones art overtrode

With all the gods that guide thy ghost, and Troy that lately stood.

And you also, ye flocking ghosts of all my children dear,

Ye lesser sprights, whatever ill hath happ’ned to us here,

Whatever Phebus waterish face in fury hath foresaid

At raging rise from seas, when erst the monsters had him ’fraid.

In childbed bands I saw it yore and wist  it should be so

And I in vain before Cassandra told it long ago.

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

Not yet deceitful Sinon’s craft, that hath been cause of this.

My fire it is wherewith ye burn, and Paris is the brand

That smoketh in thy towers, oh Troy! The flower of Phrygian land.

But ay, alas unhappy age, why dost thou yet so sore

Bewail thy country’s fatal fall? Thou knewest it long before.

Behold thy last calamities and them bewail with tears,

Account as old Troy’s overturn and past by many years.

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

By th’ altar’s side (more mischief was) with stroke of Pyrrhus knife

When in his hand he wound his locks and drew the king to ground,

And hid to hilts his wicked sword in deep and deadly wound

Which when the gored king had took, as willing to be slain,

Out of the olde man’s throat he drew his bloody blade again.

Not pity of his years, alas, in man’s extremest age

From slaughter might his hand withhold, ne yet his ire assuage.

The gods are witness of the same and eke the sacrifice

That in his kingdom holden was, that flat on ground now lies.

The father of so many kings Priam of ancient name

Untomb’d lieth and wants in blaze of Troy his funeral flame.

Ne yet the gods are wreakt, but lo, his sons and daughters all,

Such lords they serve 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 Greeks that Hector’s wife will wed.

Some man desires Helen us spouse some would Antenor’s have,

And in the Greeks there wants not some that would Cassandra crave.

But I alas most woeful wight whom no man seeks to choose,

I am the only refuge left and me they clean refuse.

Ye careful captive company why stints your woeful cry?

Beate on your breasts and piteously complain with voice so high

As meet may be for Troy’s estate, let your complaints rebound

In tops of trees and cause the hills to ring with terrible sound.

[1.2]

The women, Hecuba.

WOMEN

Not folk unapt, nor new to weep, oh Queen,

thou wilst to wail by practise are we taught

For all these years in such case have we been

since first the Troian guest & my class sought

And sailed the seas that led him on his way

with sacred ship to Cybell  dedicate

From whence he brought his unrepining pray,

the cause alas of all this dire debate

Ten times now hid the hills of Ida  be

with snow of silver hew all over laid.

And bared is for Trojan rogues each tree,

ten times in field the harvest man afraid

The spikes of corn hath reapt, since never day

his wailing wants, new cause renews our wo.

Lift up thy hand, oh Queen, cry well away

we follow thee, we are well taught thereto!

HECUBA

Ye faithful fellows of your casualty

Untie that tyre that on your heads ye wear

And as behoveth state of misery

let fall about your woeful necks your hear.

In dust of Troy, rub al your arms about

in slacker weed and let your breasts be tied

Down to your bellies, let your limmes  lie out

for what wedlock should you your bosoms hide?

Your garments loose and have in readiness

your furious hands upon your breasts to knock.

This habit well beseemeth our distress,

it pleaseth me, I know the Trojan flock.

Renew again your long accustomed cries

and more then earst lament your miseries.

We bewail Hector.

WOMEN

Our hear we have untied, now every chawn

All rent for sorrows of our cursed case

our locks out spreads the knots we have undone.

And in these ashes stained is our face.

HECUBA

Fill up your hands & make thereof no spare

for this yet lawful is from Troy to take,

Let down your garments from your shoulders bare

and suffer not your clamour so to slake.

Your naked breasts wait for your hands to smight,

now dolour deep, now sorrow, show thy might.

Make all the coasts that compass Troy about

witness the sound of all your careful cry.

Cause from the caves the Echo to cast out

Rebounding voice of all your misery,

Not, as she wonts , the latter word to sound

But all your woe from far let it rebound.

Let all the seas it here and eke the land

Spare not your breast, with heavy stroke to strike

beat ye yourselves, each one with cruel hand

For yet your wonted cry doth me not like.

We bewail Hector.

WOMEN

Our naked arms thus here we rent for thee

and bloody shoulders, Hector, thus we tear:

Thus with our fists our heads low beaten be

and all for thee, behold we hale  our hair,

Our dugs  alas, with mothers’ hands be torn

and where the flesh is wounded round about,

Which for thy sake, we rent thy death to morn,

the flowing streams of blud, they spring thereout,

Thy countries shore and destinies delay.

and thou to wearied Trojans wast an aide,

A wall thou wast, and on thy shoulders Troy

ten years it stood, on thee alone it stayed.

With thee it fell and fatal day alas

of Hector both and Troy but one there was.

HECUBA

Enough hath Hector, turn your plaint & moan

and shed your tears for Priam every chawn.

WOMEN

Receive our plaints, Oh lord of Phrygian land,

and old twice captive king, receive our tear!

While thou wert king Troy hurtless then could stand

though shaken twice with Grecian sword it were,

And twice did shot of Her’cles quivers bear

at latter loss of Hecuba’s sons all

and rogues for kings that high on piles we rear:

thou father shut it, our latest funeral.

And beaten down to Jove for sacrifice,

like lifeless block in Troy thy carcass lies.

HECUBA

Yet turn ye once your tears another way,

my Priam’s death should not lamented be

O Trojans all, full happy is Priam say,

for free from bondage down descended he

To the lowest ghosts and never shall sustain

his captive neck with Greeks to yoked be.

He never shall behold the Atrids  twain,

nor false Ulisses ever shall he se.

Not he a pray for Greeks to triumph at

his neck shall subject to their conquests bear

Ne give his hands to tie behind his back

that to the rule of sceptres wonted wear.

Nor following Agamemnon’s chair, in band

shall he be pomp to proud Mycena’s land .

WOMEN

Full happy Priam is each one we say

that took with him his kingdom, then that stood

Now safe in shade, he seeks the wand’ring way

and treads the paths of all Elysius’  wood.

And in the blessed spirits, full happy he,

again there seeks to meet with Hector’s ghost,

Happy Priam, happy who so may see

his kingdom all at once with him be lost.

[CHORUS]

Chorus added to the tragedy by the translator.

Oh ye to whom the lord of land and seas

of life and death, hath granted here the power,

Lay down your lofty looks, your pride appease

the crown’d king fleeth not his fatal hour.

Who so thou be that leadst thy land alone

thy life was limit from thy mother’s womb,

Not purple robe, not glorious glitt’ring throne,

Ne crown of gold redeems thee from the tomb.

A king he was, that waiting for the veil

of him that slew the Minotaur in fight

Beguiled with blackness of the wonted sail

in seas him sonk  and of his name they hight .

So he, that will’d to win the golden spoil

and first with ship by seas to seek renown,

In lesser wave at length to death gan boil

and thus the daughters brought their father down,

Whose songs the woods hath drawn & rivers held,

and birds to hear his notes, did theirs forsake,

In peace meal thrown amid the Thracian field

without return hath sought the Stygian lake. 

They sit above, that hold our life in line,

and what we suffer down they fling from high.

No cark , no care, that ever may untwine

the threads that woven are above the sky.

As witnesst he that sometime king of Greece,

had Jason thought in drenching seas to drown

Who ’scaped both death and gain’d the golden fleece,

whom sates advance, there may no power pluck down

The highest god, sometime that Saturne hight

his fall him taught to credit their decries

The rule of heavens, he lost it by their might,

and Jove his son now turns the rolling skies.

Who weneth  here to win eternal wealth,

let him behold, this present perfect proof

And learn the secret step of chances stealth,

most near alas when most it semes aloof.

In slipper joy, let no man put his trust

let none despair that heavy haps hath past.

The sweet with sour she mingleth as she lust

whose doubtful web pretendeth nought to last.

Fraile is the thread that Clotho’s  rock hath spon 

now from the distaff drawn, now knapt in twain

With all the world, at length his end he won

whose works have wrought his name should great remain

And he, whose travels twelve his name display,

that feared nought the force of worldly hurt,

In fine alas hath found his fatal day

and dyed with smart of Deianira’s shirt. 

If prowess might eternity procure,

then Priam yet should live in liking lust.

By portly pomp of pride, thou art unsure

to learn by him, oh kings ye are but dust.

And Hecuba that waileth now in care,

that was so late of high estate a Queen

A mirror is, to teach you what you are

your wavering wealth, oh princes, here is seen.

Whom dawn of day hath seen in high estate

before sunset, alas, hath had his fall.

The cradle’s rock appoints the life his date

from settled joy to sudden funeral.

[2.1]

The spirit of Achilles added to the tragedy by the translator.

[SPIRIT OF ACHILLES]

Forsaking now the places tenebrous

and deep dens of th’infernal region

from all the shadows of Elysius,

That wander there the paths full many one.

Lo, here am I returned all alone,

The same Achill whose fierce and heavy hand

Of all the world no wight might yet withstand.

What man so stout of all the Grecians host

That hath not sometime craved Achilles’ aide,

And in the Trojans, who of prowess most

That hath not feared to see my banners ’splaied.

Achilles lo, hath made them all afraid,

And in the Greeks hath been a pillar post

That sturdy stode  against the Trojan host.

Where I have lack’d, the Grecians went to wrack

Troy hath proud what Achilles’ sword could do,

Where I have come, the Trojans fled aback

Retiring fast from field their walls unto,

No man that might Achilles stroke fordo,

I delt such stripes amid the Trojan route

That with their blood, I stain’d the fields about.

Mighty Memnon that with his Persian band

Would Priam’s part with all his might maintain

Lo now he lithe and knoweth Achilles hand,

Amid the field is Troylus also slain,

Ye Hector great, whom Troy accounted plain,

The flower of chivalry that might be found,

All of Achilles had their mortal wound.

But Paris lo, such was his false deceit,

Pretending marriage of Polyxena,

Behind the altar lay for me in wait,

Where I unawares have falne  into the train,

And in Appollo’s church he hath me slain

Whereof the hell will now just vengeance have,

And here again I come my right to crave.

The deep Averne  my rage may not sustain,

Nor bear the angers of Achilles spright ,

From Acheront , I rent the soil in twain

And through the ground I grate again to sight,

Hell could not hide Achilles from the light,

Vengeance and blood doth Orcus  pit require,

To quench the furies of Achilles’ ire.

The hateful land, that worse than Tartare  is

And burning thrust exceeds of Tantalus,

I here behold again, and Troy is this,

Oh, travel worse than stone of Sisyphus,

And pains that pass the pangs of Tityus,

To light more loathsome fury hath me sent

Than hooked wheel that actions flesh doth rent.

Rememb’red is alow where spirits do dwell

The wicked slaughter wrought by wily way,

Not yet revenged hath the deep’st hell

Achilles’ blood on them that did him slay,

But now of vengeance comes the ireful day

And darkest dens of Tartare from beneath

Conspire the fates of them that wrought thy death.

Now mischief, murder, wrath of hell drawth near

And dire Phlegethon  flood doth blood require.

Achilles’ death shall be revenged here

With slaughter such as Stygian lakes desire

Her daughters’ blood shall slake the spirits ire,

Whose son we slew, whereof doth yet remain

The wrath beneath and hell shall be their pain.

From burning lakes the furies wrath I threat,

And fear that nought but streams of blood may slake

The rage of wind and seas these ships shall beat,

And Ditis  deep on you shall vengeance take

The spirits cry out, the earth and seas do quake

The pool of Styx, ungrateful Greeks it seath,

With slaught’red blood revenge Achilles’ death.

The soil doth shake to bear my heavy foot

And fearth again the sceptres of my hand,

The poles with stroke of thunderclap ring out,

The doubtful stars amid their course do stand,

And fearful Phebus hides his blazing brand.

The trembling lakes against their course do slite ,

For dread and terror of Achilles sprite.

Great is the ransom ought of due to me,

Wherewith that must the sprites and hell appease,

Polyxena shall sacrificed be

Upon my tomb, their ireful wrath to please,

And with her blood ye shall assuage the seas,

Your ships may not return to Greece again

Till on my tomb Polyxena be slain.

And for that she should then have been my wife,

I will that Pyrrhus render her to me

And in such solemn sort bereave her life

As ye are wont the weddings for to see,

So shall the wrath of hell appeased be,

Nought else but this may satisfy our ire,

Her will I have and her I you require.

[2.2]

Talthybius, Chorus.

[TALTHYBIUS]

Alas how long the lingering Greeks in haven do make delay,

When either war by seas they seek or home to pass their way.

CHORUS

Why show what cause doth hold your ships and Grecian navy stays

Declare if any of the gods have stopt your homeward ways.

TALTHYBIUS

My mind is ’mas’d, my trembling sinews quake and are afraid,

For stranger news of truth than these I think were never heard.

Lo I myself have plainly seen in dawning of the day,

When Phebus first gan to approach and drive the stars away,

The earth all shaken suddenly and from the hollow ground,

My thought I heard with roaring cry a deep and dreadful sound

That shook the woods and all the trees ronge  out with thunder stroke,

From Ida hills down fell the stones, the mountain tops were broke,

And not the earth hath only quak’d but all the sea likewise,

Achilles presence felt and knew and high the surges rise.

The cloven ground Erebus pits then showed, and deepest dens

That down to gods that guide beneath, the way appeared from hence,

Then shook the tomb from whence anon in flame of fiery light

Appeared from the hollow caves Achilles’ noble spright,

As wonted he his Thracian arms and banners to disploy ,

And weld his weighty weapons well against th’ assaults of Troy,

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

Amid the hosts and easily could I know that this was he.

With carcass slain in furious fight that stopt and fill’d each flood

And who by slaughter of his hand made Xanthos  run with blood,

As when in chariot high he sat with lofty stomach stout

While Hector both and Troy at once he drew the walls about.

Aloud he cried and every coast range with Achilles’ sound

And thus with hollow voice he spake, from bottom of the ground:

“The Greeks shall not with little price, redeem Achilles’ ire,

A princely ransom must they give, for so the fates require.

Unto my ashes Polyxena spoused shall here be slain,

By Pyrrhus’ hand, and all my tomb her blood shall overstain”.

This said, he straight sank down again, to Pluto’s deep region ,

The earth then closed the hollow caves were vanished and gone

Therewith the weather waxed clear, the raging winds did slake,

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

[2.3]

Pyrrhus, Agamemnon, Calchas.

What time our sails we should have spread upon Aegean seas

With swift return from long delay to seek our homeward ways.

Achilles rose whose only hand hath given Greeks the spoil

Of Troia  sore annoy’d by him and levell’d with the soil

With speed requiting his abode and former long delay

At Scyros ile  and Lesbos both amid the Egeon sea,

Till he came here in doubt it stood of fall or sure estate,

Then though ye hast to grant his will, ye shall it give too late.

Now have the other captains all the price of their manhood,

What less reward for his prowess than her all only blood?

Are his deserts think you but light that when he might have fled

And passing Pelyus years in peace, a quiet life have led,

Detected yet his mother’s crafts, forsook his woman’s weed

And with his weapons proved himself, a manly man indeed?

The king of Mysia, Telephus  that would the Greeks withstand

Coming to Troy forbidding us the passage of his land,

Too late repenting to have felt Achilles’ heavy stroke,

Was glad to crave his health again where he his hurt had took.

For when his sore might not be salved as told Appollo plain,

Except the spear that gave the hurt restored help again,

Achilles’ plasters cured his cuts and saved the king alive,

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

When Thebes fell Eetion  saw it and might it not withstand,

The captive king could nought redress the ruin of his land.

Lyrnessus  little likewise felt his hand and down it fill,

With ruin overturned like from top of haughty hill.

And taken Briseis  land it is and prisoner is she caught.

The cause of strife between the kings is Chryseis  come to naught.

Tenedos ile well known by fame and fertile soil he took

That fostereth fat the Thracian flocks and sacred Cilla shook.

What boots to blase the brute of him whom trompe of fame doth show

Through all the coasts where Cayicus flood with swelling stream doth flow?

The ruthful ruin of these realms so many towns bet down,

Another man would glory count and worthy great renown.

But thus my father made his ways and these his journeys are

And battles many one he sought while war he doth prepare,

As whisht I may his merits more shall yet not this remain

Wellknown and counted praise enough that he hath Hector slain?

During whose life the Grecians all might never take the town,

My father only vanquisht Troy and you have pluckt it down.

Rejoyce I may my parents praise and brute abroad his acts

It seamth the son to follow well his noble fathers facts.

In sight of Priam, Hector slain and Memnon both they lay,

With heavy cheer his parents wailed to mourn his dying day,

Himself abhorred his handy work in sight that had them slain,

The sons of gods Achilles knew were born to die again.

The woman Queen of Amazons that greened the Greeks’ full sore

Is turned to flight, then ceast out fear, we dread their bows no more.

If ye wail way his worthiness Achilles ought to have

Though he from Argos or Mycenas would a virgin crave.

Doubt ye herein? Allow ye not that straight his will be doon 

And count ye crewel Priam’s blood to give to Peleus soon?

For Helen’s sake your own child’s blood appeased Diana’s ire ,

A wonted thing and done ere this it is that I require.

AGAMENNON

The only fault of youth it is not to refrain his rage,

The fathers blood already stirs in Pyrrhus wanton age.

Sometimes Achilles grievous checks I bare with patient heart,

The more thou mayst the more thou oughtst to suffer in good part.

Whereto would ye with slaughtered blood a noble spirit slain?

Think what is meet the Greeks to do and Trojans to sustain.

The proud estate of tyranny may never long endure

The king that rules with modest mean of safety may be sure.

The higher step of princely state that fortune hath us signed

The more beholthe a happy man humility of mind,

And dread the change that chance may bring whose gifts so soon be lost,

And chiefly then to fear the gods, while they the favour most

In beating down that war hath won, by proof I have been taught

What pomp and pride, in twink of eye, may fall and come to naught.

Troy made me fierce and proud of mind, Troy makes me ’fraid with all:

The Greeks now stand where Troy late fell, each thing may have his fall.

Sometime I grant I did myself, and sceptres proudly bear,

The thing that might advance my heart makes me the more to fear.

Thou Priam perfect proof presentst, thou art to me eftsoons:

A cause of pride, a glass of fear, a mirror for the nones.

Should I account, the sceptres ought, but glorious vanity?

Muche like the borrowed braided here, the face to beautify.

One sudden chance may turn to naught and maim the might of men

With fewer than a thousand ships, and years in les than ten.

Not she that guides the slipper wheel of fate doth so delay,

That she to all possession grants of ten years settled stay.

With leave of Greece I will confess, I would have won the town

But not with ruin thus extreme to see it beaten down.

But lo the battle made by night and rage of fervent mind

Could not abide the bridling bit that reason had assigned.

The happy sword once stained with blood unsatiable is,

And in the dark the fervent rage doth strike the more amiss.

Now are we wreakt on Troy, to much let all that may remain:

A virgin borne of princes’ blood for off’ring to be slain

And given be to stain the tomb and ashes of the dead,

And under name of wedlock see the guiltless blood be shed

I will not grant for mine should bee thereof both faut and blame

Who, when he may, forbiddeth not offence, doth will the same.

PYRRHUS

And shall his sprites have no reward, their angers to appease?

AGAMENNON

Yes very great, for all the world shall celebrate his praise

And lands unknown that never saw the man so praised by fame,

Shall heare and keep for many years the glory of his name.

If bloodshed veil his ashes ought strike of an ox’s head,

And let no blood that may be cause of mothers tears be shed.

What furious frenzy may this be that doth your will so lead,

This earnest careful suit to make in travel for the dead?

Let not such envy toward your father in your heart remain

That for his sacrifice ye would procure another’s pain.

PYRRHUS

Proud tyrant while prosperity thy stomach doth advance

And cowardly wretch that shrinks for fear in case of fearful chance,

Is yet again thy breast enflamed with brand of Venus might?

Wilt thou alone so oft deprive Achilles of his right?

This hand shall give the sacrifice the which if thou withstand,

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

And now to long from princes slaughter doth my hand abide,

And meet it were that Polyxena were laid by Priam’s side.

AGAMENNON

I nought deny but Pyrrhus chief renown in war is this,

That Priam slain with cruel sword to your father humbled is.

PYRRHUS

My father’s foes we have them known submit themselves humbly,

And Priam presently ye wot, was glad to crave mercy,

But thou for fear not stout to rule, liest close from foes upshit 

While thou to Ajax and Ulysses doost thy will commit.

AGAMENNON

But needs I must and will confess your father did not fear

When burnt our fleet with Hector’s brands and Greeks they slaughtered were,

While loitering then aloof he lay, unmindful of the fight,

Instead of arms with scratch of quill, his sounding harp to smight.

PYRRHUS

Great Hector then despising thee Achilles’ songs did fear

And Thessale ships in greatest dread in quiet peace yet were.

AGAMENNON

For why aloof the Thessale fleet they lay from Trojans hands,

And well your father might have rest, he felt not Hectors brands.

PYRRHUS

Well seems a noble king to give another king relief

AGAMENNON

Why hast thou then a worthy king bereaved of his life?

PYRRHUS

A point of mercy sometime is what lives in care to kill.

AGAMENNON

But now your mercy moveth you a virgin’s death to will.

PYRRHUS

Account ye cruel now her death whose sacrifice I crave.

Your own dear daughter once ye know yourself to th’altars gave.

AGAMENNON

Nought else could save the Greeks from seas but th’only blood of her,

A king before his children ought his country to prefer.

PYRRHUS

The law doth spare no captives’ blood nor wilth their death to stay.

AGAMENNON

That which the law doth not forbid, yet shame doth oft say nay.

PYRRHUS

The conqueror what thing he list may lawfully fulfil.

AGAMENNON

So much the less he ought to list that may do what he will.

PYRRHUS

Thus boast ye these as though in all ye only dare the stroke

When Pyrrhus loosed hath the Greeks from bond of ten years yoke.

AGAMENNON

Hath Scyros ile such stomachs bred?

PYRRHUS               No brethrens wrath it knows.

AGAMENNON

Beset about it is with wave.

PYRRHUS          The seas it do enclose,

Thyestes noble stock I know and Atreus eke full well,

And of the bretherns dire debate perpetual fame doth tell.

AGAMENNON

And thou a bastard of a maid deflower’d prively

Whom, then a boy, Achilles gate in filthy lechery.

PYRRHUS

The same Achill that doth possess the reign of gods above

With Thetys seas, with Cacus  sprites, the starred heaven with Jove.

AGAMENNON

The same Achilles that was stain by stroke of Paris hand

PYRRHUS

The same Achilles, whom no god, durst ever yet withstand

AGAMENNON

The stoutest man I rather would his cheeks he should refrain

I could them tame but all your brags I can full well sustain.

For even the captives spares my sword, let Calchas called be

If destinies require her blood, I will thereto agree.

Calchas whose counsel ruled our ships and navy hither brought,

Unlokst the pole and hast by art the secrets thereof sought.

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

And blazing star with flaming train betokeneth what shall hap,

Whose words with dearest price I bought, now tell us by what mean

The will of Gods agreeth that we return to Greece again.

CALCHAS

The fates appoint the Greeks to buy their ways with wonted price.

And with what cost ye came to Troy, ye shall repair to Greece

With blood ye came, with blood ye must, from hence return again,

And where Achilles’ ashes lieth, the virgin shall be slain,

In seemly sort of habit such as maidens wont ye see

Of Thessaly or Mycenas else what time they wedded be

With Pyrrhus hand she shall be slain, of right it shall be so,

And meet it is, that he the son, his father’s right should do.

But not this only stayeth our ships, our sails may not be spread

Before a worthier blood then thine, Polyxena, be shed

Which thirst the fates, for Priam’s nephew, Hector’s little boy

The Greeks shall tumble headlong down, from highest tower in Troy.

Let him there die, this only way ye shall the gods appease,

Then spread your thousand sails with joy, ye need not fear the seas.

CHORUS

May this be true or doth the fable fain,

When corps is dead the spirit to live as yet?

When death our ties with heavy hand doth strain

And fatal day our leams  of light hath shed,

And in the tomb our ashes once be set

Hath not the soul likewise his funeral,

But still alas do wretchs live in thrall?

Or else doth all at once together die?

And may no part his fatal hour delay

But with the breath the soul from hence doth fly?

Amid the clouds to vanish quite away

As danky shade fleeth from the pole by day?

And may no jot escape from destiny

When once the brand hath burned the body?

Whatever then the rise of sun may see

And what the west that sets the sun doth know

In all Neptunus’ reign whatever be,

That restless seas do wash and overflow

with purple waves still tumbling to and fro.

Age shall consume each thing, that light shall die

With swifter race than Pegasus doth fly

And with what whirl the twice six signs do fly,

With course as swift as rector of the spheres

Doth guide those glistering globes eternally,

And Hecate her changed horns repairs,

So draught on death, and life of each thing wears

And never may the man return to sight

That once hath felt the stroke of Parcae’s might.

For as the fume that from the fire doth pass

With turn of hand doth vanish out of sight

And swifter than the northern Boreas 

With whirling blast and storm of raging might,

Drivthe far away and puts the clouds to flight,

So fleeth the spright that rules our life away

And nothing taryeth after dying day.

Swift is the race wee run at hand the mark,

Lay down your hope that weight here ought to win,

And who dreads ought, cast of thy careful cark,

Wilt thou it wot what state thou shalt be in

When dead thou art as thou hadst never been?

For greedy time it doth devour us all,

The world it sways to Chaos heap to fall.

Death hurts the corps and spareth not the spright,

And as for all the dens of Tenar  deep

With Cerberus’ kingdom dark that knows no light

And straightest gates that he there sits to keep,

They fant’sies are that follow folk by sleep,

Such rumours vain, but feigned lies they are

And fables like the dreams in heavy care.

These three staves following are added by the translator.

Oh dreadful day, alas the sorry time,

Is come of all the mothers ruthful woe,

Astyanax alas thy fatal line

Of life is worn, to death straight shalt thou go,

The sisters have decreed that should be so,

There may no force alas escape their hand,

The mighty Jove their will may not withstand

To see the mother her tender child forsake

What gentle heart that may from tears refrain,

Or who so fierce that would not pity take,

To see alas the guiltless infant slain.

For sorry heart the tears mine eyes do stain,

To think what sorrow shall her heart oppress

Her little child to lease remediless,

The double cares of Hectors wife to wail,

Good Ladies have your tears in readiness

And you with whom should pity most prevail.

Rue on her grief, bewail her heaviness

With sobbing heart, lament her deep distress

When she with tears shall take leave of her son,

And now good ladies hear what shall be done.

[3.1]

Andromacha, Senex, Ulysses.

[ANDROMACHA]

Alas ye careful company why hale ye thus your hairs?

Why beat you so your boiling breast and stain your eyes with tears?

The fall of Troy is new to you but unto me not so,

I have foreseen this careful case ere this time long ago

When fierce Achilles Hector slew and drew the corpse about

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

In sorrows sonk  I senseless am and wrapt alas in woe,

But soon except this babe me held, to Hector would I go.

This silly soul my stomach tames amid my misery,

And in the hour of heaviest haps permits me not to die,

This only cause constrainth me yet the gods for him to pray,

With trackt of time prolongs my pain, delays my dying day.

He takes from me the lack of fear, the only fruit of ill.

For while he lives, yet have I left whereof to fear me still

No place is left for better chance, with worse we are opprest

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

SENEX

What sudden fear thus moves your mind, and vexeth you so sore?

ANDROMACHA

Still still alas of one mishap there riseth more and more,

Not yet the doleful destinies of Troy become to end

SENEX

And what more grievous chances yet prepare the gods to send?

ANDROMACHA

The caves and dens of hell be rent for Trojans’ greater fear

And from the bottoms of their tombs the hidden sprights appear.

May none but Greeks alone from hell return to life again?

Would God the fates would finish soon the sorrows I sustain,

Death thankful were a common care the Trojans all oppress,

But me alas amaseth most the fearful heaviness.

That all astonied am for dread and horror of the sight

That in my sleep appeared to me by dream this latter night.

SENEX

Declare what sights your dream hath showed and tell what doth you fear.

ANDROMACHA

Two parts of all the silent night almost then passed were,

And then the clear seven clust’red beams of stars were fallen to rest,

And first the sleep so long unknown my wearied eyes opprest.

If this be sleep the astonied maze of mind in heavy mood,

When suddenly before mine eyes the spright of Hector stood.

Not like as he the Greeks was wont to battle to require

Or when amid the Grecians ships he threw the brands of fire.

Nor such as raging on the Greeks with slaughtering stroke had slain

And bare indeed the spoils of him that did Achilles fain.

His countenance not now so bright nor of so lively cheer,

But sad and heavy like to ours and clad with ugly hair.

It did me good to see him though when shaking then his head:

“Shake off thy sleep in haste” he said, “and quickly leave thy bed,

Convey into some secret place our son, oh faithful wife,

This only hope there is of help, find mean to save his life!

Leave off thy piteous tears” he said, “dost thou yet wail for Troy?

Would god it lay on ground full flat, so ye might save the boy.

Up stir” he said “thy self in haste, convey him privately,

Save if ye may the tender blood of Hectors progeny!”

Then straight in trembling fear I wakte, and ruled mine eyes about

Forgetting long my child, poor wretch, and after Hector sought.

But straight alas, I wist not how the spright away did pass

And me forsook before I could my husband once embrace.

Oh child, oh noble father’s brood, and Trojans only joy,

Oh worthy seed of th’ancient blood and beaten house of Troy.

Oh image of thy father lo, thou lively bearst his face,

This countenance, lo my Hector had and even such was his pace,

The pitch of all his body such, his hands thus would he bear.

His shoulders high, his threatening brows, even such as thine they were.

Oh son, begot too late for Troy but born too soon for me,

Shall ever time yet come again and happy day may be,

That thou mayst once revenge, and build again the towers of Troy

And to the town and Trojans both restore their name with joy?

But why do I, forgetting state of present destiny.

So great things wish? Enough for captives is to live only.

Alas what privy place is left my little child to hide?

What seat so secret may be found where thou mayst safely bide?

The tower that with the walls of Gods so valiant was of might,

Through all the world so notable so flourishing to sight,

Is turned to dust and fire hath all consumed that was in Troy,

Of all the town not so much now is left to hide the boy.

What place were best to choose for guile the holly tomb is here

That th’en’mies’ sword will spare to spoil where lieth my husband dear.

Which costly work his father built, king Priam liberal,

And it up raised with charges great for Hector’s funeral.

Herein the bones and ashes both of Hector low they lie,

Best is that I commit the son to his father’s custody.

A cold and fearful sweat doth run throughout my members all,

Alas I careful wretch do fear, what chance may thee befall.

SENEX

Hide him away: this only way hath saved many more,

To make the enemies to believe that they were dead before.

He will be sought, scant any hope remaineth of safeness,

The praise of his nobility doth him so sore oppress.

ANDROMACHA

What way were best to work that none our doings might bewray?

SENEX

Let none bear witness what ye do, remove them all away.

ANDROMACHA

What if the enemies ask me where Astianax doth remain?

SENEX

Then shall ye boldly answer make that he in Troy was slain.

ANDROMACHA

What shall it help to have him hid? At length they will him find.

SENEX

At first the enemies’ rage is fierce, delay doth slake his mind.

ANDROMACHA

But what prevails, since free from fear we can him never hide?

SENEX

Let yet the wretch take his defence more careless there to bide.

ANDROMACHA

What land unknown out of the way, what unfrequented place

May keep thee safe? Who aids our fear? Who shall defend our case?

Hector! Hector! That evermore thy friends didst well defend

Now chiefly aid thy wife and child and us some succour send.

Take charge to keep and cover close the treasures of thy wife

And in thy ashes hide thy son, preserve in tomb his life.

Draw near my child, unto the tomb, why fliest thou backward so?

Thou takest great scorn to lurk in dens, thy noble heart I know.

I see thou art ashamed to fear shake of thy princely mind,

And bear thy breast as thee behoves as chance hath thee assigned.

Behold our case and see what flock remaineth now of Troy

The tomb: I woeful captive wretch and thou a silly boy.

But yield we must to sorry fates thy chance must break thy breast,

Go to: creep underneath thy father’s holy seats to rest.

I fought the fates, may wretchs help thou hast thy safeguard there.

If not, already then poor fool thou hast thy sepulchre.

SENEX

The tomb him closely hides but least your fear should him betray,

Let him here lie, and far from hence go ye some other way.

ANDROMACHA

The less he fears that fears at hand and yet if need be so,

If ye think meet a little hens for safety, let us go.

SENEX

A little while keep silence now, refrain your plaint and cry,

His cursed foot now hither moves the lord of Cephaly .

ANDROMACHA

Now open earth, and thou my spouse from Styx rent up the ground,

Deep in thy bosom hide my son that he may not be found.

Ulysses comes with doubtful pace and changed countenance,

He knits in heart deceitful craft for some more grievous chance.

ULYSSES

Though I be made the messenger of heavy news to you,

This one thing first I shall desire that ye take this for true,

That though the words come from my mouth and I my message tell

Of truth, yet are they none of mine ye may believe me well.

It is the word of all the Greeks and they the authors be,

Whom Hector’s blood doth yet forbid their countries for to see.

Our careful trust of peace unsure doth still the Greeks detain,

And evermore our doubtful fear yet draweth us back again,

And suffreth not our wearied hands our weapons to forsake

In child yet of Andromacha, while Trojans comfort take.

ANDROMACHA

And saith your Augur Calchas so?

ULYSSES             Though Calchas nothing said

Yet Hector tells it us himself, of whose seed are we ’fraid.

The worthy blood of noble men, oftentimes we see it plain,

Doth after in their heirs succeed and quickly springs again.

For so the hornless youngling yet, of high and sturdy beast

With lofty neck, and branched brow, doth shortly rule the rest.

The tender twig that of the lopped stock do[t]h yet remain

To match the tree that bare the bough, in time starts up again.

With equal top to former wood, the room it doth supply,

And spreads on soil allow the shade to heaven his branches high.

Thus of one spark by chance yet left it happeneth so full oft.

The fire hath quickly caught his force, and flamthe again aloft.

So fear we yet least Hector’s blood might rise ere it belong,

Fear casts in all th’extremity and oft interprets wrong.

If ye respect our case, ye may not blame these old soldiers

Though after years and months twice five, they fear again the wars.

And other travails dreading Troy not yet to be well won,

A great thing doth the Grecians move, the fear of Hector’s son.

Rid us of fear, this stayeth our fleet and plucks their back again,

And in the haven our navy sticks, till Hector’s blood be slain.

Count me not fierce for that by fates I Hector’s son require,

For I as well if chance it would Oreste’s should desire.

But since that needs it must be so, bear it with patient heart,

And suffer that which Agamemnon suff’red in good part.

ANDROMACHA

Alas my child would god thou wert yet in thy mother’s hand,

And that I knew what destinies, thee held, or in what land.

For never should the mother’s faith her tender child forsake,

Though through my breast the enemies all, their cruel weapons strake.

Nor though the Greeks, with pinching bands of iron my hands had bound,

Or else in fervent flame of fire beset my body round.

But now my little child (poor wretch) alas where might he be?

Alas what cruel destiny, what chance hath hapt to thee?

Art thou yet ranging in the fields and wandrest there abroad?

Or smothered else in dusty smoke of Troy or overtrode?

Or have the Greeks thee slain alas and laught to see thy blood?

Or torn art thou with jaws of beasts or cast to fowls for food?

ULYSSES

Dissemble not, hard is for thee Ulysses to deceive,

I can full well the mothers crafts and subtlety perceive.

The policy of goddesses, Ulysses hath undone,

Set all these fained words aside, tell me where is thy son?

ANDROMACHA

Where is Hector? Where all the rest that had with Troy their fall?

Where Priamus? You ask for one but I require of all.

ULYSSES

Thou shalt constrained be to tell the thing thou dost deny.

ANDROMACH

A happy chance were death, to her that doth desire to die

ULYSSES

Who most desires to die would finest live when death drawthe on,

These noble words with present fear of death would soon be gone.

ANDROMACHA

Ulysses if ye will constrain Andromacha with fear,

Threaten my life, for now to die my chief desire it wear.

ULYSSES

With stripes, with fire, tormenting death we will the truth out wrest

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

And what thy hart hath deepst hid for pain thou shalt express.

Ofttimes th’ extremity prevails much more than gentleness.

ANDROMACHA

Set me in midst of burning flame, with wounds my body rent,

Use all the meanes of cruelty that ye may all invent.

Prove me with thirst and hunger both and every torment try,

Pearce through my sides with burning irons, in prison let me lie.

Spare not the worst ye can devise, if ought be worse than this,

Yet never get ye more of me I wot not where he is.

ULYSSES

It is but vain to hide the thing that straight ye will detect.

No fears may move the mother’s heart, she doth them all neglect.

This tender love ye bear your child, wherein ye stand so stout

So much more circumspectly warnthe the Greeks to look about

Least after ten years trackt of time and battaile  borne so far

Someone should live that on our children might renew the war.

As for myself, what Calchas sayeth, I would not fear at all,

But on Telemachus I dread the smart of wars would fall.

ANDROMACHA

Now will I make Ulysses glad, and all the Greeks also,

Needs must thou woeful wretch confess, declare thy hidden wo.

Rejoyce ye sons of Atreus, there is no cause of dread,

Be glad Ulysses, tell the Greeks that Hector’s son is dead.

ULYSSES

By what assurance provest thou that? How shall we credit thee?

ANDROMACHA

Whatever thing the enemies hand may threaten hap to me

Let speedy fates me slay forthwith, and earth me hide at ones,

And after death from tomb again, remove yet Hectors bones,

Except my son already now do rest among the dead,

And that except Astyanax into his tomb be led.

ULYSSES

Then fully are the fates fulfilled with Hector’s child’s disease:

Now shall I bear the Grecians word of sure and certain peace.

Ulysses why what dost thou now? The Greeks will every chawn

Believe thy words, whom credit she though? The mother’s tale alone.

Thinkst thou for safeguard of her child the mother will not lie?

And dread the more the worse mischance, to give her son to die?

Her faith she binds with bond of oath the truth to verify,

What thing is more of weight to fear than so to swear and lie?

Now call thy crafts together all, bestir thy wits and mind,

And show thyself Ulysses now the truth herein to find.

Search well the mother’s mind, behold she weeps and waileth out,

And here and there with doubtful pace she rangeth all about.

Her careful ears she doth apply, to harken what I say,

More ’fraid she seems then sorrowful. Now work some wily way.

For now most need of wit there is, and crafty policy,

Yet once again by other meanes, I will the mother try.

Thou wretchd woman mayst rejoy that dead he is, alas,

More doleful death by destiny for him decreed there was.

From Turrets top to have been cast, and cruelly been slain.

Which only tower of all the rest, doth yet in Troy remain.

ANDROMACHA

My spright failth me, my limbs do quake, fear doth my wits confound,

And as the ice congeals with frost, my blood with cold is bound.

ULYSSES

She trembleth lo, this way, this way, I will the truth out wrest,

The mother’s fear detecteth all the secrets of her breast.

I will renew her fear: go sears bestir ye speedily,

To seek this enemies of the Greeks, wherever that he lie.

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

Now shall he die! What dost thou fear? Why dost thou look about?

ANDROMACHA

Would god that any cause there were yet left that might me fray

My heart at last now all is lost hath laid all fear away.

ULYSSES

Since that your child now hath ye say already suff’red death

And with his blood we may not purge the hosts as Calchas sayth,

Our fleet pass not, as well inspired doth Calchas prophecy,

Till Hectors ashes cast abroad the waves may pacify,

And tomb be rent. Now since the boy hath ’scapt his destiny.

Needs must we break this holy tomb, where Hector’s ashes lie.

ANDROMACHA

What shall I do? My mind distracted, is with double fear,

On th’one my son, on th’other side my husband’s ashes dear.

Alas which part should move me most, the cruel goddess I call

To witness with me in the truth, and ghosts that guide thee all.

Hector, that nothing in my son is else that pleaseth me,

But thou alone, god grant him life, he might resemble thee.

Shall Hector’s ashes drowned be? Bide I such cruelty

To see his bones cast in the seas? Yet let Astianax die.

And canst thou wretchd mother bide, thine own child’s death to see?

And suffer from the hie tower’s top that headlong thrown he be?

I can, and will take in good part his death and cruel pain,

So that my Hector after death be not removed again.

The boy that life and senses hath may feel his pain and die,

But Hector lo, his death hath placed at rest in tomb to lie.

What dost thou stay? Determine which thou wilt preserve of twain.

Art thou in doubt? Save this: lo here thy Hector doth remain.

Doth Hector’s be, th’one quick of spright and drawing toward his strength

And one that may perhaps revenge his father’s death at length.

Alas I cannot save them both I think that best it were

That of the twain I saved him that doth the Grecians fear.

ULYSSES

It shall be done that Calchas words to us doth prophecy,

And now shall all this sumptuous work be thrown down utterly.

ANDROMACHA

That once ye sold?

ULYSSES      I will it all from top to bottom rend.

ANDROMACHA

The faith of gods I call upon Achilles us defend.

And Pyrrhus aid thy father’s right.

ULYSSES               This tomb abroad shall lie.

ANDROMACHA

Oh mischief, never durst the Greeks show yet such cruelty.

Ye strain the temples, and the gods that most have favoured you,

The dead ye spare not, on their tombs your fury rageth now.

I will their weapons all resist myself with naked hand,

The ire of heart shall give me strength their armour to withstand.

As fierce as did the Amazons beat down the Greeks in fight,

And Menas once inspired with God, in sacrifice doth smite

With spear in hand and while with furious pace she treads the ground,

And wood as one in rage she strikes and feelthe not the wound.

So will I run on midst of them and on their weapons die,

And in defence of Hector’s tomb, among his ashes lie.

ULYSSES

Cease ye? Doth rage and fury vain of woman move ye out?

Dispatch with speed what I command and duke down all to nought.

ANDROMACHA

Slay me rather here, with sword rid me out of the way.

Break up the deep Averne, and rid my destinies’ delay.

Rise Hector, and beset thy foes, break thou Ulysses’ ire,

A spright art good enough for him, behold, he casteth fire

And weapon shakes with mighty hand, do ye not Greeks him see?

Or else doth Hector’s spright appear but only unto me?

ULYSSES

Down quite withal.

ANDROMACHA    What wilt thou suffer both thy son be slain,

And after death thy husband’s bones to be removed again?

Perhaps thou mayst with prayer yet appease the Grecians all,

Else down to ground the holy tomb of Hector straight shall fall.

Let rather die the child poor wretch and let the Greeks him kill

Than father and the son should cause the tone the others ill.

Ulysses, at thy knees I fall, and humbly ask mercy.

These hands that no man’s feet else knew, first at thy fete they lie,

Take pity on the mother’s case and sorrows of my breast,

Vouchsafe my prayers to receive and grant me my request.

And by how much the more the gods, have thee advanced high,

More easily strike the poor estate of wretched misery.

God grant the chaste bed of thy godly wife Penelope

May thee receive, and so again, Laerte may the see,

And that thy soon Telemachus may meet the joyfully,

His grandsires years, and father’s wit to pass full happily.

Take pity on the mother’s tears, her little child to save.

He is my only comfort left and th’ only joy I have.

ULYSSES

Bring forth thy son and ask.

[3.2]

Andromacha.

Come hither child, out of thy dens to me

thy wretchd mother’s lamentable store,

This babe Ulysses, lo, this babe is he

that stayeth your ships, that feareth you so sore.

Submit thyself my son with humble hand

and worship flat on ground thy master’s feet,

Think it no shame, as now the case doth stand

the thing that fortune wilth a wretch is meet,

Forget thy worthy stock of kingly kind,

think not on Priam’s great nobility,

And put thy father Hector from thy mind,

such as thy fortune let thy stomach be.

Behave thy self as captive, bend thy knee,

and though thy grief pierce not thy tender years,

Yet learn to wail thy wretchd state by me,

and take ensample  at thy mother’s tears.

Once Troy hath seen the weeping of a child,

when little Priam turned Alcyde’s threats,

And he to whom all beasts in strength did yield

that made his way from hell and brake their gates,

His little enemies tears yet overcame,

“Priam”, he said, “receive thy liberty,

In seat of honour keep thy kingly name,

but yet thy sceptres rule more faithfully”.

Look, such the conquest was of Hercules,

of him yet learn your hearts to mollify.

Do only Hercules cruel weapons please

and may no end be of your cruelty?

No less then Priam kneels to thee, this boy

that lieth and asketh only life of thee.

As for the rule and governance of Troy,

wherever fortune will, there let it be.

Take mercy on the mother’s ruthful tears

that with their streams my cheeks do overflow,

And spare this guiltless infant’s tender years

that humbly falleth at thy feet so low.

[3.1]

Ulysses, Andromacha, Astyanax.

[ULYSSES]

Of truth the mother’s great sorrow doth move my heart full sore.

But yet the mothers of the Greeks of need must move me more,

To whom this boy may cause in time a great calamity.

ANDROMACHA

May ever he the burnt ruins of Troy reedify?

And shall these hands in time to come, erect the town again?

If this be th’only help we have, there doth no hope remain.

For Troy, we stand not now in case to cause your fear of mind,

Doth ought avail his father’s force, or stock of noble kind?

His father’s heart abated was, he drawn the walls abought.

Thus evil haps the haughtiest heart at length they bring to nought.

If ye will needs oppress a wretch what thing more grievous were

Then on his noble neck he should the yoke of bondage bear?

To serve in life, doth any man this to a king deny?

ULYSSES

Not Ulysses willth his death but Calchas’ prophecy.

ANDROMACHA

Oh false inventor of deceit and heinous cruelty,

By manhood of whose hand in war no man did ever die.

But by deceit and crafty train of mind that mischief seeks,

Before this time full many one dead is ye of the Greeks.

The prophet’s words and guiltless gods sayst thou my son require?

Nay, mischief of thy breast it is thou dost his death desire.

Thou night soldier, and stought of heart a little child to stay,

This enterprise thou takste alone and that by open day.

ULYSSES

Ulysses’ manhood well to Greeks too much to you is known,

I may not spend the time in words, our navy will be gone.

ANDROMACHA

A little stay, while I my last farewell give to my child,

And have with oft embracing him, my greedy sorrows filed.

ULYSSES

Thy grievous sorrows to redress, would god it lay in me,

But at thy will to take delay of time I grant it thee.

Now take thy last leave of thy son and fill thy self with tears,

Oft times the weeping of the eyes, the inward grief out wears.

ANDROMACHA

Oh dear, oh sweet, thy mothers pledge, farewell my only joy!

Farewell the flower of honour left of beaten house of Troy.

Oh Trojans last calamity and fear to Grecians part,

Farewell thy mother’s only hope and vain comfort of heart.

Oft wishte I thee thy father’s strength and half thy grandsire’s years,

But all for nought the Gods have all disappointed our desires.

Thou never shalt in regal court thy sceptres take in hand,

Nor to thy people give decrees, nor lead with law thy land.

Nor yet thine enemies overcome by might of handy stroke,

Nor lend the conquer’d nations all under thy servile yoke.

Thou never shalt beat down in fight and Greeks with sword pursue,

Nor at thy chariot Pyrrhus pluck as Achilles Hector drew.

And never shall these tender hands thy weapons wield and wrest,

Thou never shalt in woods pursue the wild and mighty beast.

Nor as accustomed is by guise and sacrifice in Troy,

With measure swift between the altars shalt thou dance with joy.

O grievous kind of cruel death that doth remain for thee,

More woeful thing than Hector’s death the walls of Troy shall see.

ULYSSES

Now break of all thy mother’s tears, I may no more time spend.

The grievous sorrows of thy heart will never make an end.

ANDROMACHA

Ulysses spare as yet my tears and grant a while delay,

To close his eyes yet with my hands ere he depart away.

Thou diest but young, yet feared thou art, thy Troy doth wait for thee,

Go noble heart, thou shalt again the noble Trojans see.

ASTIANAX

Help me mother?

ANDROMACHA   Alas my child why takste thou hold by me?

In vain thou callte where help none is, I cannot succour thee.

As when the little tender beast that hears the Lyon cry

Straight for defence he seeks his dam and crouching down doth lie,

The cruel beast when once removed is the dam away,

In greedy jaw with ravening bit doth snatch the tender pray,

So straight the enemies will thee take and from my side thee bear.

Receive my kiss and tears, poor child receive my rented hair,

Depart thou hence now full of me and to thy father go,

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

Complain thy mother’s grief to him if former cares may move

The sprights and that in funeral flame they leese not all their love.

Oh cruel Hector, suffrest thou thy wife to be opprest?

With bond of Grecian’s heavy yoke and liest thou still at rest?

Achilles rose, take here again my tears and rented hair,

And, all that I have left to send, this kiss thy father bear.

Thy coat yet for my comfort leave, the tomb hath touched it

If of his ashes ought here lie, I will seek it every whit.

ULYSSES

There is no measure of thy tears, I may no longer stay,

Defer no farther our return break of our ships delay.

[CHORUS]

Chorus altered by the translator.

Oh Jove that leadst the lamps of fire

and dekst with slamming stars the sky,

Why is it ever thy desire

to care their course so orderly?

That now the frost the leaves hath worn

and now the spring doth cloth the tree,

Now firy Leo ripes the Corne

and still the soil should changed be?

But why art thou that all dost guide

between whose hands the poles do sway

And at whose will the orbs do slide

careless of man’s estate alway ?

Regarding not the good man’s case,

nor caring how to hurt the ill,

Chance bearth rule in every place

and turneth man’s estate at will.

She gives the wrong the upper hand,

the better part she doth oppress,

She makes the highest low to stand,

her kingdom all is orderless.

Oh perfect proof of her frailty,

the princely towers of Troy bet down

The flower of Asia here ye see

with turn of hand quite overthrown,

The truthful end of Hector’s son

whom to his death the Greeks have led,

His fatal hour is come and gone

and by this time the child is dead.

Yet still alas more cares increase,

oh Trojans doleful destiny,

Fast doth approach the maids decease

and now Polyxena shall die.

[4.1]

Helena, Andromacha, Hecuba.

[HECUBA]

Whatever woeful wedding yet were cause of funeral,

Of wailing, tears, blood, slaughter else, or other mischiefs all,

A worthy match for Helena, and meet for me it were,

My wedding torch hath been the cause of all the Trojans care.

I am constrain’d to hurt them yet, after their overthrow

The false and feigned marriages of Pyrrhus must I show.

And give the maid the Greeks attire and by my policy,

Shall Parys’ sister be betrayed, and by deceit shall die.

But let her be beguiled thus, the less should be her pain

If that unaware, without the fear of death, she might be slain.

What ceasest thou the will of Greeks and message to fulfil?

Of hurt constrained the faut returnthe to th’author of the ill.

Oh noble virgin of the famous house and stock of Troy,

To thee the Grecians have me sent, I bring thee news of joy.

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

A great and happy marriage lo, they have prepared for thee.

Thou never should, if Troy had stood, so nobly wedded be,

Nor Priam never could prefer thee to so high degree.

Whom, flower of all the Grecian name, the prince of honour honour high,

That bears the sceptres over all the land of Thessaly,

Doth in the law of wedlock chose and for his wife require,

To sacred rites of lawful bed doth Pyrrhus thee desire.

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

Each one shall thee account as theirs, and joy thy wedding day.

And Peleus shall thee daughter call when thou art Pyrrhus wife,

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

Put off thy mourning garment now, this regal vesture wear,

Forget henceforth thy captive state, and seemly broid thy hair.

Thy fall hath lift thee higher up, and doth thee more advance.

Oft to be taken in the war, doth bring the better chance.

ANDROMACHA

This ill the Trojans never knew in all their griefs and pain,

Before this time ye never made us to rejoice in vain.

Troy towers give light, oh seemly time for marriage to be made,

Who would refuse the wedding day that Helaine doth persuade?

The plague and ruin of each part behold dost thou not see,

These tombs of noble men and how their bones here scattered be?

Thy bride bed hath been cause of this, for thee all these be dead!

For thee the blood of Asia both and Europe hath been shed.

When thou in joy and pleasure both the fighting folk from far

Hast viewed in doubt to whom to wish the glory of the war.

Go to prepare the marriages what need the torches light,

Behold the towers of Troy do shine with brands that blase full bright.

Oh Trojans all set to your hands, this wedlock celebrate,

Lament this day with woeful cry and tears in seemly rate.

HELENA

Though care do cause the want of wit and reasons rule deny

And heavy hap doth ofttimes hate his mates in misery,

Yet I before most hateful judge dare well defend my part,

That I of all your grievous cares sustain the greatest smart.

Andromacha for Hector weeps, for Priam Hecuba,

For only Parys privily bewailth Helena.

A hard and grievous thing it is captivity to bear.

In Troy that yoke I suff’red long a prisoner whole ten year.

Turned are the fates, Troy beaten down, to Greece I must repair,

The native country to have lost is ill, but worse to fear.

For dread thereof you need not care your evils all be past.

On me both partes will vengeance take all lights to me at last.

Whom each man prisoner takes God wot she stands in slipper stay,

And me not captive made by lot, yet Parys led away,

I have been cause of all these wars and then your woes were wrought,

When first your ships the Spartan seas and land of Grecia sought.

But if the goddess willed it so that I their pray should be,

And for reward to her beauty’s judge she had appointed me,

Then pardon Parys, think this thing in wrathful judge doth lie,

The sentence Menelaus gives, and he this case shall try.

Now turn thy plaints Andromacha, and weep for Polyxena,

mine eyes for sorrows of my heart their tears may not refrain.

ANDROMACHA

Alas what care makes Heleine weep? What grief doth she lament?

Declare what crafts Ulisses casts, what mischief hath he sent?

Shall she from height of Ida hill be headlong tumbled down?

Or else out of the turrets top in Troy shall she be thrown?

Or will they cast her from the cliffs into Aegean seas?

In bottom of the surging waves to end her ruthful days?

Show what thy countenance hides, and tell the secrets of thy breast,

Some woes in Pyrrhus wedding are far worse than all the rest.

Go to, give sentence on the maid, pronounce her destiny,

Delude no longer our mishaps, we are prepared to die.

HELENA

Would god th’expounder of the gods would give his dome so right

That I also on point of sword might leese the loathsome light.

Or at Achilles tomb, with stroke of Pyrrhus hand be slain

And bear a part of all thy fates, oh wretch’d Polyxena.

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

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

ANDROMACHA

Behold lo, how her noble mind of death doth gladly hear,

She decks herself her regal weed in seemly wise to wear.

And to her head she sets her hand, the broided hair to lay,

To wed she thought it death, to die, she thinks a wedding day.

But help, alas, my mother sowndes  to hear her daughter’s death,

Arise, pluck up your hart and take again the panting breath.

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

A little thing shall happy thee, thou art almost past thy pain.

Her breath returns, she doth revive, her limbs their life do take.

So see when wretches feign would die, how death doth them forsake.

HECUBA

Doth yet Achilles live alas, to work the Trojans spite?

Doth he rebel against us yet? Oh hand of Parys light.

The very tomb and ashes lo, yet thirsteth for our blood.

A happy heap of children late on every side me stood.

It wearied me to deal the mother’s kiss among them all,

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

Thou only child of Hecuba, a comfort left to me,

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

Depart, oh wretched soul, and from this careful carcass fly,

And case me of such ruthful fates to see my daughter die.

My weeping wets, alas my eyes, and stains them over all,

And down my cheeks the sudden streams and showers of tears do fall.

But thou dear daughter mayst be glad Cassandra would rejoice,

Or Hector’s wife thus wed to be if they might have their choice.

ANDROMACHA

We are the wretches Hecuba, in cursed case we stand,

Whom straight the ship shall toss by seas into a foreign land.

But as for Helein’s grieves be gone and turned to the best,

She shall again her native country see and live at rest.

HELENA

Ye would the more envy my state if ye might know your own,

ANDROMACHA

And growthe there yet more grief to me that erst I have not known?

HELENA

Such masters must ye serve as doth by chance of lots befall.

ANDROMACHA

Whose servant am I then become whom shall I master call?

HELENA

By lotte ye fall to Pyrrhus hands you are his prisoner.

ANDROMACHA

Cassandra is happy, fury saves perhaps, and Phebus her.

HELENA

These king of Greeks Cassandra keeps and his captive is she

HECUBA

Is anyone among them all that prisoner would have me?

HELENA

You chanced to Ulysses are, his pray ye are become.

HECUBA

Alas what cruel, dire and ireful dealer of the dome.

What god unjust doth so divide the captives to their lords?

What grievous arbiter is he that to such choice accords?

What cruel hand to wretched folk so evil fates hath cast?

Who hath among Achilles’ armour, Hector’s mother placed?

Now am I captive and beset with all calamity.

My bondage grieves me not, but him to serve, it shameth me.

He that Achilles spoils hath won, shall Hector’s also have,

Shall barren land enclosed with seas receive my bones in grave?

Lead me Ulysses where thou wilt, lead me, I make no stay,

My master I, and me my fates, shall follow every way.

Let never calm come to the seas, but let them rage with wind,

Come fire and sword, mine own mischance and Priam’s let me find.

In meane time haps this deep distress my cares can know no calm,

I ran the race with Priamus but he hath won the palm.

But Pyrrhus comes with swiftened pace and threatening brows doth wrest.

What stayest thou Pyrrhus? Strike thy sword now through this woeful breast.

And both at once the parents of thy father’s wife now slay,

Murderer of age, likes thee her blood? He drawth my daughter away.

Defile the gods and stain the sprights of hell with slaughtered blood,

To ask your mercy what avails? Our prayers do no good.

The vengeance ask I on your ships, that it the gods may please,

According to this sacrifice to guide you on the seas.

This wish I to your thousand sails, god’s wrath light on them all,

Even to the ship that bear’th me, whatever may befall.

CHORUS

A comfort is to man’s calamity

A doleful flock of fellows in distress,

And sweet to him that mourns in misery

To hear them wail whom sorrows like oppress,

In deepest care his grief him bites the less

That his estate bewails not all alone,

But seeth with him the tears of many one.

For still it is the chief delight in woe

And joy of them that sonk in sorrows are,

To see like fates befall to many more

That may take part of all their woeful fare

And not alone to be opprest with care.

There is no wight of woe that doth complain,

When all the rest do like mischance sustain

In all this world if happy man were none,

None, though he were, would think himself a wretch,

Let once the rich with heaps of gold be gone,

whose hundred head his pastors overreach,

Then would the poor man’s heart begin to stretch.

There is no wretch whose life him doth displease

But in respect of those that live at ease.

Sweet is to him that stands in deep distress

To see no man in joyful plight to be,

Whose only vessel wind and wave oppress,

Full sore his chance bewails and wepeth he,

That with his own none others wrack doth see

When he alone makthe shipwreck on the sand

And naked falls to long desired land.

A thousand sail who seeth to drench in seas

with better will the storm hath overpast

His heavy hap doth him the less displease,

When broken boards abroad be many cast

And shipwreckt ships to shore they flit full fast,

With doubled waves when stopped is the flood

With heap of them that there have lost their good.

Full sore did Phryxus Hellen’s loss complain,

What time the leader of his flock of sheep

Upon his back alone he bare them twain,

And wet his golden locks amid the deep.

In piteous plaint alas he gan to weep

The death of her it did him deep displease,

That shipwreck made amid the drenching seas.

And piteous was the plaint and heavy mood

Of woeful Pyrrha and eke Deucalion,

That nought beheld about them but the flood

When they of all mankind were left alone,

Amid the seas full sore they made their moan

To see themselves thus left alive in woe

When neither land they saw nor fellows more.

Anon these plaints and Trojans tears shall quail

And here and there the ship them toss by seas

When trumpets sound shall warn to hoys  up sail

And through the waves with wind to seek their ways,

Then shall these captives go to end their days

In land unknown, when once with hasty ore

The drenching deep they take and shone the shore.

What state of mind shall then in wretches be,

When shore shall sink from sight and seas arise?

When Ida hill to lurk aloof they see?

Then point with hand from far where Troia lies,

Shall child and mother, talking in this wise:

“Lo yonder Troy, where smoke it fumeth high”,

By this the Trojans shall their country spy.

[5.1]

Messenger, Andromacha, Hecuba.

[MESSENGER]

Oh dire, fierce, wretched, horrible, oh cruel fates accused

Of Mars his ten years bloodshed blows the woful’st and the worst.

Alas which should I first bewail? Thy cares Andromacha?

Or else lament the wretched age of woeful Hecuba?

HECUBA

Whatever man’s calamities ye wail, for mine it is

I bear the smart of all their woes, each other feels but his.

Whoever be, I am the wretch all haps to me at last.

MESSENGER

Slain is the maid and from the walls of Troy the child is cast

But both, as them became, they took their death with stomach stout.

ANDROMACHA

Declare the double slaughters then and tell the whole throughout.

MESSENGER

One tower of all the rest, ye know, doth yet in Troy remain.

Where Priam wonted was to sit, and view the armies twain.

His little Nephew eke with him to lead and from a far,

His fathers fights with fire and sword to show, and feats of war.

This tower, sometime well known by fame, and Trojans’ honour most

Is now with captains of the Greeks beset on every coast.

With swift recourse and from the ships in clustered heaps anon

Bothe tag and rag they run to guess what thing should there be done.

Some climb the hills to seek a place where they might see it best,

Some on the rocks a tiptoe stand to overlook the rest.

Some on their temples wear the pine, some beech, some crowns of bay,

For garlands torn is every tree that standeth in their way.

Some from the highest mountains top, aloof beholdth all

Some scale the buildings half burnt, and some the ruinous wall

Ye some there were, oh mischief low! That for the more despite,

The tomb of Hector sit upon, beholders of the sight.

With princely pace Ulysses then passt through the pressed band

Of Greeks, king Priam’s little Nephew leading by the hand.

The child with unrepining gate past through his enemies’ hands

Up toward the walls, and as anon in turrets top he stands,

From thence adown, his lofty looks he cast on every part,

The nearer death more free from care he seemed, and fear of heart.

Amid his foes his stomach swells and fierce he was to sight,

Like tigers whelp, that threats in vain with toothless chap to bite.

Alas, for pity them each one, raw on his tender years,

And all the rout  that present were, for him they shed their tears.

Yea not Ulysses them restrained, but trickling down they fall,

And only he wept not, poor fool, whom they bewailed all.

But while on gods Ulysses called, and Calchas words expound,

In midst of Priam’s land alas, the child leapt down to ground.

ANDROMACHA

What cruel Colchus could or scythe such slaughter take in hand?

Or by the shore of Caspian sea, what barbarous lawless land?

Busy rides to th’altars yet, no infants blood hath shed,

Nor never yet were children slain, for feast of Diomede.

Who shall alas in tomb thee lay, or hide thy limbs again?

MESSENGER

What limbs from such a headlong fall could in a child remain?

His body’s peise , thrown down to ground, hath battered all his bones,

His face, his noble fathers marks, are spoiled against the stains,

His neck unjointed is, his head so dasht with flint stone stroke

That scatt’red is the brain about, the scull is all too broke.

Thus lieth he now dismembered corps, deformed, and all to rent.

ANDROMACHA

Lot herein doth he yet likewise his father represent.

MESSENGER

What time the child, had headlong fallen thus from the walls of Troy

And all the Greeks themselves bewailed the slaughter of the boy,

Yet straight return they back and at Achilles tomb again

The second mischief go to work: the death of Polyxena.

This tomb the waves of surging seas beset the utter side,

The other part the fields enclose about and pastors wide.

In vale environed with hills that round about do rise.

A slope on height erected are the banks in theatre wise.

By all the shore then swarm the Greeks, and thick on heaps they praise

Some hope that by her death they shall their ships’ delay release.

Some other joy their enemies stock thus beaten down to be,

A great part of the people both the slaughter hate and see.

The Trojans eke no less frequent their own calamities

And all afraid beheld the last of all their miseries.

When first proceeded torches bright as guise of wedlock is

And author thereof led the way the lady Tyndaris .

Such wedlock, pray the Trojans then, god send Hermiona 

And would god to her husband so restored were Helena.

Fear mased each part, but Polyxena, her bashful look down cast,

And more than erst her glittering eyes and beauty shined at last,

As sweetest seems then Phebus light, when down his beams do sway,

When stars again, with night at hand, oppress the doubtful day.

Astonied much the people were and all they her commend

And now, much more than ever erst, they praised her at her end.

Some with her beauty moved were, some with her tender years,

Some to behold the turns of chance and how each thing thus wears.

But most them moves her valiant mind and lofty stomach high,

So strong, so stout, so ready of heart and well prepared to die.

Thus pass they forth and bold before king Pyrrhus goth the maid.

They pity her, they marvel her, their hearts were all afraid.

As soon as then the hard hilltop, where dye she should, they trode,

And high upon his father’s tomb the youthful Pyrrhus stode.

The manly maid she never shronk one foot, nor backward drew,

But boldly turns to meet the stroke, with stout unchanged hew

Her courage moues each one, and lo a strange thing monstrous like

That Pyrrhus even himself stood still, for dread, and durst not strike.

But as he had his glittering sword in her to hills up doon,

The purple blood at mortal wound then gushing out it spoon.

Ne yet her courage her forsook when dying in that stound

She fell as th’earth should her revenge with ireful rage to grownd.

Each people wept: the Trojans first, with privy fearful cry,

The Grecians eke, each one bewailed her death apparently.

This order had the sacrifice, her blood the tomb up drunk,

No drop remainth above the ground, but down forthwith it sunk.

HECUBA

Now go, now go ye Greeks and now repair you safely home,

With careless ships and hoisted sails, now cut the salt sea some.

The child and virgin both be slain, your battles finisht are!

Alas, where shall I end my age? Or whether bear my care?

Shall I my daughter, or my nephew, or my husband moan?

My country else, or all at once? Or else myself alone?

My wish is death, that children doth and virgins fiercely takes.

Wherever cruel death doth haste to strike, it me forsakes.

Amid the enemies’ weapons all, amid both sword and fire,

All night sought for thou fleest from me that do thee most desire.

Not flame of fire, not fall of tower, nor cruel enemies’ hand,

Hath rid my life, how near alas, could death to Priam stand?

MESSENGER

Now captives all, with swift recourse repair ye to the seas,

Now spread the ships, their sails abroad and forth they seek their ways.

Finis.