Medea

THE ſeuenth Tragedie of Seneca, Entituled MEDEA: Tranſlated out of Latin into Engliſh, by IOHN STVDLEY, ſtudent in Trinitie Colledge in Cambridge.

Imprinted at London in Fleeteſtreate, beneth the Conduit, at the ſigne of ſainct Iohn Euangeliſt, by Thomas Colwell. Anno Domini M. D. LXVI.

To the ryght honorable Frauncis Lord Ruſſell, Earle of Bedford, one of the Queenes Maieſties priuie Counſell: Knight of the moſte honorable order of the Garter, Lord Gouernour of Warwicke, and Warden of the Eaſt matches. Iohn Studley wiſſheth healthe, with encreaſe of Honor.

As it was not (right Honorable) the great exceſſe, & abounduance of ANTONIVS gluttinge fare, but the lytell precious Perle of CLEOPATRA that wanthe price, when thei contended, whether of thē might deuoure more at one meale: Euen ſo this my lytell volume wherwith I preſent your Honour, may argue vnto your Lordſhip a more manifeſt proofe of my good will towards your Honour, then y^t rich Iewels and ſōmes of gold & ſiluer, y^t wordly minds do vſe to gratifie their frends withal. Therfore I knowynge your Honour to be of the lyke mind with hym y^t was Iudge betwene CLEOPATRA & ANTONIVS, lightly eſteme, & highly contempne al bribyng golden gifts that as much or more glutteth vertuous minds, then might Antonius exceſſiue fare: I haue preſumed, to offer vnto your Honour, a ſmal Pearle of y^t pearleſſe Poet and moſt Chriſtian Ethnicke Seneca, wherin no glutting, but ſwete delectacion, is offred vnto y^t mind that doth hunger after vertue. But I neede not to burniſh Gold beinge ſo bright of it ſelf, neither to cōmend the value of it vnto him whoſe ſkilfull & lerned iudgement cā beter eſteme of it thē mi imbecilitie is able to expreſſe. Therfore truſtyng your Honour (whoſe ſeale in fauouring & furtheryng all learnynge & good ſtudies is moſt manifeſt) wil accept my good will ſignified by this trauel of my ſimple, rude & vnſkilful pen, & beare with my bould attempt, whervnto your Honors great curteſie hath highly encouraged me to aſpire, beſeching your Lordſhip to take vpon you the tuicion of ſo weake a Fortreſſe, whom w^tout your truſtie aide, the parlous force of yll tonges might ſoone ouerthrow: promiſyng your Honour hereafter the further fruytes of my ryper Muſe, I ceaſe at this inſtant to trouble you: whom I leaue to the tuicion of our ſauiour Ieſus Chriſt: wiſhing your encreaſe of honour, long lyfe and luckie ſucceſſe in all affayres and attempets.

Your Honours to cōmaunde, Iohn ſtudley.

The Preface to the Reader.

IF I had not gentle Reader a better truſte in thy gentleneſſe, then affyance in myne owne weakeneſſe, I had not aſſayed thys ſecond attempte, to bewraye my rudeneſſe and ignoraunce, vnto thy ſkilfull iudgemente: but though I myſtruſted my ſelfe, yet I ſo repoſed my hope in thee, that it gaue me corage to trāſlate this one Tragedie more of ſENECA, for the pleaſure of the learned, and the profyte of the vnlearned by readynge of it in theyr natyue language. What kynde of Tragedie it is, or what is to be learned therby, I nede not ſtand at large to dyſcuſſe, beinge ſo playnly ſet furthe by ſENECA, far better then I am able to ſhowe or tranſlate it, ſo worthelye as he hath wrytten it: yet as God hath gyuen me grace, rudely and ſymply I haue performed it: And bycauſe that all thynge myght be to the better vnderſtandyng and commodytye of the vnlearned, as in ſome places I do expoūd at large the darke ſence of the Poet: ſo haue I chaunged the fyrſte Chorus, becauſe in it I ſawe nothyng but an heape of prophane ſtoryes, and names of prophane Idoles: therfore I haue altered the whole matter of it, begynnynge thus: Who hath not wiſt. Diuers reaſons could I aledge to mayntayne thys myne alteracion, but I truſte thy gentlenes wyll waye it to the vttermoſte, and take all thynges in better parte. Thus I byd thee farewell.

W. F. in the Tranſlatours behalfe.

GRudge not though yonger yeares doe toyle,

where horye heddes might wade,

Whoſe ſappye wytte more apter ſeemes

to trauell in thys trade.

For who can more Mineruas face

then luſtye youth expreſſe?

Or where doe Muſes more delyght

then in thys youthfulneſſe?

Dame Nature ſheweth in her workes

how yonger thynges excell,

The yonger flowers commonlye

do gyue the ſweter ſmell:

The yonger bowes wyth grener leaues

a tayrer face doth ſhowe:

More gladſome is the pleaſant plot,

where grener graſſe doth growe,

We ſee alſo the freſſher grape

doth make the ſweeter wyne,

Why then ſhould doſyng age at youth

for wante of age repyne?

Loe Senec crounde wyth Lawrell leafe,

in England now appeares,

Medea pende wyth hawtye ſtyle

now Englyſh Meetre weares:

O Paſquell paynte theyr pynyng ſhame,

and Parcae do not ſpare

Wyth ſpede to ſhred theyr lyues, that do

denye to graunt the ſhare

And prayſe vnto the paynfull pen,

that hath deſerued ſo,

In brynging thus abrode hys Muſe

to profyt freynde and foe.

The Argument to the Tragedie by the Tranſlatour.

Care ſore did gripe Medeas hart, to ſee

Her Iaſon whom ſhe tendred as her lyfe,

And reſcued had from plunge of peryls free

Renouncinge her, to take another wife,

Loue ſpent in vayne breedes hate and malice rife,

Enkyndlyng coales, whoſe heate & gredie flame

(ſaue ſtreames of blood,) nought els can quench the ſame.

Medea mad in troubled minde doth muſe,

On vengeaunce fell, to quit her greuous wronge.

Roughe plages at length entendeth ſhe to vſe:

Yll venemous things ſhe charmes w^t charming ſong

ſeekes out a Baane made of their poyſon ſtronge

In trayterous giftes a Robe, and chayne of Golde

Nicely ſhe doth the hidden poyſon folde.

ſent are the Giftes to Creuſe and her ſier,

They takyng them that brought their dole to paſſe

Vnware are burnt by meanes of charmed fier,

Due vengeaunce yet for Iaſon greater was,

Lyfe firſt on chyld by mothers hande (alas)

Expired hath, whiche thoughe it hym agryſe,

Yet his other childe ſhee ſlayes before his eyes.

The names of the Speakers of this Tragedie.

Medea.
Chorus.
Nutrix.
Creon.
Iaſon.
Nuntius.

The fyrſte Acte.

Medea.

O Gods whoſe grace doth guide their gohſtes that ioy in wedlocke pure,

O Iuno thou Lucina hyght, on whom the chary cure

Alotted is of thoſe, that grone in paynfull chyldbed handes,

O Pallas by whoſe heauenly arte ſir Typhis conning handes

Haue learnde to bridle with hys helme hys newly framed boate,

Wherwith the force of fighting fluddes he brekynge rydes a flote.

O God whoſe forked Mace dothe ſtormes in rygour rough appeas,

And cauſe the rufflyng ſurges couche amid the rampinge ſeas:

O Titan who vpon the ſwifte and wherlinge Hemiſphaer

Deuides the chearefull day and nyght by egall turnes tappere.

O threfolde ſhapen Hecate that ſendeſt furthe thy lyght,

Unto thy ſylent ſacryfyſe that offered is by nyght,

By whom my Iaſon ſware to me o heauenly powers all,

And ye on whom Medea maye with ſafer conſcience call,

O Dungeon darke, moſte dredfull den of euerlaſtyng nyghte,

O dampned gohſtes: o kyngdome ſet agaynſte the gods aryghte:

O Lord of ſad and lowrynge lakes, o Ladye dire of Hell,

(Whom though that Pluto ſtale biforce yet did his troth excell

The ficle fayth of Iaſons loue, that he to me dothe beare,)

With curſed throte I coniure you, o gryſlye gohſtes appeare.

Come out, come out, ye helliſh hagges, reuenge this deede ſo dire,

Bryng in your ſcratting pawes a burnyng brande of deadly fyre.

Riſe vp ye hiddiuos diueliſh feendes, as dreadfull as ye weare,

When vnto me in wedlocke ſtate ye dyd ſometyme appeare.

Worke ye, worke ye, the dole full death of thys new wedded wyfe.

And martyr ye this father in lawe: depryue of breath and lyfe

Kynge Creons ruthfull famylie: in plunge of paſſyng payne

Torment ye me, that on my ſpouſe do wyſhe thys woe to reyne:

Preſerue my Iaſons lyfe, but yet let hym be bayted oute

A mychyng, rogyng, runagate, in forren townes aboute.

To paſſe from dore to dore, wyth care to begge hys nedy bread.

Not knowing in what harbryng place to couche hys curſſed head:

A banyſht wretche, dyſdaynd of all, and ſtyll in feare of lyfe,

Then let him wiſh ten thouſand times for me agayne hys wyfe:

Thys famous geſt whom euery man wyll entertayne and haue,

Let hym be dryuē at ſtraungers gates the table crūmes to craue.

And that my bytter bannynges may wyth myſchefe moſte abounde,

God graunt in gulphe of lyke dyſtreſſe hys chyldren may be drounde,

To ſynke in ſorowes ſtormes, that do there mother ouerflowe:

Now, now, I haue, I haue the full reuenge of all my woe.

I haue diſpatcht: my pyteous playnte and wordes in vayne I loſe:

What ſhall not I wyth vyolence get vp agaynſte my foes?

And wryng out of theyr wreſted hādes the weddyng torche ſo bryght?

ſhall I not force the firmament to loſe his ſhrynkyng lyght?

What dothe my grandſirs Phaebus face this heuie hap beholde?

And ſtandynge gaſyng at thys geare yet weſtwarde is he rolde,

On glyſtrynge chariot hoyſted hyghe, and kepes his beaten race,

Amid the chriſtall colourde ſkye, why turnes he not hys face,

Retyringe faſte into the Eaſt backe vp the day to twyne?

O father Phaebe to me, to me, thy Charyot reygnes reſygne,

That I aduaunced vp, aboute the marble ſkyes may ryde,

Bequeath thy brydle vnto me, and giue me grace to guide

Thy yoked prauncyng team, with yerkyng laſſhe of burnyng whyp,

That with thy feruent fyry beames on purple poale doe ſkyp.

Let Corinthe cuntrey burnte to duſte by force of flame and fyre

Gyue place, that both the iumbled ſeas may ioyne: whom to retyre

It dothe compell, and daſſheth of from banke on eyther ſyde,

Leaſt mete in one their chanels might, whoſe ſtreames he dothe deuyde.

No way to worke theyr deadly woe I haue but thys at hande,

That to the weddyng I ſhould beare a ruthfull brydall brande,

Anoyenge Creons careleſſe Court: when fynyſhed I haue

ſuch ſolemne ſeruyce, as that ryght of ſacrafyce do the craue,

Then at the Alters of the Gods my chyldren ſhal be ſlayne,

With crimſen colourd blood of babes harte, their alters wil I ſtaine.

Through liuers, lounges the lightes & through euery gut and gall,

For vengeaūce breake away perforce, and ſpare no blood at all:

If anye luſtye lyfe as yet within thy ſoule do reſte,

I fought of auncient corage ſtyll doe dwell within my breſte,

Exile all folyſh female feare, and pytye from thy mynde,

And as thuntamed Tygers vſe to rage and raue vnkynde,

that haunt the crokyng combrus caues and clumpred froſen cliues,

And craggy rockes of Caucaſus, whoſe bytter colde depryues

The ſoyle of all inhabytours, permyt to lodge and reſt,

ſuch ſaluage brutyſh tyranny within thy braſen breſte.

What euer hurly burlye wrought dothe Phaſis vnderſtand,

What myghtie mouſtrous blody feate I wrought by ſea or lande:

The lyke in Corinth ſhalbe ſeene in moſte outragyous guyſe,

Moſte hiddious, hatefull, horrible, to heare, or ſee wyth eyes.

Moſt diuelyſh, deſperate dredful dede, yet neuer knowen before,

Whoſe rage ſhal force heauen, earth & hell to quake and tremble ſore.

my burning breſt that rowles in wrath and dothe in rancour boyle,

ſore thryſteth after blood, & woundes with ſlaughter, death and ſpoyle,

By rentyng racked lyms from lyms to dryue them downe to graue:

Tuſh, theſe be but as Fleabytynges, that mencioned I haue:

As weyghtie thinges as theſe I dyd in greener girlyſh age,

Now ſorowes ſmarte doth rub the gall and frets wyth ſharper rage.

But ſith my wombe hath yellded fruit, it doth me well behoue,

The ſtrength and parlous puiſſaunce of weyghtier illes to proue.

Be redye wrath, wyth all thy myghte that furye kyndle maye,

Thy foes to theyr dyſtruction be redy to aſſaye:

Of thy deuorſement let the Pryce to matche, and counterpayſe

The proude & precious pryncely pomp of theſe new weddyng dayes.

How wilt thou frō thy ſpouſe departe? as hym thou folowed haſt

In blood to bathe thy blody handes and traytrous lyues to waſt.

Breake of in tyme theſe long delayes, abanden now agayne,

Thys lewd alliaunce, got by gylte, with greater gylt refrayne,

Chorus altered by the Tranſlatour.

WHo hath not wiſt that windie wordes be vaine,

And that in talke of truſte is not the grounde,

Here in a mirrour may he ſee it playne,

Medea ſo by proofe the ſame hath founde.

Who beynge blynde by blynded Venus boye,

Her bleared eyes could not beholde her bliſſe:

Nor ſpye the preſent poyſen of her ioy,

Whyle in the graſſe the ſerpent lurked is.

The ſhafte that flew from Cupids golden bowe,

With fethers ſo hath dymd her daſeld eyes,

That can not ſee to ſhun the waye of woe:

The rancklyng head in dented harte that lyes,

ſo dulles the ſame, that can not vnderſtande

The cauſe that brought falſe Iaſon out of Greece,

To come vnto her fathers fertill land,

Is not her loue, but loue of golden Fleece.

Yet was hys ſpeache ſo pleaſant and ſo milde,

Hys tongue ſo fylde, hys promyſes ſo fayre,

ſweete was the fowlers ſonge that hath beguylde

The ſelye byrde, brought to the lymed ſnare.

Fayth, in hys face, truſt ſhyned in hys eyes,

The bluſſhyng brow playne meanynge ſemed to ſhowe,

In double harte black treaſon hydden lyes,

Diſſembling thoughtes that weaue the webbe of woe.

The honyed lyppes, the tongue in ſuger depte

Doe ſweete the poyſon rancke within the breſt,

In ſubtle ſhew of paynted ſheath is kept,

The ruſtye knyfe of treaſon demed leaſt,

Lyfe ſeemes the bayte to ſyght that lyeth brym,

Death is the hooke that vnderlyes the ſame,

The candell blaſe delyghtes wyth burnyng trym,

The Flye, tyll ſhe be burned in the flame,

Who in ſuch ſhewes leaſt demed any illes.

The hungrye fyſſhe feares not the bayte to Brooke,

Tyll vp the lyne doe pluck hym by the gylles,

And faſt in throte hee feles the deadly hooke.

Woe Iaſon, woe to thee moſt wretched man,

Or rather wretche Medea woe to thee,

Woe to the one that thus dyſſemble can,

Woe to the other that trayned ſo myght be.

Thoughſt thou Medea hys eyes to be the glaſſe

Wherin thou myghte the face of thoughtes beholde,

That in hys breſt with wordes ſo couered was,

As cancred braſſe wyth gloſſe of yelow golde?

Dyd thou ſuppoſe that nature (more then kinde)

Had placed hys harte hys lyinge lyppes betweene,

Hys lookes to be the mirrour of hys mynde?

Fayth in fayre face hath ſildome yet ben ſeene.

Who lyſtneth to the flateryng Maremaides note,

Muſt nedes commyt hys tyred eyes to ſlepe,

Yeelding to her the taking of hys boate,

That meanes vnware to drowne hym in the depe.

What boteth thee Medea to betraye

The golden Fleece, to fawnyng Iaſons hande,

From Dragons teethe hym ſafely to conuaye,

And fyrye Bulles the warders of the lande?

Why for hys ſake from father haſt thou fled,

And thruſt thy ſelfe out from thy natyue ſoyle?

Thy brothers blood what ayled thee to ſhed,

Wyth Iaſon thus to trauell and to toyle?

Beholde the meede of thys thy good deſarte,

The recompenſe that he to thee doth gyue.

For pleaſure, payne, for ioye, moſt eger ſmarte,

With cloggyng cares in banyſhment to lyue.

Thou, and thy babes, are lyke to begge and ſtarue,

In Nacion ſtraunge, (o miſerable lyfe)

Whyle Iaſon from hys promyſes doe ſwarue,

And takes delyght in hys new wedded wyfe.

O grounde vngrate, that when the huſband man

Hath tylled it, to recompence hys toyle

No corne, but weedes, and thyſtles cendder can,

To ſtynge dys handes, that truyte ſekes of his ſoyle.

ſuch venome growes of pleaſaut colourd flower:

Loe, prynces loe, what deadly poyſon ſup

Of bane, erſt ſweete, now turned into ſower,

Medea drancke out of a goulden cup.

The ſeconde Acte.

Medea. Nutrix.

AYe me alas I am vndone, for at the brydall cheare

The warble note of weddinge ſonge reſoūded in myne eare.

Yet for all thys ſcant I my ſelfe, yet ſcant beleue I can,

That Iaſon wolde play ſuch a prancke, amoſte vnthanckfull man,

Both of my countrey, and my ſyre, and kyngdome me to ſpoyle,

And yet forſake me wretche forlorne, to ſtraye in forreyn ſoyle.

O hath he ſuch ſuch a ſtonye harte, that dothe no more eſteme,

The great good turnes, and benefits that I imployde on hym?

Who knowes, that I haue lewdly vſed enchauntmentes for his ſake,

The rigour roughe, and ſtormy rage, of ſwellyng ſeas to ſlake.

The gruntyng fyryefomyng Bulles whoſe ſmokyng guttes were ſtufte

With ſmoltering fumes, y^t from theyr iawes, & noſtrels out they puft

I ſtopt their gnaſſhing moūching mouthes I quēcht their burning breth,

And vapors hott of ſtewyng paunche, that els had wrought hys death.

Or fedes he thus hys fanſye fonde, to thynke my ſkyll of charme

Abated is, and that I haue no power to doe hym harme?

Beſtract of wittes, w^t wauering mind perplext on euery parte,

I toſſed, and turmoyled am, wyth way warde craſy harte.

Now this, now that, and neither now, but now another waye,

By dyuers meanes I toyle, that ſo my wronge reuenge I maye.

I wolde the wreatche a brother had: but what? he hath a wyfe.

Go cut her throte, with gaſtly woūdes bereue her of her lyfe.

On her ile worke my deadly ſpyte, her, her alone I craue,

To quit ſuch bitter ſowſyng ſtormes, as I ſuſteyned haue.

If any graund notoryus gylt in all Pelaſga lande

Be put in practyſe yet vnknowen vnto thy harmyng hande,

Therof to get experience the tyme doth now begyn:

Thy former feates doe byd thee take good hope, to thryue herein:

Let al thy gyltes with thronging thick aſſemble thee to ayde,

The golden Fleece (the cheefe nouel) of Colchis Ile betrayde.

My tender brother eke, that wyth my ſier dyd me purſue,

Whom wyth hys ſecrete partes cut of I wycked virgin ſlewe,

Whoſe ſhreaded & diſmembred corps, wyth ſwerd in gobbits hewd,

(A wofull coarſe toth fathers harte) on Pontus ground I ſtrewd.

How horye he added Pelias hys wythred age to ſhyfte

To grener yeares, for longer lyfe, hys doughters by my dryfte

Hys members all and mangled fleſh wyth lycour ſcaldyng hot

Yſodden, and perboyled haue, in ſethynge braſen pot.

How ofte in haynous blood haue theſe my cruell handes ben dyed?

And neuer any gylte as yet by wrath inflamde I tryed.

But now the parlous poyſnyng woūd of Cupids percing darte

Doth boyle and rage wythin my breſt, it rancles at my harte.

But how could Iaſon it redreſſe, whom fortunes froward wyll

Hath yeeld vnto anothers hand, at luſte to ſaue or ſpyll?

O rage of ruſty cancred mynde thys ſclaundrous talke amende,

If fortunes grace wyl graunt it thus, let hym vnto hys ende

Lyue ſtyll my Iaſon as he was, but if not Iaſon myne,

Yet caytife ſuffer Iaſon lyue, though Iaſon none of thyne:

Who beinge myndfull ſtyll of vs ſome fauour let hym ſhowe,

For theſe good turnes y^t our good will could earſt on hym beſtowe:

Kynge Creon is in all the fault, and onely worthy blame,

Who puffed vp wyth ſcepter proude, vnable for to frame

Hys tyckle mynde to modeſtye, made breache twixt vs agayne,

Whom Hymens bands, and link of loue had made but one of twayne,

By whom eke from her tender brats the mother (wreatche) is drawne,

He breakes the vowe, that gaged is wyth ſuch a precyous pawne.

ſeke after ſuch a vyllaynes blood, in dauntynge panges of ſmarte

Let hym alone be ſurely dowſt, ſuch is hys due deſarte,

A dungell heapt of Cinders burnt hys Pallayce make I ſhall,

that Malea where in winding ſtrightes, the lyngryng ſhyppes doe crall,

ſhal gaſe on ſmolthryng turrets tops turmoylde in cracklyng flame.

Nu. For godſake madame I you praye your tongue to ſylence frame.

Eke hyde your pryuye languyſhyng and greefe in ſecret vayne:

Who wyth a modeſt mynde abydes the ſpurres of pryckyng payne,

And ſuffereth ſorowes paciently, may it repaye agayne.

Who beares a pryuie grudge in breſt, and kepes hys malyce cloſe,

When leaſt ſuſpection is therof may moſt anoye hys foes.

He leſeth oportunytie who vengeance doth requyre,

That ſhewes by open ſparks the flame the heate of kyndled fyer.

Me. ſmal is the grype of greefe that can to reaſons lore obaye,

And ſnekyng downe with ſteling ſteps can ſtylie ſlyppe awaye.

But they that throughly ſowſed are wyth ſhowers of greater payne,

Can not digeſt ſuch corſyes ſharpe, but caſt it vp agayne:

Fayne wolde I gyue them trouncyng girds. Nu. Good doughter dere aſſwage

Thunbrydled ſwaye, and boyling heat of thys thy gyddie rage:

ſcant maiſt thou purchaſe quyetneſſe although thou holde thy tongue.

Me. The valiant harte dame Fortune yet durſt neuer harme wyth wronge

But dreadyng daſtards downe ſhe driues. Nu. If any corage dure,

And harbred be in noble breſt, now put the ſame in vre.

Me. The ſhowe of ſturdye valiant harte at any tyme doth ſhyne.

Ne. No hope doth in aduerſytye the way to ſcape aſſygne.

Me. He that hath none affiance lefts, nor any hope at all,

Yet let hym not myſtruſt the luck of ought that may befall.

Nu. Thy Cuntrey clene hath caſt thee of to let thee ſynke or ſwym,

As for thy huſband Iaſon he, there is no truſt in hym:

Of all the wealth, and worldly muck wherwyth thou dyd abounde:

No porcion remaynes at all, wherby ſome helpe is founde.

Me. Medea yet is lefte, (to much.) and here thou mayſt eſpye

The ſeas to ſuccour vs in flyght, and landes aloofe that lye:

Yea iron tooles, wyth burning brands we haue to worke them woe,

And Gods that wyth the thunder dynt ſhall ouerquell our foe:

Nu. who weares y^t goldēcreſted crowne hym dread wyth awe ye ſhould.

Me. My father was a kyng, yet I betrayed hys Fleece of gould:

Nu. Can not the deadly vyolence of weapons make the feare?

Me. No though ſuche griſlye laddes they were as whilom dyd appeare,

That bred of gargell dragons teethe in holow gapyng ground,

When mutually in blody fyght eche other dyd confounde.

Nu. Then wylt thou caſt thy ſelfe to death, Me. Wolde God that I were dead.

Nu. Fly, fly to ſaue thy life. Me. Woe worth the time that once I fled.

Nu. What o Medea. Me. Why ſhal I flye? Nu. A mother dere art thou,

Fly therfore for thy chyldrens ſake. Me. Ye ſee by whom, and how,

A wretched mother I am made. Nu. Thy lyfe by flyght to ſaue

doſt thou miſtruſte? Me. Nay, fly I wil, but vengeance firſt ile haue.

Nu. Then ſome ſhall thee at heeles purſue, to wrecke the ſame agayne

Me. Perhap ile make his commyng ſhort. Nu. Be ſtill, and now refrayne.

O deſpret dame thy thondring threates, and ſlake your raging ire.

Apply, and frame thy froward will as time and tides require.

Me. Full wel may fortūes weltyng whele to beggynge brynge my ſtate,

As for my worthy corage that ſhe neuer ſhall abate.

Who bowncing at y^e gates, doth cauſe the creakinge dores to iar?

It is the wreatche Creon his ſelfe, whome princelie power far

Hath lyft aloft, with lordlye looke, paft vp with powncinge pryde,

That he maye Corinth contry with the ſwaye of ſcepter guyde.

Creon. Medea.

MEdea that vngracious imp kyng Aetas wicked chyld

Yet hath not from our carfull realme her lingrynge foote exild.

ſom noughtie dryft ſhe goes about, her knackes of olde we knowe,

Her iugling artes, her harming hands ar knowne well longe agoe.

From whō will ſhe w^t holde her harme? whom will this cruell beaſt

Permit to liue from perrill fre in quietneſſe and reſt?

Clean to cut of this parlous plauge it was our purpoſe bent,

But Iaſon by entreting hard did cauſe vs to relent.

At his requeſt we graunted haue her lyfe ſhe ſhall enioye,

Let her acquit our contrye fre from feare of all annoye:

Yea ſafely let her pack her hence, in eger gyddye fitt

With lompiſh lowring looke ſhe coms in talke with me to knitt:

ſirs kepe her of, and ſet her hence, leſt vs ſhe touche per hap,

And driue her backe from cōming nigh commaund her kepe her clapp.

And let her learne at length, how that her ſelfe ſubmit ſhe maye,

The puiſſaunt payſe and maieſtie of princes to obaye.

Run, hie the quickelye, trudge apace, haue hence out of my ſyght

This horible, moſt odious quean, this monſtrous wycked wight.

Me. My ſoueraygne liege, what greater crime haue I or leſſe offence

Commit agaynſt thye maieſtie, to be exiled hence?

Cre. Alas the gyltles woman doth demaunde a reaſon whye:

Me. If thou be iudge indifferent, ordaynd my cauſe to trye,

Conſyder then my doubtfull caſe, and wey the ground of it:

If thou be kynge, cōmaunde a Iudge for ſuch a matter fyt.

Cre. The prynces powre thou ſhalt obey, bit eyther ryght or wronge.

Me. The proſperus pryde of wrongynge crownes cannot endeuer longe.

Cre. Auaunt, & yell out thy complayntes at Colchis, get thee hence.

Me. Full gladly wyll I get me home, if he that brought me thence

Uouchſafe to beare me back agayne. Cre. Alas to late aryſe

Entreatyng wordes, when as decree is taken otherwyſe.

Me. He that not heryng either parte pronounceth hys decree,

Unryghteous man accompted is, though ryght hys ſentence bee.

Cre. Whyle Pelias truſted to thy talke, from lyfe to death be fell.

Go to, begyn, we gyue you leaue your goodly tale to tell.

Me. That type of regall maieſty, that erſt by Fortunes hand,

Aduaunced to I dyd attayne, hath taught me vnderſtande,

How harde a thynge it is of wrath the rygour to aſſwage,

When burnyng heat of boylyng breſt in flames begyns to rage.

Eke for thaduaūcement of their power more to dyſplay in ſyght

Theyr kyngly corage bolſtred out with maieſtie of myght.

They deme it dothe importe aſwaye, and hath a greater grace,

Whom ſtately ſcepter cauſd to climbe alofte to prouder place.

To perſeuere with fanſye fonde, in that to reaſons ſpyght,

Whoſe gredy choyſe attaynted fyrſt hys mynde wyth vayne delight.

For though in pytyous plyght I lye, throwne downe to great decaye,

With heauy hap, and ruthful chaunce, to myſerable ſtaye,

Thus hunted out from place to place, forſoke and left alone,

A wyddow whyle my huſband lyue, wyth cauſe to wayle and mone,

Perplext in maze of myſerye, wyth cloyenge cares ſo ryfe,

Yet whyſom I in golden trone haue led in happy lyfe.

By hygh and noble parentage my bryght renoune doth ſhine.

From Phebus eak my graundſire great deryued is my ligne.

Whear ſyluer ſtreamed Phaſis flood hys waſſhyng waues dothe ſhed,

Or wyth contrary crokyng wayes hys bathyng channell ſpred.

what euer wandring coaſt ſtretcht out is left aloofe behynde,

From whence the roaming ſcithyan ſea hys channell furthe doth fynde,

Where as Meotis fenny plaſſhe wyth pure freſh water ſprynges

Dothe ſeaſon ſweete the bryny ſea, that tyde in thyther brynges.

Eke all the coaſtes enuyroned and kept wythin the bankes

Of Thermodon, where warlyke troupes, and armed wyddowes ranckes,

with paynted bucklers on theyr armes holde all the lande in feare,

with rigour rough of threatning ſwerd with force of dentyng ſpeare.

ſo far to al theſe wandryng coaſtes and cuntreyes round aboute,

My fathers ample regiment at large is ſtretched out.

I beinge thus of noble race and in an happy plyght,

With glorious gloſſe of princely pomp in honour ſhynyng bryght,

Then pearleſſe peares my ſpouſal bedd dyd ſeke and ſewe to haue,

But thoſe to be theyr louyng feres now other Ladyes craue,

Raſh, ticle, peuyſh, vndyſcrete, and waueryug fortunes wheele,

Hath caſt me out the cruſſhyng cares of banyſhment to feele.

In ſcepter proude and hautye crowne fix thyne affyance faſte.

Syth vpſydowne wyth welkyn wheele whole mountes of wealth is caſte.

Thys prynces do poſſeſſe, that ſhould theyr royaltye dyſplay,

Whoſe fame ſhall neuer razed be wyth ſtorme of lowryng daye,

To ſuccour thoſe whom myſerye in pyt of paynes dothe ſouſe,

To ſheylde and harber ſupplyantes in roofe of loyall houſe.

This onely brought I from my realme the precyous golden Fleece,

That iewell cheefe, and eke the flower of Chyualry in Greece,

The ſturdy prop, the rampir ſtronge the bulwarke of your wealth,

And Hercules the boyſtrus Imp of Ioue I kept in health.

It was by meanes of my good wyll that Orpheus dyd eſcape,

Whoſe harmony the lyueleſſe rocks wyth ſuch delyght dyd rape,

That forced euen the clottred lumpes with hoblyng pryckt to praunce,

And eke the ioconde nodding wooddes wyth fotyng fyne to daunce.

And that thoſe heauenly twyns Caſtor and Pollux dyd not dye,

My dew deſarte is doubled twyſe, ſyth them preſerued I.

Of Boreas bluſtryng out wyth puffed cheekes hys blaſtyng breath

Hys wynged ſonnes I kept alyue bothe Calais and Zeth.

And Linceus that with pearcing beames and ſharper ſyght of eye

Could Nauyes on the farther banckes of ſicill ſhore eſpye.

And all the Minians that did come the golden Fleece to wyn.

As for the Prynce of Prynces all I wyll not brynge hym in.

Wyth ſylence Iaſon wyll I paſſe, for whom though hym I ſaue,

Yet is not Greece in debt to me, no recompence I craue

To no man hym I do impute, the reſt I brought agayne

For your auayle, that you therby ſome profyt myght attayne.

But onelye on my Iaſon deare, hym for my owne loues ſake

I kept in ſtore, that he of me hys wedded wife ſhould make.

None other fault (God wot) ye haue to charge me wyth but thys,

That Argo ſhyp by meanes of me returned ſafelye is.

If I a ſhame faſt mayde had not wyth Cupids bayte ben caught,

If more my fathers healthe to haue then Iaſons I had ſought,

Pelaſga land had bene vndone, and falne to great decaye,

The luſtye valyant Capytaynes had cleane bene caſt awaye:

And iolye Iaſon fyrſte of all this now thy ſonne in lawe,

The Buls had rent his ſwalowed lims in fyery chompyng iawe.

Let Fortune fyght agaynſt my caſe as lyſt her eluyſh wyll,

Yet neuer ſhall it greue my harte, repent my dede I nyll,

That I ſhould for ſo manye kynges theyr relynge honour ſaue,

The guerden due that I for thys my cryme cōmyt muſt haue,

It lyeth Creon in thy hande, if thus it lyketh thee,

Condemne my gyltye gohſte to death, but render fyrſte to mee,

My fault that forced me offende, then Creon graunt I thys,

Receauyng Iaſon (cauſe of cryme) I gyltye dyd amyſſe.

Thou knoweſt that I was ſuch an one when courynge low I laye,

Before thy fete in humble wyſe and dyd intreatynge praye,

Thy gracyous goodnes me to graunt ſome ſuccour at thy hande.

For me a wreache and wreached babes I aſke wythin thys lande

ſome cotage baſe, in outcaſt hole, ſome couchyng corner vyle,

If from the towne thou dryue vs out to wander in exile,

Then ſome bye place aloofe wythin this realme let vs obtayne.

Cre. How I am none that tyrant lyke wyth churlyſh ſepter raygne,

Nor proudly or dyſdaynfullye, with hawtie corage hye,

with vaūting foote do ſtamp thē downe that vndertroden lye,

And daunted are in carefull bale, thys playnlye dothe dyſcloſe,

In that to me of late I ſuche a ſonne in lawe haue choſe,

Who was a wandryng pylgrim poore, wyth ſore afflyctyons fraight,

Dyſmayde wyth terrour of hys foe, that laye for hym in wayght.

Becauſe Acaſtus hauynge got the crowne of Theſſail lande,

Requyreth in thy gylty blood to bathe hys wreackfull hande.

He dothe bewayle that good olde man hys fyble father ſlayne,

Whom wayght of yeres wyth bowing back to ſtoope alow conſtraine

The godlye mynded ſyſters, all yblynde wyth myſtye vale

And clokyng colour of thy crafte durſte ventruſly aſſayle.

That mount of myfcheife merueylus, to mangle heaw, and cut,

Theyr fathers dere vnioynted lyms In boylyng caldron put.

But for thy open gyltynes if thou can purge the ſame,

ſtrayght Iaſon can dyſcharge hym ſelfe from blot of gyltye blame.

His gentle handes were neuer ſtainde wyth gore of any blood.

Aloofe from your conſpyracie refraynyng far he ſtood.

Hys harmeleſſe handes put not in vre wyth gorye tooles to mell.

But thou that ſeeſt on fyer fyrſte thoſe myghty myſcheifs fell,

Whō ſhameleſſe womans wilie braine and manly ſtomack ſtoute

Doe ſet a gog, for to a tempt to brynge all ils aboute.

And no regarde at all thou haſt, how ſcundyng trumpe of fame

Wyth ryngyng blaſt of good or ill do blowe abrode thy name:

Get out and clenſe my fyled realme, awaye together beare

Thyne herbes vnmylde of ſorcery, my Lyeges ryd fro feare.

Tranſporte thee to ſome other lande, wheras thou may at eaſe

With odious noyſe of diueliſh charme, the troubled Gods dyſeaſe.

Me. If nedes thou wylt haue me auoyde, my ſhyp to me reſtore,

Or els my mate wyth whom I fyrſte aryued on thys ſhore:

Why doſt thou byd that by my ſelfe I onely ſhould be gone?

I came not hether at fyrſte wythout my companye alone.

If thys do thee aggryeſe, that brunt of warres thou ſhalt ſuſtayne,

Comaunde vs both the cauſe therof to ſhun thy realme agayne:

Syth both are gyltye of one acte, why doſt thou partte vs twayne?

For Iaſons ſake, not for myne owne, poore Pelias was ſlayne.

Annex vnto my traytrous flyght the conquerd bootye braue,

My horye headded naturall ſier, whow I forſaken haue,

Wyth brothers blody fleſh that mangled was wyth caruynge knyfe,

Or ought of Iaſons forged lyes he gabbes vnto hys wyfe.

Theſe dreary dedes are none of myne, ſo ofte as I offende,

Not for myne owne cōmodytie, to come therby in thende.

Cre. time is expierd, by which thou ought to haue bene gone awaye,

Wyth kepyng ſuch a chat why doſt thou make ſo longe delaye?

Me. Yet of thy bountye ere I goe. thys one boone wyll I craue.

Although the mother banyſhed ſo ſore offended haue,

Let not the vengeaunce of my faulte through wrathfull deadly hate,

Myne innocent and gyltleſſe babes torment in wreached ſtate.

Cre. Away: wyth louing fryndely grype thy chyldren I imbrace,

And as a father naturall take pytie on theyr caſe.

Me. Euen for the proſperus good encrece of fertill ſpouſall bed,

Of Glauce bryght thy doughter deare, whom Iaſon late hath wed.

And by the hope of fruytfull ſeede, whoſe flowre in tyme ſhall bloome.

By th onour of thy glyſtryng crowne, ythralde to fortunes doome,

Whych ſhe ſo full of chop and chaunge with tycle turnyng wheele

Whirls vp & downe, in ſtaggring ſtate makes to and fro to reele.

I thee beſeche, (ſyth to exyle I am departing now)

O Creon but a lytle pawſe for mercye me alow,

Whyle of my mournyng brats w^t kyſſe my laſt farewell I take.

Whyle gaſpe of faylyng breath perhap my ſhyueryng lyms forſake.

Cre. Wyth craft entendyng ſome deceite thou craueſt thys delaye.

Me. What falſhed for ſo lytle tyme be cauſe of terrour maye?

Cre. No iote of tyme is ſhorte ynough dyſpleſure to preuent.

Me. Can not one iote to wepyng eyes and tryllyng teares be lent?

Cre. Although agaynſt thy erneſt ſute vnluckye dread do ſtryue,

One day to ſettle thee awaye content I am to gyue.

Me. Thys is to much, and of the ſame ſumwhat abrydge ye maye.

Cre. Make ſpede apace if from our land thou get thee not awaye,

Ere Phaebus horſe wyth golden glede theyr ſtreamyng beames do ſhed,

Of dawnyng lampe, thou art condemd to leſe thy wretched hed.

The holye day and brydall both doe call me hence awaye:

And wyls me at the ſacred aare of Hymeneus to praye.

Chorus.

Lauiſh of life and dreadleſſe was the wyght,

Attemptyng fyrſte in ſlender tottryng Barge

Wyth ſlyuyng Ore the ſlyced waue to ſmyte,

And durſt commyt the dayntie tender charge

Of hazered lyfe to inconſtant cours of winde,

That turnes wyth chaunge of chaunces euermore,

To vew the land forſoke aloofe behynde,

And ſhouyng furthe the ſhyp from ſafer ſhore,

And glauncyng through the fomy channell deepe

On ſunder cut wych ſlender ſtem the waue,

Twyxt hope of lyfe, and dread of death to ſweepe,

In narrow gut hym ſelfe to ſpyll or ſaue:

Experyence yet of Planets no man had,

They neded not the wandryng courſe to knowe

Of ſtarres, (wherwyth the paynted ſkye is clad,)

Not Pleiads, (whych returne of ſaylyng ſhow)

Nor Hyads (that wyth ſhowrs the ſeas do beate)

No nor the ſterne Amaltheas horned head

(Who gaue the lyppes of luckyng Ioue the teate)

Were wonte to put the blunderyng ſhyps in dread.

They feared not the northerne yſye wayne,

whych lazy olde bootes wields behynde,

And twynes aboute, no name yet could they fayne

For Boreas rough, nor ſmother weſtern wynde.

Yet Typhys bould on open ſeas durſt ſhowe

Hys hoyſted ſayles, and for the wynds decree

New lawes: as now full gale aloofe to blow,

Now tackle turnde to take ſyde wynde alee,

Now vp to farle the croſſayle on the maſt,

Theare ſafe to hange, the topſayle now to ſpred,

Now miſſel ſayle, and drabler out to caſt,

When daglyng hanges hys ſhattryng tackle red

whyle ſtearſman ſtur, and buſye neuer blyn,

Wyth pyth to pull all ſayles eke to dyſplay,

wyth tooth and nayle all force of wynde to wyn,

To ſheare the ſeas, and quyck to ſcud awaye.

The golden worlde our fathers haue poſſeſt,

where banyſht fraude durſt neuer come in place,

All were content to lyue at home in reſt,

wyth horye head, gray beard, and ſurrowed face.

whych tract of tyme wythin hys contrey brought,

Ryche hauyng lytle, for more they dyd not toyle,

No vente for wares, nor Traficque far they ſought,

No wealth that ſprange beyonde theyr natyve ſoyle,

The Theſſail ſhyp together now hath ſet,

The worlde that well wyth ſeas dyſſeuered laye,

It byddes the floods wyth oats to be bet,

And ſtreames vnknowen wyth ſhypwrack vs to fray

That wycked Rele was loſte by ruthfull wrack

Ytoſſed through ſuch perylles paſſyng great,

where Cyanes rocks gan rore as thunder crack,

whoſe bouncyng boult the ſhaken ſoyle doth beat,

The ſowſyng ſurges daſſhed euery ſtar,

The peſterd ſeas the cloudes alofte berayd,

Thys ſcufflyng dyd boule Typhis mynd detar,

Hys helme dyd ſlyp from tremblynge hande diſmaid.

Then Orpheus wyth his drowping Harp was mum

Dead in her dumpes the flauntyng Argos glee,

All huſht in reſt wyth ſylence, wexed dum,

what hardye harte aſtound here wolde not bee?

To ſee at once eche yawnyng mouth to gape,

Of ſyllas gulph compact in walloyng paunche,

Of dogges, who dothe not loth her mongrell ſhape,

Her viſage, breſt, and hyddyous vgly haunche:

whom erketh not the ſcoulde wyth barkyng ſtyll?

To here the Mermaydes dire who doth not quayle,

That lure the eares wyth pleaſant ſyngyng ſhryll

Of ſuch as on Auſonius ſea doe ſayle?

when Orpheus on his twancklyng Harpe did playe,

That carſt the Muſe Calliop gaue to hym

Almoſt thoſe Nimphes that wonted was to ſtaye

The ſhyppes, he cauſd faſt folowyng hym to ſwym.

How dearely was that wycked iourney bought?

Medea accurſt, and eke the golden Flecce,

That greater harme thē ſtorme of ſeas hath wrought

Rewarded well that voyage firſt of Greece.

Now ſeas controulde doe ſuffer paſſage free,

The Argo proude erected by the hand

Of Pallas fyrſte, doth not complayne that ſhe,

Conueyd hath back, the kynges vnto theyr land,

Eche whirty boat now ſcuddes aboute the deepe,

All ſtynts and waares are taken cleane awaye,

The Cytyes frame new walles them ſelues to keepe,

The open worlde lettes nought reſt where it laye:

The Hoyes of Ind Arexes luckwarme leake,

The Perſeans ſtoute in Rhene and Albis ſtreame

Do bathe theyr barkes, tyme ſhall in fyne out breake

when Ocean waue ſhall open euery realme.

The wandrynge worlde at will ſhall open lye.

And Typhis will ſome new found land ſuruaye.

Some trauelers ſhall the Coutreyes far eſcrye,

Beyonde ſmall Thule, knowen furtheſt at this day.

The third Acte.

Nutrix. Medea.

WHy trotſt thou fyſking in & out ſo raſh from place to place?

Stand ſtyll, and of thyne eger wrath ſuppreſſe the ruthfull race,

The rigour rough of rampyng rage from burnyng breſt out caſt,

As Bacchus bedlem preyſtes that of his ſpryte haue felt the blaſt,

Run frantyck hoytyng vp and downe wyth ſcytyſh wayward wyttes,

Not knowyng any place of reſt, ſo prycte wyth frowarde fyttes,

On cloudye top of Pindus mounte all hyd wyth ſnow ſo chyll:

Or els vpon the loftye ridge of braunched Niſa hyll:

Thus ſtartyng ſtill with froūced mind ſhe walters to and froe,

the ſygnes pronoūcyng profe of pangs her frenſie face doth ſhowe.

with glowing cheekes, & blood red face wyth ſhorte and gaſpyng breath,

She fetcheth depe aſcendyng ſyghes from ſobbynge harte beneath.

Now blithe ſhe ſmiles, ech rōbled thought in pondring braine ſhe beats,

Now ſtandes ſhe in a mammeryng, now myſcheyfe ſore ſhe threats.

w^t chaufing fume ſhe burnes in wrath, and now ſhe doth complayne,

With blubbering teares a freſh biliue ſhe weepes and wayles agayne.

Wher will this lumpiſh loade of cares with hedlong ſwaye allighte?

On whome entendethe ſhe to worke the threates of her diſpite?

Wher will this huge tēpeſtious ſurge ſlake downe it ſelfe agayne?

Enkindled furye newe in breſt beginnes to boyle a mayne.

She ſecretly entendes no miſſchife ſmall nor meane of ſyſe

To paſſe her ſelfe in wickednes her buſye braynes deuiſe.

The token old of pinchyng ire full well er this know I:

Sum hainous houge, outragious great and dredfull ſtorme is nie:

Her firie, ſcowling, ſteaming eyes, her hangynge groyne I ſe,

Her powting, puffed, frownyng face, that ſygnes of freating be.

O myghtie Ione begyle my feare: Me. O wretche if thou deſire,

What meaſure ought to paiſe thy wrathe then learne by Cupides fire,

To hate as ſore as thou didſt loue, ſhall I not them anoye

That do vnite in ſpouſall bed, theyr want on luſt enioye?

Shall Phaebus fierie footed horſe go lodge in weſterne waue

The drdwping day, that late I did with humble crowchinge craue,

And with ſuche erneſt buſie ſute ſo hardlie graunted was,

Shall it departe er I can bringe my deuyliſhe dryfte to paſſe?

While houeryng heuen dothe counter paiſed hange with egall ſpace,

Amid the marble hemiſpheares, whyle rounde with ſtinted race,

The gorgeous ſkye aboue the earthe doth ſpinning roll about,

Whiles that the number of the ſands, lyes hid vnſerched out.

While dawninge daye dothe kepe hys cours with Phaebus blaſe ſo bright,

While twinkling ſtars in golden traines do gard the ſlombrie night,

While I ſie vnder propping poale with whyrlyng ſwyng ſo ſwyft

The ſhyning beares vnbathed aboute The froſen ſkye do lifte,

Whyle fluſhing floodes y^e frothy ſtreames to ruſtling ſeas do ſend,

To gird them gript w^t plonging pangs my rage ſhall neuer end.

With greater heat it ſhall reboyle, lyke as the brutyſhe beaſt,

Whoſe tyranye moſt horryble, excedeth al the reſt,

What gredye gapynge whyrle poole wide what parlous gulphe vnmild,

What Sylla coucht in roryng rockes or what Charybdes wylde,

(That Sicil and Ioinum ſea by frothy waues doth ſup)

What Aetna bolking ſtifling flames, and duſkye vapours vp,

(Whoſe heauye payſe w^t ſtewyng heat doth ſmoldryng cruſhe beneath

Encelades, that fierie flakes from choked throte doth breath)

Can wyth ſuche dreadfull menaces In ſwetyng furye frye?

No ryuer ſwift no trowbled ſurge Of ſtormye ſea ſo hye,

Nor ſturdy ſeas (whom rufling winds wyth ragyng force to rore)

Nor puiſſant flaſh of fyre, whoſe might By boyſteous blaſt is more,

May byde my angers violence: my furye ſhall it foyle:

His court I le ouer hourl, and lay it leuel with the ſoyle.

My Iaſons harte did quake for feare of Creon cruell kyng.

And leſt the kyng of Theſſalye would warr vppon hym bryng.

But loyall loue that hardens hartes makes no man be afrighte.

But beet, that he conuict hath yeilde hym ſelfe to Creons myght.

Yet once he myght haue vyſyted and come to me hys wyfe,

To talke, and take hys laſt farewell. if daunger of hys lyfe

In doing thys (harde harted wretche moſt cruell) he ſhould feare,

He beyng Creons ſonne in law, for him it lefull were,

To haue proroged ſomwhat yet my heuye baniſhment,

To take my leue of children twayne one onlye day is lent:

Yet do I not complayne, as though the tyme to ſhort I thought,

As profe ſhall plaine pronoūce, to day, to day, it ſhall be wroughte,

The memorye wherof no tract of tyme ſhall wype awaye.

With malyce bent agaynſt the godes my wrath ſhall them aſſay:

And rifling euerye thyng, both good, and bad, I wyll turmoyle.

Nu. Madame thy mynde that troubled is, and toſt with ſuch abroyle

Of ſwarming ills, thy vexed breſt now ſet at reſt agayne,

The peuyſhe fonde affeccions all of troubled minde refrayne.

Me. Then onlye can I be at reſt, when euerye thyng I ſee

Thrown hedlong topſie turuey downe to ruthfull end wyth me.

Wyth me let al thynges cleane decay: thy ſelf if thou do ſpyll,

Thou mayſt dryue to diſtruction what els with the thou will:

Nu. Yf in this follye ſtyff thou ſtand beholde what after clappes

Ar to be feard, none dare contryue for princes traynyng trappes.

Iaſon. Medea.

O Luckles lot of froward fates o cruel fortunes happe,

Both when ſhe lyſt to ſmyte, or ſpare, in woe ſhe doth vs wrapp

A lyke, the ſalue that God hath geuen ſo oft, to cure our grefe,

More noyeth then the ſore it ſelfe, and ſendeth leſſe reliefe:

Yf for her good deſartes to me amendement I ſhuld make,

I hazard ſhuld my ventrous life to leſe it for her ſake.

If I wyll ſhun my diſmall daye and wyll not for her die,

Then want the loue of loialtie O wretched man muſt I.

No daſtardes dread my ſtomake ſtoute can cauſe to droupe and ſhrynke,

But mere remorſe appaulleth me, when on my babes I thynke.

For why? when carfull parentes are ons reft of lyfe and breath,

Sone after them ther wretched ſeede ar drawne to dolfull death.

O ſacred ryghteouſnes (if thou enioye thy worthye place

In perfect blyſſe of happie heauen) I call vppon thy grace,

And the for witnes here alledge, how for my chyldrens part

With pitte pryckte I haue committ theſe thynges agaynſt my harte.

And ſo I thinke Medea her ſelfe the mother rather had,

(Though francticklye as now ſhe fares with rage of hart ſo madd

And dothe abhor with paynfull yoke of combrous cares to toyle)

Her ſpouſall bed, then that her ſeede ſhould take the plonging foile.

I dyd determin in my minde, to go her to entreate

With gentle wordes, & pray her ceaſe, in feruent wrath to freate.

And lo, on me when ons ſhe kaſte the beames of glauncinge eie,

Full blythe ſhe leapes, ſhe iumpes for ioye, in fittes ſhe ginnes to frye.

Depe deadlie blackiſh hate ſhe ſeemes in out warde brow to beare,

And whollye in her frownynge face doth glutting grefe appeare.

Me. I packing, packyng, Iaſon am: this ſtill to chopp, and chaunge

The fletynge ſoyle of my abode, to me it is not ſtraunge.

The cauſe of my departure yet (to me is ſtraunge) and new.

I wonted was in folowyng the all places to eſchewe:

I wyll depart, and get me hence, to whom for helpyng hande

Entendeſt thou to ſende vs furthe, whom hence ſo flie the land

Thou doſt compell wyth thyne alies? ſhall I repaire agayne

To Phaſis flood, to Colchis Iſle, or to my fathers raygne?

Or gorye ſwetyng feldes, that wyth my brothers blood do reeke?

What harbring lands aloufe doſt thou commaund vs out to ſeeke?

What ſeas appoynt ye me to paſſe? ſhall I my iourney dryue,

Uppon the parlous hatefull iawes of Pontus to aryue,

By which I dyd ſaufe conduct home kynges valaunt armies great,

Wher roring rockes with thundrynge noiſe the flapping waues do beate,

Or on the narow wrackfull ſhore, of ſimplegades twayne?

Or els to ſmall Hiolcos town can I retourne agayne?

Or toyle, y^e gladſome pleaſant laūds Of Tempe to attayne?

All places that I opened haue Unto thy paſſage free,

I ſhut them vp agaynſt my ſelfe, now whether ſendeſt thou me?

A banyſht wretche to banyſhment thou woldeſt haue enclyne,

Yet to the place of her exyle thou canſt not her aſſygne.

Yet for all that wythout delaye I muſt departe and go:

And why? for ſothe the kynge his ſonne in lawe cōmaundeth ſo.

Well: nothyng wyll I ſtand agaynſte, wyth grypes of paſſynge payne

Let me be ſcourgde, of my deſartes ſuche is the gotten gayne.

Let Creon in hys pryncely ruffe lay to hys heauye handes,

To whyp an whore, in torments ſharp, wyth iron gyues, and bandes

Let her be chaynd, in hydiouſe hole of nyght for aye her locke:

Let her be cloyed wyth peſtryng payſe of reſtleſſe rowlyng rocke.

Yet leſſe than I deſerued haue, in all thys ſhall I fynde:

O thou vncurteous Gentleman, conſyder in thy mynde

The flamye puffes, and fyrye gaſpes of gaſtly gapyng bull,

And Aetas catell ryche wyth Fleece of gorgious golden wooll,

That went to graze amyd ſo great and myghtye feares in feylde,

Of vncontrouled nacyon, whoſe ſoyle dothe armyes yeilde.

Reuoke to mynde the deadly dartes of ſuddayne ſtartynge foe,

when gaſtly warriours (Tellus broode) to grounde agayne dyd goe

through ſlaughter red of mutual laūce, to thys yet further paſſe,

The lurched Fleece of Phrixes Ramme, that all thyne errand was.

And vgſome Argos ſlumberleſſe, whom faſt I cauſde to kepe

Hys werye watchyng wynkyng eyes wyth vnaquaynted ſlepe.

My brother eke, whoſe fatall twyſt of feble lyfe I ſhred,

And gylt that wrought ſo many gyltes when as wyth thee I fled.

The doughters whom I ſet on worke entrapte in wylye trayne,

To ſlaye theyr ſyre, that ſhall not ryſe to quyckned lyfe agayne.

And how to trauell other realmes, I ſet myne owne at nought.

By that good hope whych of thy ſeede conceaued is in thought,

Eake by thy ſtable mancion place, and myghtie monſters, that

Downe beaten for thy health, I cauſde before thy feete to ſquat,

And by theſe drudgyng handes of mine vnſpared for thy ſake,

For dread of daungers ouerpaſt that cauſed thee to quake,

By heauens aboue, and ſeas belowe, that wytneſſe bearers be,

To knyttyng of our maryage vppe, thy mercye vayle to me.

Of all the heapes of treaſure great ſo far of being fet,

Whych Aetas ſauage ſcythians dyd trauell for to get,

From Ind, where Phaebus ſcorching blaſe dothe dye the people blacke.

Of all this golde whych in our bowers we could not well compack,

But tryck and trym we garnyſhed our groues with golde ſo gaye,

I banyſht wretche of all thys ſtuffe gat nought wyth me awaye,

Excepte my brothers flaughtred fleſh, yet I employed the ſame

On thee: the cares of cuntreys healthe my honeſtye and ſhame.

My father, and my brother both hath yeilded place to thee,

Thys is the dowrye that thou had my wedded ſpouſe to bee.

To her whom thou doeſt abrogate reſtore her gooddes agayne.

Ia. When Creon in malycyous moode had thought thee to haue ſlayne,

Entreated wyth my teares exyle, and lyfe he gaue to thee.

Me. I toke it for a ponyſhment, but ſurely as I ſee

Thys banyſhment is now become a freyndly good rewarde.

Ia. Whyle thou haſt time to go be gone, for moſte ſeueare, and harde

The kynges dyſpleaſure euer is. Me. Thus woldſte thou dodge me out?

Thy hated trull caſt of thou doeſt that pleaſe Creuſe thou mought.

Ia. Doeſt thou Medea vpbrayde me wyth the breache vnkynd of loue?

Me. And ſlaughter vyle wyth trecherie wherto thou dyd me moue.

Ia. When al is done what canſt thou ſay my gyltynes to ſtayne?

Me. Euen whatſoeuer I haue done. Ia. Yet more thys doth remayne:

That thy vngratyous wyckednes of harme ſhould me accuſe.

Me. Thine, thine, they ar, they ar al thine what euer I dyd vſe.

Who y^t of lewdnes reapes the fruite, is grafter of the ſame.

Let euery one wyth infamie thy wretched ſpouſe defame,

Yet doe thou onely take her parte, her onely doe thou call

A iuſte and vndefyled wyght, wythout offence at all.

If anye man ſhall for thy ſake polute hys hand wyth ill,

To thee let hym an innocent yet be accompted ſtyll.

Ia. The life is lothſome that doth worke hys ſhame who hath it choſe.

Me. The life whoſe choyſe doth werke thy ſhame thou ought againe to loſe.

Ia. Let reaſon rule thy eger mynde ſo vext wyth crabbed ire

And for thy tender chyldrens eaſe to be at reſt requyre

Me. I do defye it, wholie I deteſt it, I forſweare,

That bretheren bred vnto my barnes Creuſas wombe ſhall beare.

Ia. It wyll be trym, when as a Queene of maieſtie and myght

Hath iſſue, kinn vnto the ſeede of the a baniſht wyght.

Me. ſo curſed day ſhall neuer on my wretched children ſhyne

To myngle baſe borne baſterdes wyth the blood of noble lygne.

Shal Phebus ſtocke (that beares y^e lamp of heauen in ſtarrye throne)

Be macht with drudginge ſiſiphus that roules in hell the ſtone?

Ia. What meaneſt y^u wretch both the & me in baniſhement to yoke?

I pray thē hence: Me. When humbly I my mynd to Creon broke,

He gaue an eare vnto my ſute, Ia. What lyeth in my myght

To do for the? Me. If no good turne then do thy worſt diſpyght.

Ia. On this ſide with his ſwerd in hande Kyng Creon doth me ſcar:

On other part wyth armed hoaſt Acaſt doth me detarr.

Me. Medea eke to coape wyth theſe, that more apaull vs maye:

Go to, to ſkyrmyſhe let vs fall Let Iaſon be the praye:

Ia. I yeld whom ſore aduerſyties haue tyerd wyth heauye ſwaye.

Learne thou to dred thy lucleſſe loſt that oft dothe thee aſſaye.

Me. I euermore haue rulde the ſwinge of fortunes waueryng wyll.

Ia. Achaſtus is at hand and nygh is Creon the to ſpyll:

Me. Take y^e thy heles to ſcape them both, I do not the aduiſe,

That thou agaynſt thy father in law In traytrous armes ſhould ryſe.

Nor in Achaſt thy coſens blood thy woundyng handes to gore,

The vowes vnto Medea made, do trowble the ſo ſore.

Whyle yet y^e haſt not ſpylt there blood yet, fly, with me a way.

Ia. when armies twain their banners of Defiance ſhall dyſplaye,

And marchyng furthe in fylde to fyght ſeke battayle at my hande,

Who then for vs encounter ſhall theyr puyſſance to wythſtand?

Me. If Creon and Acaſtus kynge encampe to gether ſhall.

Admit that theſe in one wyth them ſhould ioyne there powers all

My Contreymen of Cholchis Ile, and AEtas luſtye kynge,

Suppoſe the ſcythians ioyne w^t Grekes, to ground I wyll them brynge,

Cleane put to foile. Ia, The puiſſant power of hawty mace I feare

Me. Take hede, leſt more thou do affecte the ſame, then for to cleare,

Thy ſelfe of Creons ſeruile yoke, Ia. Leaſt ſome ſuſpicion grow.

Of thys our tatlynge long here let vs make an end and go.

Me. Now Ioue hurle out thy flames and thy thundring bolts to fly,

With fierie drakes bryght brandiſhing force diſparſt in burnyng ſkye:

Strayne furth thy dreadfull thretning arme, diſpoſe in due araye

The toſſyng dynt of lyghtnyng flaſhe, that wrecke our quarrell maye.

With rumblynge cracke of rentynge clowd cauſe all y^e world to quake,

And leuell not thy houeryng hande to ſtryke wyth fyrye flake

Uppon my paſht and cruſhed corpes, or Iaſons carcas ſlayne:

For whether of vs thou ſmyte to death hys dew rewarde ſhall gayne,

thy thumps of thwacking boltes on vs amiſſe they cannot lyghte.

Ia. Fie, let thy mynde on matters ronne that ſeme a modeſt wyghte.

And vſe to haue more cherfull talke, if any thynge thou craue,

Wythin my fathers houſe to eaſe thy flyght, thou ſhalt it haue.

Me. thou knowſt my mind both can, & eke is wonte, to do no leſſe,

Then to contemne the bryttell wealth that Prynces do poſſeſſe.

This, this ſhalbe the onelye boone that at thy hande I craue,

As mates wyth me in banyſhmente, my chyldren let me haue,

That reſtyng on theyr ſyghing breſtes my carefull mournyng hed,

I may my chryſtall tearye ſtreames into theyr boſomes ſhed.

But as for thee, new gotten ſonnes of wyfe new wed do ſtaye.

Ia. I graunt that vnto thy requeſte I wyſh I myght obeye:

But nature me wyth pytye pryckes, that nedes I muſt denye.

For though both Creon and Achaſt, in tormentes force me lye,

I could not yeild vnto theyr wylles: on thys my lyfe doth reſte:

In times of teares, thys is the ioye of dull afflycted breſte

For better far I can abyde the wante of vitall breath,

And ſuccour of my lymmes, or looſe, the lyght of worlde by death.

Me. What Ioue vnto hys ſelye babes is depely grafte in hym?

This worketh well I haue him trypt, lo nowe there lyeth brymme.

An open place whearbie receaue a vennye ſoone he maye.

Let me or I departe, vnto my ſelye chyldren ſaye.

Theſe leſſons of my laſt adewe, and graunt to me the ſpace,

With tender grype of collyng laſte theyr louyng lymmes t’embrace:

This wilbe comforte to my harte: yet at the latter woorde

I aſke nomore but onlye that you ſhuld me thys afoorde.

If eger anguyſh cauſe my tongue to caſt out woordes vnkynde,

Let al thyng flye, let nothyng be Engraued in your mynde

But let remembraunce otherwhyle of me to touche your thought,

Let other thynges be wypte awaye that byle of wrath hath wrought.

Ia, I haue forgotten euery whit god graunt thou may of ſhake

Theſe ſurging qualmes of frownced mynde & mylder mayeſt it make:

For quyetnes doth worke theyr eaſe that dented are wyth woe:

Me. What is he ſlylie ſlypt and gon? falles out the matter ſo?

O Iaſon doeſt thou ſneake awaye, not hauyng mynde of me,

Nor of thoſe former great good turns that I haue done for the?

Wyth the now am I cleane forgott: but I wyll bryng about

That from thy carefull ſighing minde ſhall not be banyſht out:

Apply to bryng thys to effect, call home thy wyttes agayne,

And all thy wylie fetches farre, eache artifycyall trayne.

Thys is the perfect fruyt that maye to the of myſchefe ſprynge,

To preſuppoſe that myſchefe is not graft in anye thynge.

Scante haue I oportunytie for my pretenſed guyle,

Becauſe we are myſtruſted ſore, But trye I wyll the whyle

To ſet vppon them in ſuch ſort, as none can deme my ſleyghte:

Marche furth, now venture on, fall to, bothe what lyeth in thy myght,

And alſo what doth paſſe thy power. O fayth full nourſe and mate.

Of all my heauye hart breakyng, and dyuers curſed fate,

Come helpe our ſymple meane deuice. remaynyng yet I haue

A robe of Pall the preſent that our heauenlye graundſyre gaue,

Chefe monument of Cholchis Ile, whiche Phaebus did beſtowe

On Etas for a pledge, that hym hys father he myght knowe.

A precyous fulgent gorget eake, that brauelye glytters bryght,

And wyth a ſeamlye ſhynyng ſeame of golden thrydes is dyght,

Through wrought betwene the row of pirles do ſtand in borders round

Wherwyth my golden criſpen lockes is wonted to be crounde.

My lytle chyldren they ſhall beare theſe preſentes to the Bryde,

That fyrſte wyth ſlybber ſlabbar ſoſſe of chauntmentes ſhalbe tryed.

Requeſt the ayde of Hecate in redynes prepare

The lamentable ſacryfyce, vpon the blaudye Aare.

Enforce the fyers catchyng houlde vpon the rafters hye

With crackling nois of flamie ſparkes rebounde in azur ſkye.

Chorus.

NO fyers force, nor rumblyng cage of boyſteous bluſtryng wynde,

No darte ſhot whyrling in the ſkyes, ſuch terrour to the mynde

Can dryue, as when the irefull wyfe dothe boyle in burnynge hate,

Depryued of her ſpouſall bed, and comforte of her mate,

Nor where the ſtormye ſoutherne winde wyth dankyſh dabbye face,

Of horye wynter ſendeth out the guſſhyng ſhooores apace.

where veighment Iſters waumbling ſtream comes walterynge downe amayn,

Forbyddyng both the bankes to meete, and cannot ofte contayne

Hym ſelfe within hys channels ſcoupe, but further breakes hys waye,

Nor Rodanus whoſe ruſſhyng ſtreame dothe launche into the ſea,

Or when amydde the floured ſprynge wyth hotter burnynge ſonne,

The wynters ſnowes diſolued with heate downe to the ryuers ronne:

The clottred toppe of Haemus hill to water thynne dothe turne,

Such deſperate gogyn flame is wrathe that inwardly doth burne,

And modeſt rule regardeth not, nor brydels can abyde,

Nor dreading death, doth wyſh on dinte of naked blade to ſlyde.

O Gods be gracyous vnto vs, for pardon we do craue,

That hym who tamde the ſcuffling waues, vouchſafe ye wolde to ſaue.

But Neptune yet the Lorde of ſeas wyth frownyng face wyll lower,

That ouer hys ſecond ſcepter men to tryumphe haue the power.

The boy that raſhlye durſte attempt that great vnweldye charge

Of Phaebus euerlaſtynge carte, and rouyng out at large,

Not bearyng in hys reckleſſe breſte hys fathers warnynges wyſe

Was burned wyth the flames whych he dyd ſcatter in the ſkyes.

None knew the coſtlye glymſyng glades, where ſtragglynge Phaeton rode,

Paſſe not the path, where people ſafe In formar tyme haue trode.

O fondlynge, wylfull, wanton boye, do not dyſſolue the frame

Of heauen, ſyth Ioue with ſacred hande hath halowed the ſame.

Who rowde wyth valyante oares tough, that were for Argo made,

Hath powled naked Pelion mounte of thycke compacted ſhade.

Who entered hathe the flerynge rockes and ſerched out the toyle

And tyrynge trauels of the ſeas, and hath on ſaluage ſoyle

Knyt faſt hys ſtretched cable rope, and goinge fourthe to lande.

To cloyn awaye the foren golde with gredye ſnatchyng hande.

Vnto the ſeas (becauſe that he tranſgreſt theyr lawes deuyne)

By thys vnluckye ende of hys he payes hys forfeyte fyne.

The troubled ſeas of theyr vnreſt for vengeaunce howle and weepe.

Syr Typhis who dyd conquer fyrſt the daunger of the deepe,

Hath yeilded vp the connynge rule of hys vnweldye ſterne,

To ſuch a guyde, as for that vſe hath nede as yet to lerne.

who gyuyng vp hys gohſte aloofe from at hys natyue lande,

In forreyn more lyes buryed vyle wyth durtye ſoddes in ſande.

He ſyts amonge the flyttrynge ſoules that ſtraungers to hym weare.

And Aulis Iſle that in her mynde her maſters loſſe dothe beare,

Helde in the ſhippes, to ſtand and wayle in crokyng narrow nooke:

That Orpheus Calliops ſonne who ſtayde the runnynge brooke,

whyle he recordes on heauenly Harpe wyth twancklynge fynger ſyne,

The wynde layd downe his pipling blaſtes: his harmonye diuine

Procurde the woods to ſtyr them ſelues, and trees in eraynes alonge

Cam furth, with byrds that held their laies and lyſtned to hys ſonge.

wyth lyms on ſunder rent in feilde of Thrace he lyeth ded.

Vp to the top of Heber flood eke haled was hys hed.

Gone downe he is to ſtygian dampes. whych ſeene he had before,

And Tartar boylyng pyttes, from whence returne he ſhall no more.

Alcydes bangyng bat dyd brynge the Northerne laddes to grounde.

To Achelo of ſundry ſhapes he gaue hys mortall wounde.

Yet after he could purchaſe peece both vnto ſea and lande`

And after Ditis dungeon black rent open by hys hand,

He lyuyng ſpred hym ſelfe along on burnynge Oetas hyll:

Hys members in hys proper flame the wretche dyd thruſte to ſpyll:

Hys blood he brewd wyth Neſtors blood, and loſt hys lothſome lyfe

By traytrus gyfte that poyſoned ſhyrte receaued of hys wyfe.

wyth tuſke of bryſtled groynyng bore Anceus lyms were torne.

O Meleager (wycked wyght) to graue by thee were borne

Thy mothers brethren twayne, and ſhe, for it wyth ruthfull hande

Hath wrought thy dolefull deſtenye to burne thy fatall brande.

The raſh attemptyng Argonantes deſerued all the death

That Hylas whom Alcides loſte bereft of fadyng breath.

That ſpringall whych in ſowſyng waues of waters drowned was:

Go now ye luſtye bloods, the ſeas: with doubtfull lot to paſſe.

Though Idmon had the calking ſkyll of deſtenyes before,

The ſerpent made hym leaue hys lyfe in tombe of Liby ſhoore.

And Mopſus that to other men could well theyr fates eſcrye,

Yet onely dyd deceyue hym ſelfe vncertayne wheare to dye,

And he that could the ſecret hap of thynges to come vnfoulde,

Yet dyed not in hys cuntrey Thebes. Dame Thetis huſband oulde

Dyd wander lyke an outlawde man. Our Palimedes ſyre

Dyd hedlonge wholme hym ſelfe in ſeas, who at the Grekes retyre

From Troy, to ruſhe on rocks did them alure wyth wylye light.

Stoute Aiax Oleus dyd ſuſtayne the dynt of thunder bryghte,

And cruell ſtorme of ſurgyng ſeas, to quite the haynus gylte,

That by hys cuntrey was commit, in ſeas he lyeth ſpylte.

A leeſte to redeme her huſbandes Phereus lyfe from death.

The godlye wyfe vppon her ſpouſe beſtowed her pantyng breath.

Proude Pelias that wretche hym ſelfe who bad them fyrſte aſſaye

The golden Fleece that botye braue by ſhyp to fetche awaye,

Perboylde in glowyng cauldron hoate wyth feruent heatche fryes,

And fletynge pece meale vp and doune in water thyn he lyes.

Ynoughe, ynoughe, reuenged are o Goddes the wronges of ſeas,

Be good to Iaſon, doing that he dyd, hys eame to pleaſe.

The fourth Acte.

Nutrix.

MY ſhyuerynge minde amazed is, agaſte, and ſore dyſmayde:

My chyllyſh lyms with quakyng colde doe tremble all afrayde.

Such plagues & vengeance is at hande in what excedyng wyſe

Do ſharpe aſſaultes of gredye greife ſtyll more and more aryſe,

And of it ſelfe in ſmotheryng breſt enkyndles greater heate?

Ofte haue I ſeene how rampyng rage hath forced her to freate.

Wyth frantickfyts, mad, bedlem wiſe agaynſt the Gods to rayle,

And eke bewytched gohſtes of heauen in plungyng plagues to trayle:

But now Medea beates her buſie braine to brynge to paſſe

A myſcheyfe greater, greater far, then euer any was.

Ere whyle when hence ſhe trypt away aſtonyſhed ſo ſore,

And of her poyſon cloſſet cloſe ſhe entred had the dore:

She powreth out her iewels all, abrode to lyght ſhe brynges

That which ſhe dreadyng lothed long, moſte irkſome vglye thynges:

She mumblyng coniures vp by names of illes the rable rowte,

In hugger mugger cowched longe, kept cloſe, vnſerched oute:

All peſtlent plagues ſhe calles vppon, what euer Libie lande,

In frothy boylyng ſtream doth worke, or muddye belchynge ſande:

What teryng torments Taurus bredes, wyth ſnowes vnthawed ſtyll

Where winter flawes, and hory froſte knyt harde the craggy hyll,

She layes her croſſynge handes vpon eache monſtrus coniurd thynge,

And ouer it her magicke verſe wyth charmyng dothe ſhe ſynge:

A mowſye, rowſye, ruſtye route wyth cancred ſcales yclad

From muſtye, fuſtie, duſtye dens where lurked longe they had,

Do craull: a walowing ſarpent houge hys combrous corps out draggs,

In fierye fomyng blaryng mouthe his forked tongue he wagges.

He ſtares about wyth ſparklyng eyes, if ſom he myght eſpye,

Whom ſnapping at with ſtinging ſpit he myght conſtrayne to dye:

But hearyng once the magycke uerſe he huſht as all a gaſt,

Hys bodie boalne byg, wrapt in lumps on twynyng knotes he caſt.

And wamblynge to and fro his tayle in lynkes he rowles it round.

Not ſharp enough (quoth ſhe) y^e plages and tooles that holow grownd

Engenders for my purpoſe ar, to heauen vpp wyll I call,

To reache me ſtronger poyſon down, to frame my feat wyth all.

Now is it at the verye poynt, Medea thou aſſaye.

To brynge about ſum farther fetche, then common wyches maye.

Let down, Let down, that ſprawlyng ſnake that doth his bodye ſpred,

As doth a runnyng broke abrode his myghtye chanell ſhed.

Whoſe ſwellyng knobes of wondrous ſiſe & boyſteus bobbing bumpes

Doth thumpe the great & leſſer bear that fele his heauye lumpes.

The bygger bear with golden glede the greekiſhe fleete doth guyde:

But by the leſſe the ſidon ſhypps their paſſage haue eſpied.

He that wyth pinche of gripyng fyſte doth bruſe the adders twayne,

His ſtrenyng harde & claſpyng hande, let him vnknitt agayne.

And cruſhe thair ſqueaſed venom out, com further thou our charme

O flymie ſerpent Python, whom dame Iuno ſent to harme

Diana and Apollo both, (thoſe heauenly ſpyrytes twayne)

With whom Latona trauelynge did grone wyth pynchyng payne.

O Hydra whom in Lerna poole Alcides gaue the foyle,

And all the noyſom vermen vyle that Hercules did ſpoyle.

Which when on ſunder they were cutt wyth ſlyſyng deadlye knyfe,

Can knyt agayne ther ſodred partes, and ſo recouer lyfe.

Helpe wakefull Dragon Argos, whom firſte magicke words of myne

Made Morpheus locke thy ſleppe liddes and ſhut thy ſlurgynge eyen.

Then hauyng brought aboue the groūd of ſerpentes all the rowte,

Of fylthy wedes the ranckeſt bane ſhe pyckes. and gathers out,

That ſpryng on knottye Eryx hyll wher paſſage none is founde,

Among the ragged rockes, or what on Caucaſus his ground

Doth growe that ſtyll is clad in cote of horye morye froſte.

That euermore vnmelt abydes, whoſe ſpattred fylde is ſoſte

With gubbs of blood, y^t ſpowteth from Prometheus gapyng maw,

Whoſe gutts with twitching talēt out the gaſtlye grype doth drawe.

Or anye other venomous herbe amonge the Medes that growes,

that with their ſheafe of arrowes ſharp in fylde do ſcar theyr foes.

Or what the lyght held Parthian to ſerue her turne can ſende,

Or els the ryche Arabians, that dyp theyr arrowes end

In poyſon ſtronge: the ioyce of all Medea out doth wrynge,

That vnderneth the froſen poale In ſweuia land doth ſprynge.

Whoſe noble ſtate Hircinus wood do the highe enhaunce and reare.

Or what the pleaſaūte ſoyle doth yeild in pryme of ſmiling vere,

When nature byddes the byrd begin her ſhrowdyng neſt to buylde,

Or when the churſyſhe Boreas blaſt ſharpe winter hath exild,

The trym aray of branche and bough to cloth the naked tree,

And euerye thynge wyth bytter could of ſnowe congealed be.

In any peſtylent flower on ſtalke of anye herbe doth grow,

Or noyſome ioyce doth ly in rotten writhen rotes alowe,

Hath anye force in breadyng bane, thoſe takes ſhe in her hande.

Sum plagye herbes dyd Athos yeald that mount of Theſſayle land.

And other Pindus roches hye and ſum vppon the top

Of Pingeus, but tender twyggs the cruell ſythe dyd lopp:

Thes Tigris ryuer noryſhte vp, that chokes his whyrlpoale depe

With ſtronger ſtreame. Danubius thoſe in foſtryng waue dyd kepe.

Thoſe dyd Hidaſpus myniſter, who by the parchyng zone

With luke warme ſiluer chanel runes, ſo ryche wyth precyous ſtone.

And Bethis ſonne, who gaue the name vnto his contrey great,

And with his ſhallowe fourd agaynſt the ſpanyſhe ſeas doth beat

This herbe abode the edge af knyfe in danwnynge of the daye

Or Phebus face gan pepe, bedecte wyth glyttryng goulden ſpraye

His ſlender ſtalke was ſnepped of in depe of ſylent nyght,

Hys corne was cropt, whyle ſhe wyth charm her po•ſned nailes did dight.

She chops the dedlie herbes, & wrings the ſqueſed clottered blood

Of ſerpentes out: & fylthye byrds of irkſom mirye mud:

She tempers wyth the ſame and eake: ſhe brayes the harte of owle

Foreſhewing death with glaring eyes and moapyng viſage foule

Of ſhrike oule hoarce alyue ſhe takes the durtye ſtynkyng guttes,

Al thes the framer of this feate in dyuers percels puttes.

This hath in it deuouryng force of gredye ſpoylynge flame,

The froſen eyſye dullyng coulde engenders by the ſame.

She chantes on thoſe y^e magicke vers, that workes no leſſer harme,

With buſtling frātickelie ſhe ſtampes, and ceaſeth not to charme.

MEDEA.

O Flittring flocks of griſlie goſtes that ſyt in ſylent ſeat

O ougſum buggs o gobblyns grym of hell I you intreat:

O lowryng Chaos dungeon blynd, and dredfull darkned pytt,

Whear Ditis muffled vp in clowdes of blackeſt ſhades doth ſytt,

O wretched wofull wawlyng ſoules your ayed I do implore,

That linked lie with ginglyng chaines on waylyng Limbo ſhore,

O moſſye den where deth doth couche his gaſtly carrayn face:

Releas your panges o ſpryghtes, & to this weddyng hye apace.

Cauſe ye the ſnaggye whele to pawſe that rentes the carkas bound,

Permitt Ixions racked lymmes to reſt vpon the ground:

Let hungry bytten Tantalus wyth gawnt and pyned panche

Soupe vp Pirenes gulped ſtreame his ſwellyng thyrſt to ſtawnche.

Let burnyng Creon byde the brunt and gyrdes of greater payne,

Let payſe of ſlypperye ſlydyng ſtone type ouer backe agayne

His moylynge father ſiſyphus, amonges the craggye rockes.

Ye doughters dyre of Danaus Whom perced pychers morkes

So oft wyth labour loſt in vayne this day doth long for you

That in your lyfe wyth bloodye blade at once your huſband ſlewe.

And thou whoſe aares I honored haue o torche and lampe of nyght,

Approche o ladye myne wyth moſt deformed vyſage dyght:

O thre folde ſhapen dame that knitſt more threatnyng browes then on,

Accordyng to the contrey guyſe wyth daglyng lockes vndon

And naked fote, the ſecrete groue about I halowed haue,

From duſkye drye vnmoyſtye cloudes the ſhowers of rayne I craue.

Through me y^e chinked gaping ground the ſoked ſeas hath drunk,

And mayner ſtreame of thocian flood beneth the erthe is ſunke,

that ſwelteth out through holow gulph with ſtronger guſhyng rage.

Thē were his ſuddy wamblyng waues whoſe power it doth aſſwage

the heauens w^t wrong diſturbed courſe and out of order quyte,

The darkned ſonne, & glīmering ſtars at once hath ſhewed theyr lyght,

and drēched Charles his ſtragling waine hath ducte in daſſhyng waue,

The framed cours of roamyng time racte out of frame I haue.

So my enchaūtments haue it wrought that when the flamyng ſonne

In ſōmer bakes the parched ſoyle then hath the twygges begonne,

with ſprowting bloſſom freſh to blome' and haſtye wynter corne

Hath out of harueſt ſene the fruyte to barnes on ſuddeyn borne.

Into a ſhallowe foorde hys ſture dyſtreame hath Phaſis waſt

And Iſters channell beynge in ſo manye braunches caſt,

Abated hath hys wrackfull waues, on euerye ſylent ſhore

He lyeth calme: The iumbled flooddes wyth thundryng noyſe dyd rore,

When couched cloſe the wyndes were not mouing pippling ſofte,

With workyng waue the prauncynge ſeas haue ſwolne & leapt aloft,

Wheras the wood in alder tyme wyth thyck and braunched bowe

dyd ſpred hys ſhade on gladſome ſoyle no ſhade remayneth nowe.

I rollynge vp the magicke verſe at noone tyme Phaebus ſtaye,

Amyd the darkened ſkye, when fled was lyght of drowſye daye

Eke at my charme the watry flockes of Heyads went to glade.

Tyme is it Phaeba to reſpecte the ſeruyce to thee made:

To thee with cruell blooddye handes thes garlandes grene were twind

Whych with hys foldyng circles nine the ſerpent rowgh dyd bynd.

Haue here Tiphoias fleſhe, that dothe In Etnas furnace grone,

That ſhake with batterye vyolent kynge Ioues aſſalted trone.

This is the Centaures poyſened blood whiche Neſſus vyliayne vyle

Who made a rape of Dianire entendynge her to fyle,

Bequethed her when newlye woūde he gaſpynge lay for breth,

While Hercles ſhaft ſtack in his ribbs, whoſe lawnce did worke his death:

Beholde the funerall cinders hear whyche vp the poyſon dryed

Of Hercules who in hys fyre on Oeta mountayne dyed:

Lo here the fatall brande, which late the fatall ſyſters three

Conſpyred at Meleagers byrthe, ſuch ſhulde hys deſtnye be,

To ſaue alyue hys brethyng corpes, whyle that myght hole remayne,

Whiche ſafe hys mother Alte kept, tyll he his vncles twayne,

(That from Atlanta wolde haue had the head of Conquered Bore,)

Had reft of lyfe whoſe ſpytefull death Althea toke ſo ſore,

That both ſhe ſhewed her feruentnes in ſyſters godlye lous,

When to reuenge her brothers death mere nature dyd her moue,

But yet as mother moſt vnkynde of nature moſte vnmylde,

To haſten the vntymely graue of her beloued chylde,

Whyle Meleages fatall brande ſhe waſted in the flame,

Whoſe ſwelting guts & bowels moult conſumed as the ſame,

Theſe plumes the Harpyes raueninge fowles for haſt did leue behind,

In hidden hole whoſe cloaſe acceſſe no mortall wight can fynd.

When faſt from Zethes chaſyng them wyth ſpedye flyght they fled.

Put vnto theſe the fethers whyche the ſtymphall byrde dyd ſhed,

Whom duſkyng Phaebus dymned lyght ſyr Hercules dyd ſtynge,

And galled wyth the ſhafte, that he in Hydraes hyde dyd flynge.

You Aares haue yeld a clattryng noyſe I knowe, I knowe of olde,

How vnto me my Oracles are wonted to be coulde,

That when the tremblyng flowre doth ſhake then hath my Goddeſſe greate,

Uouchfafe to graunt me my requeſte as I dyd her intreate.

I ſee Dianas waggyn ſwyfe, not that wheron ſhe glydes

When all the nyght in darkened ſkye wyth face full ope ſhe rydes:

with coūtenaūce bryght & blandiſhyng but when with heauie cheare,

With duſkie ſhīmering wannie globe, her lampe doth pale appeare.

Or when ſhe trots aboute the heauens wyth horſehead rayned ſtraite,

When Theſſayle wytches w^t the threates of charmynge her doe bayte.

So wyth thy dumpyſh dulled blaſe, thy clowdye faynting lyghte,

Sende out, amyd the lowryng ſkye, the harte of people ſmyte

Wyth agonyes of ſuddeine dread, in ſtraunge and fearefull wyſe,

Compell the precyous braſen pannes with iarryng noyſe to ryſe

Through Corinth contrye euerye wher, to ſhylde the from this harme,

leſt hedlong drawne thou be frō heauen to earth by force of charme.

An holye ſolempne ſacryfyce to worſhip the we make,

Imbrewed with a blooddye turphe the kindled torche doth take

Thy ſacred burning night fyre at the dampiſhe morie graue.

Sore charged with thy trowbled ghoſt my hed I ſhaken haue,

And duckyng downe my necke alowe with ſhrykyng lowde haue ſhright,

And groueling flat on floore in traūce haue lyen in dead mans plight.

My tuffled lockes about myne eares downe daglyng haue ben bownde

Tuckt vp about my temples twayne wyth gladſome garland crownd:

A drerye branche is offred the from fylthye ſtigis flood.

As is the guiſe of Bacchus preſtes the Coribanthes wood,

With naked breſt and dugges layd out Ile prycke with ſacred blade

Myne arme, that for the bubling blood an iſſue maye be made,

with trilling ſtreams my purple blood let droppe on Thalter ſtones:

My tender chyldrens cruſſhed fleſh and broken brooſed bones

Lerne how to brooke w^t hardned harte: in practyſe put the trade

To floryſh fearce, and kepe a coyle, wyth naked glyttrynge blade:

I ſpryncled holye water haue, the launce once being made,

If tyred thou complayneſt that my cryes thee ouerlade,

Gyue pardon to my erneſt ſute, o Perceus ſyſter deare,

Styll Iaſon is the onelye cauſe that vrgeth me to reare

w^t ſqueking voice thy noiſome beames, that ſtynge lyke ſhot of bowe.

So ſeaſon thou thoſe ſawced robes to worke Creuſas woe,

Wherw^t when ſhe ſhal pranke her ſelfe the poyſon by and by

To rotte her in warde marye oute, wythin her bones may fry,

The ſecret fyer bleares their eyes wyth gloſſe of yealow golde,

The whych Prometheus gaue to me that fyer fylcher bolde.

On whom for robbery that he dyd in heauens aboue commyt,

Wyth maſſy payſe great Caucaſus thunweldye hyll doth ſyt,

Where vnder wyth vnwaſted wombe he lyes, and payes his paine,

To feede the crāmyng foule w^t gubbes of guttes that growes agayne.

He taught me wyth a pretye ſleyght of connyng, how to hyde

The ſtrengthe of fyer cloſe kept in, that may not be eſpyed,

Thys lyuely tinder Mulciber hath forged for my ſake,

That tempred is wyth brymſton quick at fyrſte touche and take.

Eke of my coſen Phacton a wyld fyer flake I haue

Hys flames the monſtrous ſtagharde rough Chimera to me gaue,

In head and breſte a Lyon grymme, and from the rump behynde

He ſwepes the flower w^t laggyng taile of ſerpent force by kynde.

In rybbes & loynes along his paunche yſhaped lyke a Gote.

theſe fumes that out the bull perbrakte from fyrye ſpewing throte,

I gotten haue and brayd it wyth Meduſas bytter gall

Cōmaundyng it in ſecret ſorte to duſke and couer all:

Breath on theſe venoms Hecate wyth deadly myght inſpyre,

Preſerue the touchyng poulder of my ſecret couert fyre,

O graunt that theſe my cloked craftes ſo may bewytch theyr eyes,

That lykelyhood of treaſon none that may herein ſurmyſe:

So worke that they in handlyng it may fele no kynde of heate:

Her ſtewing breſt, her ſethyng vaines, let feruent fyer freate

And force her roſted pynyg lymmes, to droppe and melte awaye,

Let ſmoke her rotten broylyng bones: enflame thys bryde to daye

To caſte a lyght wyth greater glede on fryſeled blaſynge heare

Then is the ſhynyng flame that dothe the weddyng torches beare.

My ſute is harde, thryſe Hecate a dreadfull barkyng gaue

From dolefull clowde a ſacred flaſh of flamye ſparkes ſhe draue.

Eache poyſons pryde fulfylled is: Call furthe my chyldren deare,

By whom vnto the curſed Bryde theſe preſentes you may beare:

Goe furthe, goe furthe my lytle babes, your mothers curſed fruite,

Goe, goe, employ your paines w^t brybe and earneſt humble ſute

To purchaſe grace, and eke to earne you fauour in her ſyght.

That both a mother is to you, and rules wyth Ladyes myght.

Go on, applye your charge apace and hye you home agayne,

That wyth embracyng you I maye my laſt farewell attayne.

Chorus.

WHat ſharpe aſſaultes of cruell Cupydes flame

Wyth gyddie hede thus toſſeth to and froe,

Thys bedlem wyght, and dyuelyſh deſpret dame

what rouyng rage her pryckes to worke thys woe?

Rough rancours byle congeales her troſen face,

Her hawtie breſt bumbaſted is wyth pryde,

She ſhakes her head, ſhe ſtalkes wyth ſtatelye pace,

She threates our kyng more then doth hee betyde.

who wolde her deme to be a banyſht wyght,

whoſe ſkarlet cheekes do glowe wyth roſye red?

In fayntyng face wyth pale and wannye whyght

The ſanguyne hew exyled thence is fled.

Her chaungyng lokes no colour longe can holde,

Her ſhiftyng fete ſtyll trauaſſe to and froe.

Euen as the fearce and rauenyng Tyger olde

That doth vnware hys ſuckyng whelpes forgoe,

Doth rampe, and rage, moſt eger ferce and wood,

Amonge the ſhrubbes and buſſhes that do growe

On Ganges ſtronde that golden ſanded flood,

whoſe ſyluer ſtreame through India doth flowe.

Euen ſo Medea ſomtyme wantes her wyttes

To rule the rage of her vnbrydeled ire,

Now Venus ſonne wyth buſye froward fyts,

Now wrath and loue, enkyndle both the fyre.

what ſhall ſhe do? when wyll thys heynous wyght

wyth forworde fote be packyng hence awaye,

From Greece? to eaſe our realme of terrour quyght,

And prynces twaine whom ſhe ſo ſore doth fraye:

Now Phaebus lodge thy Charyot in the weſte,

Let nether raines nor brydle ſtaye thy race,

Let groueling lyght wyth dulceat nyght oppreſte

In clokyng cloudes wrapt vp hys muffled face,

Let Heſperus the loadeſman of the nyght,

In weſterne flood drenche depe the daye ſo bryght.

The. v. Acte.

Nuntius. Chorus. Nutrix. Medea. Iaſon.

Nun. ALl thynges are topſy turuy turnd, and waſted cleane to nought

To paſſynge great calamytye our kyngdome ſtate is brought

The ſyer and doughter burnte to duſte in blendred cynders lye.

Cho. what train hath thē entrapt? Nū ſuch as are made for kyngs to dye,

Falſe traitruſſe gifts.

Cho. what priuy guile could wrapped be in thoſe?

Nun. And I do meruayle at thys thynge and ſkante I can ſuppoſe

that ſuch a miſcheife might be wrought by any ſuch deuyce

Cho, Reporte how thys dyſtruction and ruine ſhould aryſe

Nun. The fyzzinge flame moſt egerlye dath ſcoure wyth ſwepynge ſwaye

Eache corner of the prynces courte, as though it ſhould obaye

Commaunded therunto ſo flat on flowre the pallayce falles:

We are in dread leaſt further it wyll take the townyſh walles.

Cho. Caſt quenchyng water on it then to ſlake the gredye flame.

Nun. And thys that ſemeth very ſtraunge doe happen in the ſame,

The water fedes the fyer faſte, the more that we do toyle

It to ſuppreſſe, wyth hotter rage the heate begyngs to boyle:

Thoſe thinges that we haue gotten for our helpe it dothe enioye.

Nut. Medea thou that doeſt ſo ſore kyng Pelops lande anoye,

Twine hence in haſt thy forward foot, at all aſſayes depart

To anye other kynde of coaſt. Me. can I fynd in my hart

To ſhun this land? if hence I had fyrſt falne awaye by flyght,

I would haue traueled back agayne, to gaſe at ſuche a ſyght.

To ſtand and ſe this weddynge new why ſtayeſt thou dotyng mynd?

Apply, applye, thy ſore attempt, that good ſuceſſe doth fynd.

What great exployt is this, that thou of vengeance doſt enioy?

Styll art thou blynded witleſſe wench with vale of Venus boy?

Is this ſuffiſaunce for thy grefe? is roote of rancour ded,

If Iaſon lead a ſyngle life in ſolytary bed?

Som netling, thornie, ſtinging plages vnpractyſed deuyſe:

Prepare thy ſelfe in redynes and fal to on this wyſe:

Let all be fyſhe that commes to net, haue no reſpect of ryght,

From mynde on myſchefe fixed faſt let ſhame be banyſht quyt:

The vengeaunce they receaued at my lytle chyldrens hande,

Is nothyng worth: in erneſt ire ententyue muſt thou ſtand.

When heat of wrath beginnes to coole cheare vp thy ſelfe agayn:

Rayſe vp thoſe touches old that wonted were in the to raygne,

That buryed depe in breſt do lye: and as for all the ſame

That yet is wrought. of godlyneſſe let it vſurpe the name:

Do this & I ſhall teache them learne, what tryflyng caſt it was,

And common practiſed flymflam tryck that erſt I brought to paſſe.

By thys my ragyng maladye a preamble hath made,

To ſhew what howgier heapes of harmes ſhall ſhortlye them inuade

What durſt my rude vnſkillfull hand aſſaye that was of wayght?

What could the mallyce of a gyrle inuent her foes to bayte?

Styll conuerſant with wicked feates Medea am I made.

My blunt and dulled braynes hath ſo ben beat about this trade:

O ſo I ioy, I ioy, that I ſmot of my brothers hed,

And ſlaſht his members of: eak that from parents and I fled:

And filched haue the priuy fleece lo Mars that ſacred was.

It glads my hart that I to bring ould Pelias death to paſſe.

Haue ſet his douggters all on worke, O griefe picke out awaye

Not any guilt thou ſhalt with vnacqueinted hand aſſaie

Againſt whom wrath entendeſt thou to bend thyne Irefull might?

Or with what weapon doſt thou mean thy traiterous foes to ſmite?

I know not what my wrathfull minde conſulted hath within

And to bewraie it to him ſelfe, I dare not yet begin.

O raſh and vnaduiſed foole, I make to haſtie ſpede:

O that my foe had gotten of his harlots bodie ſeede:

But what ſo euer thou by him enioyeſt, ſuppoſe the ſame

To be Creuſas babes of them let her euioy the name.

This vengeaūce this doth lyke me wel good reaſon is their why

The laſt attempt of yls, thou muſt with ſtomacke ſtout applie.

Alas ye lytell ſelie fooles that erſt my children were,

The plaging price of fathers fault ſubmyt your ſelues to beare

O, horrour huge with ſodayne ſtroke my hart doth ouercom

with yſie dullynge colde conieald my members all benum.

My ſhiueryng lims appauled ſore for gaſtly feare do quake,

And baniſht rage of malice hot begins it ſelfe to flake:

The hatefull hart of wife againſt her ſpouſe hath yelded place,

And pityous mothers mercy mild reſtoreth natures face.

O ſhall I ſhed their giltleſſe blood? ſhall I the frame vnfould

Of that, whiche louyng natures hande hath wrought in me her mould?

O dotyng fury chaunge thy minde, conceiue a better thought,

Let not this haynous ſauage dede by meanes of me be wrought.

What cryme haue they (poore fooles) cōmit for which they ſhuld abye?

Upon theyr father Iaſon ryght all blott of blame ſhuld lye.

Medea yet theyr mother I am worſer far then he

Tuſh let them frankly go to wracke, no kith nor kyn to me

They are: diſpache them out of hand hould, hould, my babes they be

God wot moſt harmeleſſe lambes they ar, no cryme nor fault haue they

Alas they be mere innocentes I do not this denaye:

So was my brother whom I ſlew: o falce reuoltyng mynd

Why doeſt thou ſtaggryng to and fro ſuche chaunge of fancyes fynde?

Why is my face be ſprent with teares what makes me falter ſo,

That wrath & loue with ſtriuing thoughtes do lead me to and fro?

Such fyghting fancyes bickeryng ſtormes my ſwaruyng mind detar,

As when betwene y^e wreſtling windes is rayſed wranglyng war,

Eche where the tumblynge walloinge waues, ar hoiſt and reared hye

Amyd the iuſtlyng ſwolues of ſeas that whot in furye frye:

Euen ſo my hart w^t ſtrugling thoughts now ſynkes, now ſwells amain,

Wrath ſomtyme chaſeth vertue out and vertue wrath agayne.

O yeld the yeld, a gryſyng grefe, to vertue yeld thy place:

Thou onely comfort of our ſtocke in this afflicted caſe,

Come hether comdere loued impe with collyng me imbrace,

While that by me your mother dere ſwete Boyes ye are enioyed

So longe god graunt your father may you kepe from harme vncloyd

Exile and flight approche on me, And they ſhall by and by

Be puld perforce out of myne armes, with vapourd weping eye

Sore languiſhing with moorning hart yet let them go to graue

Before their fathers face as they before their mothers haue:

Now rancorus grefe with firy fits begins to boyle agayne,

The quenched coles of dedly hate do freſſher force attayne.

The ruſtye rancour harbred longe within my cancred breſt

Startes vp, and ſtirres my hand anew in myſcheife to be preſt.

O that the rablement of brattes whych ſwarmde aboute the ſyde

Of Niobe that ſcornefull dame who peryſht by her pryde

Had taken lyfe out of hys lymmes. o that the fates of heauen

A fruytefull mother had me made of chyldren ſeuen and ſeuen.

My barreyne wombe for my reuenge hath yeilded lytle ſtore

Yet for my ſire and brother, twayne I haue, theyr nedes no more:

whō ſeke this rufflyng rowt of feendes wyth gargell vyſage dyght;

Where wil they deale their ſtripes, or whom wyth whyps of fyer ſmite?

Or whom wyth cruell ſcorching brand and ſtygian faggot fell,

wyth miſcheife great to cloy, entendes this armye black of hell?

A choppyng Adder gan to hiſſe wyth wrethynges wrapped round,

As ſoone as dyd the laſſhyng whyp flerte out wyth yerkyng ſound.

whom bumping with thy rapping poſt Megera wilt thou cruſh?

whoſe ghoſt doth here miſhapt frō hell with ſcattered members ruſh?

My ſlautred brothers ghoſt it is that vengeaunce coms to craue:

Accordyng to his dire requeſt due vengeaunce ſhall he haue.

But flap thou fearce the fierbrandes full daſſhed in myne eyes,

Dig, rent, ſcrape, burne, & ſqueas thē out loe ope my breſt it lies,

To fightyng furyes bobbyng ſtrokes O brother, brother bid

Theſe royles, y^• preaſe to worrey mee, them ſelues away to rid.

Down to the ſilent ſoules alowe Not takynge any care:

Let me be left heare by my ſelfe alone, and do not ſpare.

To baſt, and capperclaw theſe armes that drewe the blody blade:

To quenche the furyes of thy ſprite, that thus do me inuade,

With this right hand the ſacrifyce on thalter ſhalbe made.

What meanes this ſudden tramplyng noyſe? a bande of men in Armes

Come buſtlyng towarde vs, that me wyll cloy wyth deadly harmes.

To ende thys ſlaughter ſet vppon I wyll my ſelfe conuaye

Up to the garrets of our houſe, come Nurce wyth me awaye,

Beſtowe thy bodye hence wyth me from daunger of our foes.

Now thus my mynde on myſcheife ſet thou muſt thy ſelfe dyſpoſe,

Let not the flyckeryng fame & prayſe in darkeneſſe be exilde

Of ſtomack ſtoute, that you dyd vſe in murtherynge of thy chyld.

Proclayme in peoples eares the prayſe of cruell blodye hande.

Ia. If any faythfull man here be, whom ruyne of hys lande,

And ſlaughter of hys prynce do cauſe in penſyue harte to bleede,

Step furth that ye may take the wretch that wrought thys deadly dede.

Heare, heare, ye iolye champyons lay lode wyth weapons heare,

Haue now, hoyſt vp this houſe, frō low foundacyon vp it reare.

Me. Now, now my ſcepter guilt I haue recouered once agayne:

My fathers wronges reuenged are, and eke my brother ſlayne:

The gouldens cattels Fleece returnd is to my natyue lande,

Poſſeſſyon of my realme I haue reclaymed to my hande:

Come home is my virgynitie, that whilom went a ſtraye.

O Gods as good as I could wyſſhe, o ioyfull weddyng daye,

Go ſhrowde thy ſelfe in darkeneſſe dim dyſpacht I haue thys feate:

Yet vengeance is not done inough, to coole our thryſtye heate.

O ſoule why doſt thou make delaye? why doſt thou doubtyng ſtande?

Go foreward with it yet thou mayſt, whyle doinge is thy hande:

The wrath that might ſhould myniſter doth qualefye hys flame:

The pryckes of ſorow twitch my harte attaynt wyth bluſſhyng ſham e:

Through rygour of thy haynous gore o wreatche what haſt thou done?

Though I repent a caytyfe vyle I am, to ſlea my ſonne:

Alas I haue commytted it, importunate delyght,

Styll egged on my froward mynde that dyd agaynſt it fyght:

And loe the vayne coniecte of thys delyght increaſeth ſtyll,

Thys onely is the thyng, that wantes vnto my wycked wyll,

That Iaſons eyes ſhould ſee this ſyght as yet I do ſuppoſe

Nothyng it is that I haue done, my trauell all I loſe,

That I employde in dyry deedes, vnleſſe he ſee the ſame.

Ia, Loe heare ſhe loketh out, and leanes vpon the houſes frame,

That pitchlong hanges w^t falling ſway: heare heape your fyers faſt,

Wherby the flames that ſhe her ſelfe enkyndled, may her waſt.

Me. Go Iaſon, go the obit ryghtes the wyndynge ſheete and graue

Make redye for thy ſonns, as laſt behoueth hym to haue,

Thy ſpouſe and eke thy father in lawe that are entomde by me

Receyued haue the dutyes that to ded mens ghoſtes agree.

Thys chylde hath felte the dedly ſtroke and launce of fatall knyfe,

And thys wyth waleſome murther like ſhall loſe her tender lyfe.

Ia. By all the ſacred ghoſtes of heauen, and by thy ofte exile,

And ſpouſall bed, w^t breache of loue in me dyd not defyle,

Now ſpare, and ſaue the lyfe of hym my chylde and alſo thyne:

What euer cryme commytted is, I graunt it to be myne:

Make me a blodie ſacrifice to dew deſerued death,

Take from my ſynful giltie hed the vſe of vitall breath.

Me. Naye ſith thou wylt not haue it ſo as greeues thy pynched minde,

Here way to wreck my vengeaūce fell my burninge blade ſhall finde.

Anaunt, now hence thou peſant prowd employ thy buſye payne,

To reape the fruites of virgins bed, and caſt them of agayne

whē mothers they ar made. Ia. let one for dew reuenge ſuffyce.

If gredye thryſte of hungry handes that ſtill for vengeaunce cryes,

Myght quenched be with blood of one then aſke I none at all,

And yet to ſtaunche my hongry greefe the number is to ſmall,

If onely twayne I ſlea, if pleadge of loue lye ſecret made,

My bowels Ile vnbreſte and ſearche my wombe wyth pokynge blade.

Ia. Now fynyſh out thy deadly deede, that enterpryſed is,

No more entreataunce will I vſe, yet onely graunt me thys,

Delaye a whyle hys dolefull death, that I may take my flyght.

Leaſt that myne eyes w^t bledyng harte ſhould vew that heauye ſyght.

Me. Yet lynger eger anguyſhe yet to ſlea thys chyld of thyne.

Ronne not to raſh wyth haſtye ſpeede thys dolefull day is myne:

The tyme that we obteyned haue of Creon, we enioye.

Ia. O vyle malycyous mynded wreache my lothſome lyfe dyſtroye.

Me. In crauing this thou ſpeakeſt, that I ſhould ſhew thee ſome releefe,

Well goodynough, all thys is done: o ruthfull gyddye greefe,

Thys is the onely ſacryfyce that I can thee prouyde,

Unthankfull Iaſon hether caſte thy coyeſh lookes aſyde.

Lo heare doſt thou beholde thy wyfe? thus euer wonted I,

When murther I had made, to ſcape, my way doth open lye

That I may ſprynge into the ſkyes: the flyeng ſerpentes twayne

Submytted haue theyr ſcaly neckes to yoke of ratlyng wayne,

Thou father haue thy ſonnes agayne I in the wandryng ſkye,

In nymble wheled waggyn ſwyfte will ryde aduaunced hye.

Ia. Go through the ample ſpaces wyde, infecte the poyſoned ayre,

Beare wytneſſe grace of God is none in place of thy repayre.

FINIS