Octavia

The ninth Tragedie of Lucius Anneus Seneca called Octauia.

Tranſlated out of Latine into Engliſh, by T. N. Student in Cambridge.

Imprinted at London, by Henry Denham.

TO THE RIGHT HOnorable, the Lorde Robert Dudley, Earle of Leceſter, Baron of Dinghby, of the moſt royall order of the Garter Knight, one of the Queenes Maieſties moſt honorable priuie Counſell, and Maiſter of hir Maieſties Horſſe. T. N. wiſheth health, with increaſe of honor and vertue.

AFTER THAT I had waded, right honorable, in the tranſlating of this Tragedy called Octauia, written firſt in Latine by that notable and ſententious Poet Seneca, & deſired, as the common cuſtome is, ſome Patron, that myght both bring aucthoritye to thys my little Booke, and alſo, if neede ſhould be, defend it from the bitter taunts of enuious tongs, I haue not eſpied right honourable, any one, either for his bountiful goodneſſe towardes my friends (which cōmonly men reſpect) or elſe for his fauourable, and gracious humanitie toward ſchollers (in whoſe numbre I am) vnto whome I might ſo iuſtly giue this ſmal combrouſtrifle, and eſpeciall token of good wyll, as to your Lordſhip: whoſe honourable goodneſſe or rather magnificence, both your honours nurcerie of learning, and, as I can boldely ſay, the vniuerſitie of Cambridge, with my pore friends, haue moſt abundantly taſted of: which your Lordſhips moſt honourable curteouſneſſe, not to recōpence in any one iote or tittle therof (which is not in our ſmall and ſlender power) but with a well meaning heart, in ſome parte to gratefie your honour, I haue among al other moſt vnmeete, preſumed, both to employ my trauayle on this trim Tragedie, before others muche better able, and alſo to ſalute your curteous Lordſhip, with theſe rude and vnſauorie firſt fruits of my yong ſtudy: moſt hūbly beſeching your honor to accept my good will and trauayle.

Your honours to commmaund.

To the Reader.

IF thou (gentle Reader) haſt any thing in this ſmall Uolume which may commende vnto thée, the trauaile and paines of the Aucthor of thys Engliſhe Tragedie, ſurely I am much the gladder: but if all doe not aunſwere thine expectation (as it muſte needes ſo bèe bycauſe, there is nothing harder than to pleaſe all men) ſith that thou art not priuy to all things, diſcloſe not raſhly thy fooliſh iudgement. If the tranſlating of Latine, or other Bookes of other languages, into our mother tong, doth eyther profite the cōmon wealth, or the wryter at all, do not then condemne the yong ſprong writers, if that in all pointes they pleaſe not thée which may by the grace of God, through thy gētle and curteous accepting of a little toye, hereafter employ their labour to more ſerious and weyghty matters, both to their owne commoditie and thy learning, and eſpecially, to the profit of our natiue countrie. Wey therefore wiſely, what thy friendly good will may do, not vnto me onely, which am like to doe very little, but vnto others, whoſe hearts with fauour thou maiſt eaſly win, to the vndertaking of greater matters: and then willingly embrace both my good will, and trauaile.

Farewell.

The Argument of the Tragedie

OCtauia daughter to prince Claudius grace,

To Nero eſpouſde, whome Claudius did adopt

(Although ſyllanus firſt in huſbandes place

ſhe had receyu'd, whome ſhe for Nero chopt)

Hir parents both, hir Make that ſhould haue bene,

Hir huſbands preſent tirannie much more,

Hir owne eſtate, hir caſe that ſhe was in,

Hir brothers death, poore wretch lamenteth ſore.

Him Seneca doth perſuade his latter Loue,

Dame Poppie, Criſpynes wife that ſometime was,

And eke Octauias maide, for to remoue.

For ſenecks counſell he doth lightly paſſe:

But Poppie ioynes to him in mariage rytes.

The people wood into his pallace runne,

Hir golden fourmed ſhapes which them ſore ſpytes,

They pull to ground: this vprore nowe begunne,

To quench, he ſome to grieſly death doth ſende.

But hir cloſe caſed vp in dreadfull barge,

With hir vnto Campania coaſt to wende,

A band of armed men, he gaue in charge.

Octauia
Nutrix.
Chorus Romanorum.
Seneca
Nuntius.
Agrippina
Poppea
Nero.
Praefectus.

The fyrſt Sceane.

Octauia.

NOw that Aurore with glittering ſtreames,

The glading ſtarres from ſkye doth chaſe,

ſir Phoebus pert, with ſpouting beames,

From dewye neaſt doth mount a pace:

And with hys cheerefull lookes doth yéelde,

Unto the worlde a gladſome daye.

Go to, O wretch, with ample fielde

Of heauy cares, oppreſſed aye,

Thy grieuous wonted playntes recount:

Doe not alone with ſyghes and howles,

The ſeayſh Alcyones ſurmount,

But alſo paſſe the Pandyon fowles:

More irkſome is thy ſtate than theirs.

O mother deare, whoſe death by fitteſ

I nyl lament, but ſtyll ſhedde teares,

My grounde of griefe in thée it ſittes.

If that in ſhades of darkſome denne,

Perceyuing ſenſe at all remayne,

Heare out at large, O Mother, then,

My great complayntes, and grieuous payne.

O that immortall Clothos wriſt,

Had torne in twayne my vitall thredde:

Ere I, vnto my griefe, had wiſt

Thy woundes, and face of ſanguine redde.

O daye, which aye doth mée anoy:

ſince that tyme, did I more deſire,

The fearefull darkeneſſe to enioy,

Than Phoebus freſhe with faire attire.

I haue abode the bitter heſt

Of ſtepdame dire, in Mothers place,

I haue abode hir cruell breſt,

Hir ſtomake ſtout, and fighting face.

ſhe, ſhe for ſpyte vnto my caſe,

A dolefull, and a graue Eryn,

To Bridegromes chamber ſpouſall ſpace,

The ſtygian flaſhing flames brought in.

And thée, alas, moſt pitious ſyre,

With traytrous traynes hath ſhée bereft

Of breathing ſoule with poyſoned myre:

To whome ere whyle, the worlde all left

Unvanquiſht from the Ocean ſeas,

By martiall feates did fréely yelde:

And didſt ſubdue with wondrous eaſe,

The Brittaine brutes that fled the felde:

Whome liuing at theyr propre ſwaye,

No Romaine power did erſt inuade.

Now lo (full well lament I may)

Thy ſpouſe deceyt thy prowes hath lade:

And now thy court, and chylde of yore,

With homage ſerue a Tyrants lore.

The ſeconde Sceane.

Nutrix.

WHom ſo the gliſtering pompe of royall place,

With ſoden ſight ynumd doth quite diſgrace,

Who ſo at courtly fléeting ebbing blaſe,

Aſtonied ſore, himſelfe doth muche amaſe:

Loe ſée of late the great, and mighty ſtocke,

By lurking fortunes ſodaine forced knocke,

Of Claudius quyte ſubuert and cleane extinct:

Tofore, who helde the worlde in his precinct:

The Britaine Ocean coaſte that long was frée,

He rulde at will, and made it to agrée

Their Romaine Gallies great for to embrace.

Lo he that Tanais people firſt did chaſe,

And ſeas vnknowne to any Romaine wight,

With luſty ſheering ſhippes did ouerdight,

And ſafe amyd the ſauage freakes did fight,

And rufling ſurging ſeas hath nothing dread,

By cruell ſpouſes gylt doth lye all dead.

Hir ſonne lykewiſe more fiende than Tygre fierce,

Of naturall Mother makes a funerall herſe.

Whoſe Brother drenched déepe, with poyſoned cup

Poore Britannick, his ſenſeleſſe ſoule gaue vp.

Octauia ſyſter, and vnhappy make,

Doth ſore lament hir caſe for Britanus ſake:

Ne can hir ruthfull pyteous ſorrow ſlake,

Though Neros wrath do ſore conſtraine hir grace.

ſhée nill eſteemes the ſecret cloſſet place:

But boyling ſtill with equall peyſde diſdaine,

With mutuall hate gainſt him doth burne againe.

My true and truſtye loue, that I do beare,

In vaine I ſée doth ſtriue to comfort her.

Reuenging gréedie griefe doth ſtreight repriue,

T'appeaſe hir ſmarte, the counſell that I giue.

Nor flame of worthie breſt doth once relent:

But heaps of griefe, hir corage do augment.

Alas, what griefly déedes for to enſue

My feare foreſéeth: God graunt it be not true.

The thyrde Sceane.

Octauia. Nutrix.

O ſtaggering ſtate, O peereleſſe yll:

With eaſe Electra I repeate,

And call to minde thy mourning will.

With watred eyes, lyke ſmartiug ſweate,

Thou mightſt lament thy father ſlaine,

ſtill hoping that thy brother might,

That deadly déede reuenge agayne.

Whome thou O tender louing wight,

Didſt ſafely ſhielde from bloudy foe,

And naturall loue did cloſely kéepe:

But Neroes dreaded viſage loe,

Doth feare me that I dare not wéepe,

Nor wayle my parents ruthfull caſe,

By cruell lot to ſlaughter cought:

Ne ſuffers me this geniall face,

To daſh with teares, too dearely bought

With brothers bloud: who onely waſ

Mine onely hope in all my griefe,

And of ſo many miſchieues, aſ

My comforte great, and ſole reliefe.

Nowe loe reſerude for greater care,

And to abide more lingring payne,

Of noble famous lynage bare,

A drouping ſhade I doe remayne.

Nutrix. My Ladies heauy voyce me thought,

Within my liſtning eares gan ſounde.

And ſnayliſh age in going ſoft,

Unto hir thews is not ybounde.

Octauia. O Nurſe our dolours witneſſe ſure,

By curroll chéekes dyſtilling rayne,

And heauy hearts complaynt, endure.

Nut. Alas what day ſhall rid of payne,

With care your well nie waſted hart?

Oct. That ſends this giltleſſe ghoſt to graue.

Nut. This talke good Madame ſet apart.

Oct. In rule my ſtate the deſtnies haue,

And not thy prayers, O Matrone iuſt.

Nut. The doune ſoft eaſy God ſhall giue,

Your troubled minde, a time, I truſt,

More ſwéete than euer you did liue.

With feuell faire, as one content,

And gloſed face, but onely pleaſe

Your man, and make, he will relent.

Oct. The Lion fierce I ſhall appeaſe,

And ſooner tame the Tygre ſtout,

Than mankinde tyrants brutiſh breaſt.

He ſpites the noble raced route,

Contemnes high powers, dyſdaynes the leaſt:

Ne can well vſe that princely wéede,

Which venomous parent wrapt him in

By huge vnſpeakeable grieſly déede.

Although that wight vnthankfull, grin

In Kingly throne, that he doth raigne,

Through cruell curſſed mothers ayde:

Although he pay with death againe

ſo great a gyft, it ſhall be ſayde,

And after fates in long ſpent age,

That woman wyght ſhall haue alway,

This eloge yet, and ſaying ſage,

That he by hir doth beare the ſway.

Nut. Let not your ragious minde ſo walke,

But doe compreſſe your moodie talke.

The fourth Sceane.

Octauia. Nutrix.

THough much I beare y^e boiling breſt do beate,

And tollerably take deuorcements threate,

Deathes only deadly dart, I ſée an ende,

Of all my broyle & pinching payne can ſende.

What pleaſant light to me, O wretch is left,

My naturall Mother ſlayne, and ſire bereft,

Of breathing life, by treaſon, and by gilt:

Of Brother eke depriude: with miſeries ſpilt:

And wayling ouercome: kept downe with care,

Enuied of Make, which I dare not declare.

To mayden ſubiect nowe, and nowe defied:

What pleaſant light can me, O wretch, abide

With fearefull heart ſuſpecting alwayes ought:

Bicauſe I woulde, no wicked déede were wrought:

Not that I feare Deathes grieſly girning face,

God graunt I doe not ſo reuenge my caſe?

A better déede to dye: for, to beholde

The Tyrantes viſage grimme, with browes vprolde,

And with ſoft tender lippes, my foe to kiſſe,

And ſtande in awe of becks, and noddes of his,

Whoſe will to pleaſe, my griefe with cares yfirde,

ſince brothers death by wicked wyle conſpirde,

Could neuer once vouchſafe for to ſuſtaine,

Leſſe griefe to die, than thus to lyue in payne.

His Empire Nero rules, and ioyes in bloud:

The cauſe and grounde of death that tirant wood.

Howe ofte alas, doth fanſie fondly fayne,

When ſlumber ſwete in penſiue parts doth raygne,

And ſléepe in eyes, all tyrde, wyth teares doth reſt,

I apprehende deare Brittans liuely breſt?

Ere whyle me thinks, his féeble ſhiuering handſ

He fenſeth ſure, with deadly blaſing brands,

And fiercely on his brother Neros face,

With ſturdy ſtinging ſtrokes, he flyes apace.

Ere while thilke wretch recoyleth backe againe,

And to my thews for ayde retyres amaine:

Him foming foe purſues with haſt to haue:

And whyle my brother I deſire to ſaue,

And in my claſped armes to ſhield him frée,

His goarie bloudyed faucheon kéene, I ſée

The boyſterous raumping fiende to tugge, and hale

Through out my ſhiuering limmes, as aſhes pale.

Forthwith a mightie trembling chattering quake,

From wearie limmes, all ſouple ſléepe doth ſhake,

And makes me, wofull wretch, for to recount,

My wailing ſobbing ſorrowes that ſurmount.

Hereto, put to that gorgeous ſtately mouſe,

All gliſtring bright, with ſpoyles of Claudius houſe.

His parent deare in bubbling boate did douſe.

That wicked ſonne, this fiſking dame to pleaſe.

Whome yet eſcaping daungers great of ſeas,

He fiercer freake than waues that ſcantly reſt,

With bloudy blade hir bowels did vnbreſt.

What hope of health, can me, O wretch, abyde,

That after them thilke waye I ſhoulde not ryde?

My ſpeciall foe, triumphant wiſe doth weight,

With naked nates to preſſe, by louers ſleyght,

Our ſpouſall, pure, and cleane vnſpotted bed:

Gainſt whome, ſhe burns, with deadly foode bloud red.

And, for a meede of filthy ſtrumpets ſport,

She cauſeth Make from ſpouſe for to diuort.

O auncient ſyre, ſteppe forth from Limbo lake,

Thy daughters heauie troublous cares to ſlake:

Or your twygated hellyſh porche vnfolde,

That down through gaping ground I may be rolde.

Nutrix. O pitious wretch, in vaine, alas in vaine

Thou calſt vpon thy fathers ſenſeleſſe ſprite:

In whome, God wotte, there doth no care remaine

Of mortall broode, that here doth take delight.

Shall he, thinke you, aſſwage your ſorie chéere,

Or ſhape you forth ſome ſleight, t'appall your paine,

That could preferre, before his Brittan déere,

T'imperiall throne, a ſtraunge begotten ſwaine?

And with inceſtiall loue benummed quyte

His brother Germanicks daughter that could plyght,

And ioyne to him in ſolemne mariage rites,

With wofull, and vnluckye louers lightes?

Here ſprang the roale of hurly burly great,

Here beaſtly venomous ſlaughter gan to ſweate,

Here wylie treaſons traines appeared firſt,

Here rules deſyre, and brutyſhe bloudie thirſt.

Sillanus firſt Prince Claudius ſonne in lawe,

A bloudye mangled offring fall we ſawe,

That in your graces Hymaeneal bedde,

Y matcht with you, he might not couche his hedde.

O monſtrous ſlaughter, worthy endleſſe blame:

In ſteade of gift vnto that wanton dame,

A Carcaſſe colde poore ſoule, and cureleſſe corſe,

Sillane was giuen againſt his will perforce.

And falſly then attacht of traytors cryme

As one conſpyring death in Claudius tyme,

With lothſome ſtreakes ſpewde out vpon the wall,

He all bedaſht your fathers princely hall.

Eft ſtepped into ſeruile Pallace ſtroke,

To filthie vices lore, one eaſlye broke.

Of Diueliſhe wicked witte this Princocks proude:

By ſtepdames wyle prince Claudius ſonne auoude.

Whome deadely damme did bloudie match ylight:

And thée, againſt thy will, for feare did plyght.

Through which ſucceſſe this Dame of corage fine,

Durſt venture, mighty Ioue to vndermine.

Who can ſo many curſed kindes report

Of wicked hopes, and actes, in any ſort,

Or ſuch a womans gloſed guyles can name,

That raumpes at rule, by all degrées of ſhame?

Then holy ſacred zeale put out of grace,

Hir ſtagring ſteppes, directed forth apace.

And ſtern Erinnis in with deadly ſteps,

To Claudius Court, all deſert left yleps.

And with hir dririe drakes of ſtygian fort,

Hath quite diſtainde the ſacred princely port.

And raging riuen in twaine both natures lore,

And right to wrongs miſſeſhapen fourme hath tore.

That hautie minded dame firſt gaue hir make,

A deadely poyſoned cup, his thyrſt to ſlake.

Straight wayes againe through vyle vnkindly touch,

Hir Nero cauſde with him in hell to couch.

And thée, vnhappy Britt, in all that broyle,

Till that of breath, and lyfe he did diſpoyle,

Thilk gréedie bloudie tyraunt neuer ſtent:

Whoſe dolefull death, for aye we may lament.

Ere whyle, vnto the worlde the ſtarre that ſhone,

And was the ſtaye of princely court alone,

Now loe, light aſhes eaſly pufte aforne,

And grieſly goaſt to graue with Torche yborne.

Whome bleſſed Babe, thy ſtepdame did lament:

Nor from hir guſſhing teares, did ſcarce relent,

When as ſhee gaue eche trimme appointed parte,

And goodly portraide limmes with natures arte,

Of flaming ſtacke to be deuoured quite,

And ſawe the ſcortching feruent fyre in ſight

Thy naked ioynts to rauyne vp a pace

And like the flittering God thy comely face.

Oct. Diſpatch he me leaſt with this hande he fall.

Nut. That power you, nature graunted not at all.

Oct. But wondrous dolor, great and wrathfull yre,

And miſeries will it graunt without deſyre.

Nut. Nay rather cauſe your angry moody make,

With ſouple chéere his fury for to ſlake.

Oct. What, that he will by guylte once ſlaine before,

Aliue againe my brother mée reſtore?

Nut. Nay, ſafe that you may liue and iſſue beare:

Your fathers auncient court for to repaire.

Oct. That court doth wayte another broode they ſay.

And poore Britts death tugges me another way.

Nut. Yet let the cities loue vnto your grace,

Your troubled minde confirme but for a ſpace.

Oct. Their mindes ſo preſt to pleaſure me, I knowe

Great comfort bring: but do not ſlake my woe.

Nut. Of mightie power the people haue bene aye.

Oct. But princes force doth beare the greater ſway.

Nut. He will reſpect his lawfull wedded wyfe.

Oct. Hys minion braue can not ſo leade hir lyfe.

Nut. Of no man ſhe eſtéemde. Oct. But deare to make.

Nut. ſhe can not truely yet of wyfehoode crake.

Oct. Ere long ſhée ſhall a mother eke be made.

So farre therein I dare moſt boldly wade.

Nut. His youthfull heate at firſt in filthy loue,

With luſty, cruſty pangs doth boyle aboue:

Thylke corage quickly coolde in luſt apace

As vapour ſone extinct in flame, giues place.

But holy, louing, chaſte vnſpotted ſpouſe,

Hir loue endureth aye with ſacred vowes.

That wanton firſt that there durſt couch hir hed,

And tumbling ſtayned quite your ſpouſall bed,

And being but your mayde hath ruled long,

Hir ſoueraigne Lorde, with beauties grace beſtong,

That pranked Paramour pert ſhal croutch with pain,

When ſhe your grace ſhall ſée preferd againe.

For Poppie ſubiect is, and méeke of ſpright,

And now begins hir goaſtly tombs to dight:

Whereby ſhe cloſely graunting doth bewray,

Hir ſecret hidden feare eche other day.

That ſwift, vnconſtant, double wynged lad,

With cloute, before his blinded eyes, yclad,

That fickle brayned God, th'vnhappy boy,

Shall leaue hir in the midſt of all hir ioy:

Although for beautie bright the bell ſhée beare,

And goodly gliſtring garments new ſhée weare,

And now do vaunt hir ſelfe in gorgeous géere,

Shée ſhall not long enioy this gladſome chéere.

Be not diſmayde, Madame, for ſuch like paine,

The quéene of Gods was forced to ſuſtaine,

When to eche pleaſaunt ſhape the heauenly guyde,

And ſyre of Gods yturnde, from ſkyes dyd glyde.

The ſwannes white wings, to ſe how they could fadge

He did on him, and cuckoldes bullyſh badge.

That God ſhone bryght in golden raynie ſhowre,

To Danaes breſt through top of fortred towre.

The twinckling ſtarres, the twins of Laeda bright,

Whome Pollux ſome, and Caſtor call aright,

In large and ample ſpace of ſtarry ſcope,

With criſtall glimmering faces ſhyne wide ope.

An ſemeles ſonne, whome Bacchus we do call,

In heauenly byrthright doth himſelfe yſtall.

And, Hercules that puiſſant champion ſtoute,

His ſturdy brawnes his Hebe wyndes aboute.

Nor once regardes how goddeſſe Iuno fare:

Whoſe lowring ſtepdame nowe ſhe is yframde,

That whyle on earth his prowes he did declare,

Againſt that mariage, aye, was ſore inflamde.

Yet loe hir wiſe, and cloſely couched gréefe,

Debonaire face, obeyſaunce to hir léefe,

Cauſde him, at length his minde for to remoue,

Through mortall féeres eſtraungde from Iunos loue.

And nowe that mighty heauenly goddeſſe great,

No more adred of mortall ſtrumpets feat,

Aloft alone in clowdy bowre contentſ

The thundering Lorde which now to hir relents.

Nor now with earthly ladyes beawtie bright

Y fired, leaues his ſtarry ſpecked right.

Now Madame, ſith on earth your powre is pight,

And haue on earth quéene Iunos princely place,

And ſiſter are, and wife to Neros grace,

Your wondrous reſtleſſe dolours great appeaſe.

Oct. Nay, ſooner ſhall the roaring frothy ſeas,

And mounting, flaſhing flawes ymatch the ſkie,

And ſmoking, ſtiffling parching fyer drye,

With danckiſh pooles agrée, and watrie fenne.

And griefly Plutos filthie feltred denne,

With ſtarbright heauen ſhall ſooner coupled bée,

And ſhining light, with glomie ſhades agrée,

And with the cleare drye daye, the dewy night,

Than vnto ſeruile lore of huſband wyght,

That brutiſhwiſe in bloud takes his delight,

My heauy wofull mynd can I addreſſe,

Whyle brothers death my heart doth ſtill poſſeſſe.

O that of heauenly powers the prince, and ſyre,

That ſhogges & ſhakes the earth, with thundering fyre

And, with his wondrous fearefull, curſſed crackes,

And ſtraunge miſſeſhapen monſters which he makes,

Our fearefull muſing mindes doth ſore amaſe,

Would coyne ſome cureleſſe burning wyldefyre blaſe,

To pelt, and paſhe with thumpping fyer bright,

That diueliſh pate, that cruel curſſed wyght.

We ſaw frō heauen, with beames forthſhooting farre,

Doubtleſſe a dreadfull hearie, blaſing ſtarre:

That ſpouted forth a mortall fyerie flake,

Whoſe force a princes bloude can onely ſlake:

Euen where that hayting carman ſloe Boote

With chilling colde all ſtarck, of froſen pole,

Doth guide aright Charles whirling running rote,

In ſteade of nyght that neuer away doth role.

Loe, now the open ayre in euery ſtreate,

With doggiſh tyrantes breath, is poyſoned quite,

And dreadfull ſtarres ſoone ſodayne death doth threate.

To people, rulde by wicked Neros ſprite.

So ſterne a freake, or mankinde tyrant ſtout,

Not Tellus with the Gods diſpleaſde brought out,

When mightie Ioue neglected, ſhe vp horlde,

Huge, vgly, monſtrous Typhon to the worlde.

A ſorer plague, a cleaner ſcouring ſcourge,

With bloudye pawes that cities bounds doth purge,

Is Nero dyre, this cruell, curſſed wyght,

That doth him ſelfe gainſt God, and man ydyght:

And thruſts from ſacred ſhrynes, their quiet port,

And goodly temples gaye, the ſancted ſort:

That cities dwellers puts from countries fort:

That hath hereft his brother of his lyfe,

And launcht his mothers ſides with goarie knyfe:

Yet doth this preſent lightſome day enioy,

And leades his lyfe, that doth vs ſore anoy.

O father of heauen, in vain why doeſt thou throwe

Thy great vnvanquiſht ratling thunder blowe

Upon the whiſtling woods, and ample ſeas,

With force of princely power thy wrath t'appeaſe?

On ſuch an hurtfull, and pernicious freake,

Thy due and iuſt conceaued yre to wreake.

Why ſtay thy mightie puiſſaunt braunes ſo long,

Ere thou fling downe, thy ratling cracking throng?

O Lorde that Nero once might paye the pryce,

Of all his diueliſh déedes, and euery vyce,

Th'whole wide worlds tirant ſtern, where he a ſtroke

Doth beare: which he ouer lades with burdnous yoke:

Of princely ſyre yborne, but doth defame,

With beaſtely manners vyle his princely name:

Oct. Unworth he is, your ſpouſall chamber place:

But yet your deſtnies force, you muſt imbrace:

And well, abyde your fortunes crooked race:

Nor moue vnkindly Neros gauly yre.

One daye perchaunce, there wil, as I deſyre,

Some God reuenge your lamentable caſe:

And once, I truſt, a gladſome daye ſhall be,

When you ſhall ioy a freſhe in wonted place.

Oct. Ah, no, now, long this court alas, we ſee

With heauie wrath of Gods diſpleaſed yre

Hath ouercharged bene: which Venus dyre

With Meſſalinas monſtrous, ramping luſt,

She firſt hath brought adown into the duſt.

Who madly maryed to prince Claudius grace,

But little myndefull then of that ſame caſe,

And not regarding much th'appointed payne,

With curſſed creſſets maryed once agayne.

To which vnlucky 'inceſtuall bridall bed,

That droſell dyre that furious ſlut Erin,

With hanging haire about hir helliſh hed,

And gyrt with ſnakes with deadly ſtep went in.

And flaming broandes from ſpouſall chamber cought,

In both their blouds ybathde, hath quentched cleane:

And hath incenſt prince Claudius burning thought,

In bloudy thratling ſtroke to paſſe all meane.

My mother firſt of wretches all the moſt,

With ſtrype of deadly ſworde gaue vp hir goſt.

And nowe extinguiſht quite left me forlorne,

With dolours pyning pangs and mourning worne.

And after hir in helliſhe teame doth hayle,

Unto the ſenſleſſe ſoules of Plutos iayle

Hir make, and Britannick hir ſonne that way:

And firſt this ruinous courte did ſhe betray.

Nut. Let be, Madame, with teares your face to dight:

Ne ſo renewe your bitter wayling iuſt:

Ceaſſe troubling now, your parentes pyteous ſpright,

That payed hath the price of raging luſt.

The fift Sceane.

Chorus.

GOd graunt the talke we heard of late,

To raſhly truſted euery where,

And blowne abrode through eche eſtate,

No badge of truth, that it may beare.

And that no freſhe eſpouſed dame,

Our princes thews doe enter in,

But that Octauia kéepe the ſame.

And that the ſéede of Claudius kin,

May once bring forth ſome pledge of peace:

That to the worlde reſt may redowne,

And wrangling ſtrife may eaſly ceaſe,

And Rome retayne hir great renowne.

The péerleſſe princeſſe Iuno hight,

Hir brothers wedlocke yoke retaynes:

Why is Auguſtus ſiſter bright,

Where like betrouthed league remaynes,

From ſtately pompe of court reiect?

What doth deuoutneſſe hir auaile?

To ſaincted ſyre, who hath reſpect?

What doth hir Virgins life preuaile?

And, Claudius now in ground ylayed,

Euen we to much vnmindefull bée:

Whoſe worthy ſtem we haue betrayed

Through feare, that made vs to agrée.

In breſt our elders did embrace,

The perfect Romaine puiſſaunce,

The true vnſtained worthy race,

And bloude of Mars they did aduaunce.

The proude, and lofty ſtomackt traine

Of luſtie hautie minded kings,

They could not ſuffer to remaine

Within this noble Cities wyngs.

And iuſtly they reuengde thy death,

O virgin chaſte, Virginia pure,

Depryude by ſyre of vitall breath,

That bondage thou mighteſt not endure.

And that his ſhameleſſe brutiſhe luſt,

So good a méede might not enioy:

Although by filthie force vniuſt

Thy chaſtitie he would anoy.

Thée likewiſe whome thine owne right hande,

With ſworde did pearce Lucretia true,

Who tyrants rape couldſt not withſtand,

Did bloudie broyles and warres enſue.

And with thy proude diſdainefull make

Lorde Tarquin ympe of curſſed ſéede,

Correction due doth Tullia take

For hir vnkindly ſhameleſſe déede.

Who on hir fathers mangled corſe,

To miſchiefe bent, and wicked bane,

The carman ſhe to driue did force,

His cruell bruſing wombling wane.

And quyte againſt all natures lawe,

Euen from hir owne diſmembred ſyre,

The ſacred rytes ſhée did withdrawe,

Denaying wonted buriall fyre.

This griefe or woful age doth féele,

Through monſtrous act againſt all kynde,

When as in deadly craftye kéele,

To Tyrrhen ſeas, and wraſtling wynde,

The proude preſuming prince did put,

His mother trapt in ſubtill ſorte.

The maryners appointed cut,

The ſwelling ſeas from pleaſaunt porte.

The claſh reſoundes with ſtroke of ores,

The ſhip, out launcht, a pace doth ſpin,

In ſurging froth aloofe from ſhores,

And ample courſe of ſeas doth win.

Which glyding forth with leuſned planks,

In preſſed ſtreames with peiſed weight,

The riftes do open cloſed cranks,

That hidden were, with ſecret ſleight:

And gulpeth vp the leaking wane:

The wofull, roring noyſe, and crye,

With womans ſhryks themſelues to ſaue,

Doe reache, and beate the ſtarrie ſkye.

Then grieſly preſent death doth daunce

Before their eyes with pyning chéekes:

Whoſe deadly ſtroke and heauy chaunce

For to auyde, then eche man ſéekes:

On ryuened rybs ſome naked lye,

And cut the beating waues in twayne:

And ſome their ſkilfull ſwymming trye,

To get vnto the ſhore agayne.

The greateſt part that ſayled there,

By deſtnies dyre to men prefixt,

In whirling ſwallowes drowned were,

The brinks of ſeas and grounde betwixt.

Quéene Agryppine hir garments rendes,

She teares hir ruffled locks of heare,

Abundant blubbring teares ſhe ſpendes,

Through déepe diſtreſſe of fainting feare.

Who, when no hope of health ſhe ſpies,

Enflamde with wrath, which woes appeaſde,

O ſonne, for ſo great gyftes, ſhe cryes,

Haſt thou with ſuch rewarde me pleaſde?

This kéele I haue deſerued ſure,

That bare and brought thée firſt to light:

Who empyre witleſſe did procure,

And Ceſars title for thy right.

Shew forth thy fearefull ſpritiſh face,

O Claudius now from Limbo lake,

And of thy wife in wretched caſe,

Reuenge and due correction take.

Thy death I cauſeleſſe did conſpyre,

Which now I rue with wofull hart:

I dreſſed eke a funerall fyre,

Into thy ſonne by deadly ſmart.

Loe, now as I deſerued haue,

Untomde go to thy guiltleſſe goaſt,

Encloſde in ſeas in ſteade of graue,

And wreſtling waues of Romaine coaſt.

The flaſſhing flawes do flap hir face,

And on hir ſpeaking mouth do beate,

Anone ſhée ſynkes a certaine ſpace,

Depreſſed downe with ſurges greate:

Anone ſhée fléetes on weltring brim,

And pattes them off with tender handes:

Through fainting feare then taught to ſwim,

Approching death, and fates withſtandes.

At length on troubled ſeas diſplayde,

Shée giuing ouer working vaine,

And tyrde with ſtreames is weary layde,

Not able toyling ſtrength to ſtraine.

In cloſe, and ſecret ſilent breſteſ

Of mates with hirto ſea that yode,

In whome no feare of death there reſtes,

True faith vnto their quéene abode.

Their ladies weather heaten lymſ

To helpe ſome fréely venter dare,

Some in the coombrous waters ſwyms,

And deſperate daunger do not ſpare.

With cheerfull voyce they comfort hir,

Though drawlyng draggling lims ſhe drewe,

To lyft hir vp with helpe they ſtirre,

And nummed corps to ſtrength renewe.

What bootes it thée the death to ſhonne

Of roaring raging rauening waues,

From deadly ſworde of wycked ſonne,

Alas poore wretch thée nothing ſaues?

Whoſe huge and heinous curſſed rage,

Againſt all courſe of natures lore,

Our after ſlow beléeuing age,

Will ſcarce beléeue it done before.

The diueliſh man repynde with griefe

When he his mother ſaued ſawe,

From ſwallowing ſeas haue ſafe reléefe

And that ſhe vitall breath did drawe,

He grudgde with griefe: and in his heate,

He huger miſchiefe heapes to thys:

He doth not once delay his feate,

But hedlong raſhly caried iſ

Upon her death. A ſouldiour ſent,

Diſpatcheſh that he had in charge,

His ladies breſt his blade doth rent:

Shée yéelding vp hir ſoule at large,

From wretched corps for to entomb

Hir ſlaughter man, ſhe then beſought,

That bloudy blade within her womb,

That firſt this woe to hir had brought,

This, this accurſſed breaſt ({quod} ſhée)

Which this vnkindly monſter bare,

From pinching paine may not be frée:

Digge, ſlaſh the ſame, no miſchief ſpare.

When this with foultring tong was ſaide,

At laſt hir ſad and trembling goaſt,

With latter ſobbing ſighes, vnſtayde,

Through goryd woundes leaues vitall coaſt.

The ſecond Act.

The fyrſt Sceane.

Seneca.

IN me with like cōſent, why didſt thou ſmyle,

With gloſed lookes deluding mee a whyle,

O fortune much of might & princely powre?

To lift alofte to noble royall bowre?

To th'ende that I to honours court extolde

From ſtately ſeate might haue the greater fall,

And rownde about in euery place beholde,

Such dreadfull, threating daungers to vs all?

I ſafer lay aloofe from enuies knockes,

Remou'd among the craggy corſick rockes:

Where as my minde there frée at propre ſwaye,

With leyſure did repeate my ſtudies aye.

A gladſome ioy alone it was to viewe,

And earneſtly to marke the heuens ſo blewe:

And ſacred Phoebus double whéeled wayne:

And eke the worldes ſwift whyrling motion mayne.

The ſunne ſo euen his ſecond courſe to kéepe:

And Phebes glyding globe ſo ſwiftly ſwéepe:

Whom wondrous ſtarting ſtarres encompaſſe round.

And to beholde, that ſhines in euery ſtound,

The glyſtring beawtie bright of welkin wyde:

Than which in all the worlde, nothing beſyde,

Of all this huge and endleſſe worke, the guyde,

More wondrous, nature, framde that I eſpyde.

For all the bumping bygneſſe it doth beare,

Yet waxing olde is like againe to weare,

And to be chaungde to an vnwyldie lumpe.

Now preſt at hand this worldes laſt day doth iumpe,

With boyſtrous fall, and tumbling ruſh of ſkie,

To ſqueaſe, and make this curſſed kinde abie.

That ſpringing once againe, it may yéelde out,

An other ſtraunge renued vertuous route.

As once before, it did, new ſprong againe,

What time Saturnus held his golden raigne.

That blameleſſe, chaſte, vnſpotted virgin cléere,

A goddeſſe much of might, clept Iuſtice heere,

With ſacred ſooth ſent downe from heauenly ſpace,

At eaſe on earth did rule the mortall race.

That people plaine knew not of warlick feates,

Nor trembling trumpets tune, that rends, & beates,

The ſouldiours eares: nor chaſſhing armour bright,

That warring wyghts defend in field, and fight.

Nor wonted was with walles to raumpire rounde,

Their open Cities ſet in any ſtounde.

To eche man paſſage free lay opened than:

Nothing there priuate was to any man.

And then the ground it ſelfe, and fertile ſoyle,

Hir fruitfull boſome baarde all voyde of toyle,

Into ſuch bounden barus, a Matron good,

And peaceable vnto ſo iuſte a broode.

But then, an other ſecond race aroſe,

Perceyued not to be ſo méeke as thoſe.

A third more wiſe, and witty ſort vp ſtarts,

Of nature forged fit t'inuent new arts:

As yet vnſpotted quite with filthy vice.

Soone after tho, they raundge with new deuice,

That boldly venture dare in ſcudding race,

Vnweldie beaſts for to purſue apace.

And mighty weying, ſtruggling fiſſhes great,

With watrie coates yclad, with fiſſhers feat,

With net in window wiſe draw forth: and ſtréeke

With craft of quill, the nibbling fyſſhes chéeke.

And ſilly byrdee begylde with pyning traine:

And light foote déere, for lyfe that fling amaine

In tangling gins entrapt, that ſafely holde.

And ſturdy ſcouling viſagde buls controlde,

On fleſſhie fillet necks, make weare the yoake:

And erth ere that vngrubbed vp that broake:

Which thē turnde vp, with plowmans ſhining ſhare,

In ſacred boſome déepe, hir fruits kept thare.

But now this age much worſe than all the reſt,

Hath lept into hir mothers broken breſt:

And ruſtye lumpiſhe yron, and maſſie golde,

Hath digged out, that was quite hidde with molde.

And fighting fiſts haue armde without delaye:

And drawing forth their bonds for rule to ſtaye,

Haue certayne ſeuerall ioyly kingdoms made,

And cities new haue raſide now rulde with blade,

And fenſeth, eyther with their propre force

Straunge ſtounds, or them aſſaults, the which is worſe.

The ſtarrie ſpecked virgine floure of ſkyes,

Which Iuſtice hight, that guiltie folke diſcries,

Now lightlie eſtéemde of mortall people here,

Ech erthly ſtound is fled, and comes not néere

The ſauage manuerd rout, and beaſtly rude,

With dabbed wriſts in goarie bloud embrued.

The great deſyre of grieflie war is ſprong:

And raping thurſt of gold, it is not yong.

Throughout the world, a mightie monſtrous vice,

Fowle, filthie, monſtrous iuſt hath got the price,

A pleaſaunt tickling plague: whome longer ſpace,

And errour déepe haue foſtred vp a pace.

The heaps of vice, rakte vp in yeares long paſt,

Abounding flowe in theſe out dayes at laſt.

And this ſame troublous tyme, and combrous age,

Oppreſſeth all men ſore, both yong and ſage.

Wherein thoſe wicked waies that be, do raigne,

And cruell, raumping woodneſſe boyles againe.

Luſt ſtrong in filthie touch, doth beare a ſwaye:

And princes, ryot, now doth catch awaye

With gréedie pawes, to bring it to decaye,

Th'whole worlds vncredible welth, without delay,

But loe, which ſtaggring ſteps where Nero flings,

And viſage grim, I feare what newes he brings.

The ſecond Sceane, of the ſecond Act.

Nero. Prefectus. Seneca.

DIſpatch with ſpéede, that we cōmaūded haue:

Go, ſend forthwith ſome one, or other ſlaue,

That Plautius cropped ſcalp, & ſillas eke,

May bring before our face: go ſome man ſeke.

Prefectus. I nill protract your noble graces heſt:

But to their camps to goe am ready preſt.

Seneca. Gainſt lynage, nought ſhould raſhly pointed be.

Nero. A light thing 'tis for to be iuſt, I ſée

For him, whoſe hart is voyd of ſhrinking feare.

Se. A ſoueraigne ſalue for feare, is for to beare,

Your ſelfe debonair to your ſubiects all.

Ne. Our foes to ſlea, a chefetaines vertue call.

Se. A worthier vertue 'tis, in countries ſyre,

His people to defend with ſword, and fyre.

Ne. It well beſéems ſuch aged wights, to teach,

Unbrideled ſpringolls yong, and not to preach,

Both to a man, and prince of ryper yeares.

Se. Nay rather frolick youthfull bloud appeares,

To haue more néede of counſell wiſe, and graue.

Ne. (This age ſufficient reaſon ought to haue.)

Se. That heauenly powers your doings may alow.

Ne. A madneſſe't were to Goddes for me to bow,

When I my ſelfe can make ſuch Goddes to be:

As Claudius nowe ycounted is we ſe.

Se. ſo much the more, bycauſe ſo much you may.

Nc. Our power permits vs all without denay.

Se. Giue ſlender truſt to fortunes flattering face:

She topſte turuie turnes hir whéele a pace.

Ne. A patch he is that knoweth not what he may.

Se. A princes prayſe I counted haue alway,

To do that ſame which with his honor ſtood,

Not that which frantike fanſie counteth good.

Ne. If that I were a mecock, or a ſlouch,

Eche ſtubborne, clubbiſh daw woulde make mée couch.

Se. And whome they hate with force they ouerquell.

Ne. Then, dynt of ſworde the prince defendeth well.

Se. But faith more ſure defence doth ſeeme to me.

Ne. Full méete it is that Caeſar dreaded be.

Se. More méete of ſubiects for to be belou'd.

Ne. From ſubiects mindes feare muſt not be remou'd.

Se. What ſo by force of armes you do wring out,

A grieuous worke it is to bring about.

Ne. Well hardly then our will let them obay.

Se. Will nothing then but that which well you may.

Ne. We will decrée what we ſhall beſt ſuppoſe.

Se. What peoples voyce doth ioyntly bynde or loſe,

Let that confirmed ſtand. Ne. ſwordes bloudy dynt

Shall cauſe them elſe at me to take their hynt.

Se. God ſhéeld, and far that fact from you remoue.

Ne. What then, why ſeneck do you that approue,

That we contemnde, deſpyſde, and ſet at nought,

With fynger put in hole (full wyſely wrought)

Our bodyes bloude to ſeke ſhould them abide,

That they might vs ſometime deſtroy vnſpide?

Their natiue country boundes to banniſht bée,

Nor Plautius breſt nor ſyllas eke we ſée

Hath broke, or tamde: whoſe cankred churliſh yre,

Shapes bloudy freakes to quench our bodies fyre.

And chiefly when theſe trayterous abſent clownes,

Such wondrous fauour finde in cities bownes,

Which thoſe ſame exiles lingring hope doth féede:

Suſpected foes with ſworde we will out wéede.

And ſo Octauia ſhall that ioyly dame,

Continue after them their bloudy game.

And wend that way her nowne white brother went,

Such hye miſtruſted things muſt néedes be bent.

Se. It is, O prince, a worthy famous thing,

Amyds redoubted Lordes alone to ring:

And wiſely worke your countries praiſe to ſaue:

And well your ſelfe to captiue folke behaue:

From cruell brutiſh ſlaughter to abſtaine:

And voyde of moode to wreake your angry paine:

And, to the worlde a quiet calme to giue,

That all your age in peace their liues may liue.

This is a Princes praiſe without all cryme:

This is the path to heauen whereby we clyme.

So is Auguſtus prince and father cald

Of country firſt, in ſtarbright throne yſtald.

Whome as a God in minſters we adorne,

Yet troublous fortune toſſed him beforne,

A great while long on lands, and ruffling ſeas,

Vntyll his fathers foes he could appeaſe,

And through wars diuers courſe could quel thē quite.

To you did fortune yelde hir power, and might,

And raynes of rule without all bloud, and fyght.

And to your beck both land, and ſeas hath bent.

Grim deadly enuy daunted doth relent.

The ſenate Lordes gaue place with frée conſent:

The battaylous route of knightes with willing heartſ

(That ſame decre from ſager ſyres departes)

Vnto the lay mens choyſe doe well agrée.

Your grace the ſpring of peace they count to be.

And choſen Iudge, and guyde of mortall ſtock.

Your grace, your countries ſacred ſyre, doth rock,

And rule with princely gorgeous tytle bryght,

The cyrcled worlde in rundell wyſely ydight.

Which myghty mounting name to kéepe ſo great,

This noble city Rome, doth you entreate:

And doth commend vnto your royall grace,

Hir liuely lyms in charge for your lyues ſpace.

Ne. The gyft of Goddes it is, as we diſcus,

That Rome with ſenate ſort doth honour vs.

And that the feare of our diſpleaſure great,

From cankred enuious ſtomaks maketh ſweat

Both humble talke, and ſupplications méeke.

And were not feare all theſe would be to ſeeke.

Vnweldy, combrous cities members ill,

That prince, and cuntrie both doe ſeeke to ſpill,

To leaue alyue (which ſwell, and puffed bée,

Bycauſe of lynage greate, and hye degree)

What madneſſe meere is it when as we may,

Euen with a word, ſuch freakes diſpatch away?

Sir Brutus ſtern, his brawns and armes did dight.

His ſoueraigne liege to ſlayne by force and might,

That erſt had holpen him, and giuen him health,

And had endued him with princely wealth.

In brunt of raging war, vndaunted out,

That vanquiſht many people ſtrong, and ſtout,

Prince Ceſar, mateht, by great degrées of power.

To Ioue, in ſtately chayre of ſtarrie bower,

By diu'liſh citizens wicked wyle, was ſlayne.

What ſtore of bloudie, ſtiffling ſtreames on molde

Did tattred Rome, of hir owne lims, behold?

He by his noble vertues worthy praiſe,

Whome peoples common brute to heauen doth raiſe,

Auguſt, among the Gods yſaincted well,

How many noble breſts did he compell,

How many ſpringolds yong, and hoarie heds,

Eche where diſperſt, to ligge in moulded beds?

How many men did he bereaue of breth,

Tofore proſcript, that were condemnd to death?

When for the grieſly feare of deadly dart,

From propre home they were conſtraind to part,

And flye Octauius force, and Lepidus might,

And not abyde ſterne Marke Antonius ſight,

Which then the ample worlde at once did guyde,

That into kingdomes thrée they did deuide.

To dumpiſh ſadded ſyres, with heauy chéere,

Their childerns grieſly cropped pates appéere,

Hong out beforne the ſenates iudgement ſeat,

For eche man to beholde in open ſtreat:

Ne durſt they once lament their piteous caſe,

Nor inward ſéeme to morne to Claudius face.

The market ſtead, with bloud from bodies ſpued,

And lothſome mattrie ſtreames, is all embrued:

And, quite throughout, their faces foule arayde

The pitcous gubs of bloud drop downe, vnſtayde.

Nor here did this ſame ſlaughterous bloudſhed ſtay:

Phyllips, Pharſalia gaſtly fields eche day

The cromming rauening foules, and cruell beaſts,

Long fed, with gobbets bigge of manly breaſts.

Beſide all this, the coaſt he ſcoured quyte

Of Sicill ſea, and ſhips to warre yoyght

With force of armes did win: and hauock made

Of propre ſubiects, ſlaine with his owne blade.

The rundle round of lands with mightie maine

Of noble chieftaines ſtroake, reboyles againe.

Antonius ouercome in nauale fight,

To Egipt poaſts in ſhips preparde to flight:

Not looking long to liue, nor hoping life.

Inceſtuous Egipt (through Antonius wife)

That worthy Romaine princes bloud, did ſucke:

And couerd lye their goaſts with durtie mucke.

Long wicked, waged ciuile warre, there ſtayed,

In Marke Antonius graue, with him ylayed.

Auguſtus at the laſt, of conqueſt great

His dulled ſwords, that wounded ſoules did beat

In peaceable ſheaths repoſde, hath layde at reſt:

And feare doth rule, and guide his kingdome beſt.

By readie force of armes at all aſſayes,

And Captaynes ſayth he ſhéeldes himſelfe alwayes:

Whome now his ſonnes moſt worthy vertues prayſe,

To heauen a conſecrated God doth rayſe,

And cauſeth all, in Churches for to place

The ſacred Picture of prince Claudius grace.

And vs, the ſtarrie raigne of Gods ſhall byde

If firſt, with dreadfull ſword about vs wyde,

We wype away, what ſo our perſon ſtaine:

And found our court with worthy ſtem againe.

Se. Your noble ſpouſe, ſprong forth of ſaincted péere,

Of Claudius ſtock, the ſtarbright Diamond cleere,

That goddeſſe Iuno wiſe hir brothers bed

Partaking, preſſed downe with buttocks red,

Your graces princely court ſhall garniſh gay,

With wondrous heauenly faire deſcended ſtay.

Ne. Inceſtuous maried dames, from ſtock, and ſtem,

Detract all hope, that we ſhould haue of them.

Nor vs, could ſhe once loue, that we could ſée,

Nor with our perſon once at all agrée.

Se. In tender budding yeres, when loue ſuppreſt

With bluſſhing, hydes the flames of burning breſt,

Scant plaine appeares the loue they beare in déede.

Ne. Thus we our ſelfe with hope in vaine did féede:

Although vndoubted ſignes, as body wryed,

And frowning lookes, which we haue oft eſpyed,

Hir ſpitefull, hating ſtomack did bewray

Which ſhee doth beare, whome duety byndes t' obay.

Which yet at laſt, bigge, boyling, gréeuous paine

With death determinde hath t'auenge againe.

We haue found out, for byrth, and beauties grace

A worthy make, for ſuch an Empreſſe place:

To whome, that louely goddeſſe, Venus bright,

And mightie Ioue his ſpouſe that Iuno hight,

And goddeſſe fierce in boyſterous warlike artes,

Giues place for bodies ſéemely portraid partes.

Se. Faith, meekeneſſe, maners mylde, & haſhfull ſhame

Of ſpouſe, thoſe ought an huſbande to reclame.

The perls of iudging minde, alone remaine,

Not ſubiect once to any rulers raigne.

The paſſing pryde of beawties numming grace

Eche day appals, and bleamiſheth a pace.

Ne. What praiſes woman wights haue in thē cloſde?

All thoſe, in hir alone hath God repoſde.

And ſuch a péereleſſe péere, the guides of life,

The deſtnies would haue borne to be our wife.

Se. O noble prince ſuch blinde, unlawfull loue,

(Do raſhly credit nought) from you remoue.

Ne. Whom Ioue can not repell that rules the clouds,

And pearcing raging flouds, therein him ſhrouds,

And raungeth through the raigne of Plutos pit,

And pulleth down in welkin hie that ſit

The mightie powers of heauen, the God of loue?

And can I then his force from me remoue?

Se. Swift winged loue, mens fanſte fond, in vaine

A mercy wanting God to be, doth fame:

And armes his hands with wounding weapons kéene

And bowes with burning bronds, for louers gréene:

Of Venus to be ſprong, they all accord,

And blyndly forgde, of thunders limping Lorde.

Bland loue the minds great torment ſore, appeares,

And buddeth firſt, in frollick youthfull yeares.

Who, while we drinke of fortunes pleaſaunt cup,

With layſie pampring ryot, is neſtled vp:

Whome if to foſter vp, you leaue at length

It fleting, falles away with broken ſtrength.

This is, in all our life, as I ſuppoſe

The greateſt cauſe, how pleaſure, firſt aroſe.

Which ſith mankinde by brooding, bydeth ayt,

Through gladſome loue, that fierce wilde beaſts doth ſway

It neuer can, from manly breaſt depart.

Ne. This ſelfe ſame God, I wiſh with all my harte

The wedlock lights to beare before our grace,

And faſten Poppie, ſure, in our bed place.

Se. The peoples griefe might neuer yelde to it:

Nor vertue can, the ſame at all, permit.

Ne. ſhall I alone to do, forbidden bée,

That euery patch may do? that gréeueth mée.

Se. No tryfling toyes, the people lookes to haue

Of him, that ought to rule with wiſedome graue.

Ne. It pleaſeth vs, with daunted power, to trye,

If peoples raſhe conceyued rage, will flye.

Se. ſeeke rather for to pleaſe, and calme their mood.

Ne. Ill ruled is that raigne where people wood,

Their ſubiect prince doth weld, as they thinke good.

Se. When nought that they require they can obtaine,

They iuſtly then agrieued are againe.

Ne. That gentle prayers can not win with eaſe,

By force to wring it out, it doth vs pleaſe.

Se. An hard thing 'tis the people not to haue

That of their Prince, which they do iuſtly craue.

Ne. And horrible 'tis a Prince to be conſtraind.

Se. Let not your ſubiects then ſo ſore be raind.

Ne. Why then the common brute abroade wil be.

How that the people haue ſubdued mee.

Se. That no man truſts, that is of credit light.

Ne. Be it ſo, yet many it marks with deadly ſpight.

Se. With countrie péeres to meddle, it is afraid.

Nc. To quippe and frump, 'tis nothing leſſe diſmaid.

Se. Your grace may eaſly couch that budding brute.

Let ſaincted ſyres deſerts with pliant ſute,

Your graces mynde, remoue: let ſpouſes age,

And curteous baſhfull ſhame diſrump your rage.

Ne. Leaue off, I ſay, that we entend, to grutch.

For now your talke, our patience moueth much:

I pray you let it lawfull be to do,

That ſeneck giueth not aduiſe vnto.

And we, our peoples wiſhes do defer,

While Poppie féele in wombling womb to ſter,

The pledge of faithfull loue to me, and her.

Why do we not appoint the morrowe next,

When as our mariage pompe may be context?

The third Act.

The fyrſt Sceane.

Agrippina.

THrough paunch of riuened earth, from Plutos rain

With goaſtly ſteps, I am returnd again.

In writhled wriſts that bloud do moſt deſyre,

Forguiding wedlock vile, with ſtygian fyre.

Let Poppie, which theſe creſſets coupled ſure,

Vnto my ſoune be ioynde in mariage pure:

Whome mothers griefe, and hand reuenging wracks,

Shall ſend with heaue and hoe, to funerall ſtacks.

I alwayes doe remember well beneath,

Where piteous, ghoſtly, crauling ſouls doe breath,

Th' vnkindly, ſlaughterous déede, which to our ſpright

Yet vnreuengde, is gréeuous, and of ryght.

And, for the good I did, a cruell pryſe,

That deadly framed ſhip in crafty wiſe:

And due reward, that he gaue me agayne,

For helping him to rule of Empyres raigne:

And eke that night, when as I did bewayle,

Both leſſe of ſhip, wherin we then did ſayle,

And mates vnhappy beath: and while I thought,

For this accueſſed deede, to haue beſought

The Gods, to trickling teares he gaue ſcant tyme,

But twice encreaſed hath his diueliſh crime.

Quyte ſlaine w^t ſword, thruſt through my bodies boſidſ

And ſlithy layed through goarie mattring wounds,

Deliuered ſafe, from ſeas deuouring ſup,

In antique court, my goaſt I yeelded vp.

Nor yet his cancred, and vnfatiate hate,

For all this bloud, doth Nero once abate.

That tyrant dyre doth rage at mothers name,

And ſéeketh wayes, my déedes for to defame.

Who threating death to them that doe withſtand,

My ſhapes he dingeth downe, in euery land:

My princely tyties large he ſcrapeth out

In euery place, the whole wyde worlde about,

Which my vnlucky parents loue did giue,

To much vnto my paine, while I did liue,

Vnto a boy to guyde, which nowe Irue.

My poyſoned Make, my ghoſt doth oft purſue:

And in my face, with burning bronds, doth flye.

He ſtayes a ſpace with earneſt talke hard by,

And threatneth ſore, and doth impute his death

And tombe he ſhould haue had, to me beneath.

And now deſyres to haue ſome factious wight,

That dare diſpoyle my ſonne of breathing ſpright.

Let be, you ſhall haue one to worke this crime,

I do require no long delaied time.

Reuenging ſprit Erin, a death doth coyne,

Of life, that wicked tyrant, to purloyne.

Sore ſmarting leaden ſtrypes, and ſhamefull flyght,

And pyning panges, with thurſt and hunger dyght:

That Tantalus ſpungelyke thurſtie mouth befurd,

And ſiſyphus toyle ſhall paſſe, and Tityus hurd,

And Ixions painefull, wombling whéele about,

That teareth all his bodies parts throughout.

Although that tyrant proud and ſcornefull wyght,

His court with marble ſtone do ſtrongly dyght,

And princelike garniſh it with gliſtring gold:

Though troupes of ſouldiours ſhielded ſure, vphold

Their chieftaines princely porch: & though yet ſtill

The world drawne drye with taſkes euen to his will,

Great heapes of riches yéelde them ſelues to ſaue,

Although his bloudie helpe, the Parthians craue,

And kingdomes bring, and goods all that they haue,

The time, and day ſhall come, when as he ſhall

Forlorne, and quite vndone, and wanting all,

Vnto his curſſed déedes, his life, and more,

Vnto his foes, his baared throat reſtore.

Alas, vnto what end is all my paine,

Or in what caſe, do now my vowes remaine?

Whereto doth now thy rage, and deſtnies ſpyte

Draw thée, O ſonne, with braine benummed quyte?

That to ſuch monſtrous heaps of ylls thy dame

(Whō thou, with curſſed miſchiefe ouercame)

Hir wrath ſhould yéeld? O that, ere to the light

A ſucking babe I brought thée forth in ſight,

And fed thée fyne with pappe, as princely borne,

The fierce, wylde, ſauage beaſts had rent and torne

My wombe, and bloudie entrells all beforne.

Without all cryme, and wanting reaſons pryde,

Mine owne déere dandling childe y^u ſhouldſt haue dyde.

And faſtned ſure to me ſhuldſt aye beholde,

The quiet place, where ghoſtlie ſoules be rolde:

And ſée thy graund ſyres great of worthy ſame,

And ſyre Domitius eke of princely name,

Whome nowe, both ſhame, and wayling doth abyde,

That whyle they dure, from them ſhall neuer ſlyde.

For which, both thée, O curſſed barne, they may,

And mée, that thée haue borne giue thankes for aye.

But why ceaſſe I, with Hell to hide my face,

Wyfe, ſtepdame, mother dire, in my life ſpace?

The ſeconde Sceane of the thirde Act.

Octauia. Chorus.

Do not, alas, thus ſore lament,

But rather yet your mourning ſtay,

Sith that the citie whole is bent

To celebrate this ioyfull day:

Leaſt your great loue, and fauour both,

Which I do count to be moſt ſure,

The more cauſe Nero me to loth,

And eke his bitter wrath procure:

And I fall out to be the ground

To you of many miſchieues vile,

This ſame is not the firſt déepe wound,

That I haue felt now this good while:

Farre worſſe than this haue I abode:

But of theſe troublous cares, this day

Shall make an ende, I truſt in God,

Although with death he doe me pay.

No man to ſée ſhall mée conſtraine

His bended browes knit furrowiſe,

Nor ſtep within the chamber raigne

Of maide dreſt vp in brydall guyſe.

Auguſtus ſiſter I will bée,

And not his wife, as wont I was:

But onely paines remoue from mée,

And feare of death, I will not paſſe.

Yet canſt thou, piteous wretch, once truſt,

Thy cruell huſbands father law,

Or theſe fewe things to haue ſo iuſt

Whyle miſchiefs yet in minde are raw?

Now long reſeru'd, vntill this day,

And theſe ſame mariage rytes be paſt,

Thou ſhalt poore wretch, without delay,

A bloudie offring dye at laſt.

Why thus with teares diſfigured ſore

Thy wonted home doeſt thou beholde?

Make haſte, to ſhunne this deadly ſhore,

And leaue this ſtraughtrous Princes folde.

Chorus.

Loe ſe that day ſuſpected long,

And whiſpered fame in all mens eares,

With gliſtring pomp of brydall throng,

To vs poore wretches, now appeares.

And Claudius broode, Octauias grace,

From Neros wedlock place expeld,

Departed is, whoſe ſpouſall ſpace,

Hath Poppie conquerour long tyme held.

The whyle, our pietie couched lyeſ

Kept downe with heauie, combrous feare,

And ſlow reuenging griefe likewiſe:

Where doth the peoples power appeare,

That brake the force of princes great,

That conquerous citie lawes hath framde,

That worthy men to honors ſeat

Preferd, that warre and peace proclaimde,

That ſauage people ſtraunge did tame

That kyngs and princes caught in fyght,

Shut ſurely vp in priſon frame,

To kéepe them cloſe from all mens ſyght?

Loe, which we can not once abyde,

To ſee, where Poppies ymage trim,

Conioyned vnto Neros ſyde

All gliſtring bright, ſhines very brim.

Let force of armes pull downe that frame

And match with ground that ladies face

Too likely carued to his name,

And ſnatch hir downe from bedding place,

And let it forthwith flye with brandeſ

With Darts and Iauelins fiercely flong,

From pythie brawnes and ſturdy handes,

Unto the princes courtly throng.

The fourth Act.

The fyrſt Sceane.

Nutrix. Poppea.

From out of ſpouſall bower diſmaied w^t feare,

Whither go you? what ſecrets daughter deare

Unknowen, maks you to looke ſo drouſelye?

Why ſpungelike lokes your face w^t teares frō eye

That fell? of truth, the tyme deſired long,

And wiſſhed for by prayers, and vowes among

Hath ſhined bright. Caeſars wedlock are you:

Your golden grace, whereof he toke the view.

Him priſoner caught, and did him ſurely binde,

So much the more, how much ſeneck his minde

Did ſeeke to chaunge, and wild from loue to wéeld.

And Venus chiefe in loue hath made him yéeld.

O in beautie paſſing all, what beds than downe

More ſoft, haue borne thy weght: when y^u with crowne

Didſt ſit in middes of court, the ſenate all

At thy great beautie agaſt, thou didſt appall:

Whylſt thou the Goddes with perfume ſenſedſt fyne,

And ſacred altars drencht with thankfull wyne,

Thy hed attyrde with veyle of yellowe hiewe.

By Ceſars ſyde thou wentſt as princeſſe newe:

When he aloft extolde aboue the reaſt,

With hautie courage meryly went to feaſt.

Like as King Peleus went ſome tymes to take

Quéene Tethis, whom ſalt ſeas ſome bredde, his make

Whoſe briding chambers, banquetwiſe ydreſt,

The Gods vouchſaaft to hallow with their heſt,

Both they that rule in ſkies, and eke in ſeas.

But tell, O Ladie, tell, if it you pleaſe,

What ſodaine chaunce doth ſhade your beauties light?

What meanes your colour chaunge from red to white?

What moues thoſe trickling teares, how ſtandes your plighte?

Poppea. With dreames, and grieſly ſights, this laſt night nurſe,

My minde was troubled ſore, but frayd much worſe.

For when ſir Phoeb his werie courſe had rid,

Whyle quiet reſting night eche thing ſhadid,

My ſenſes wearie fell in ſlumber déepe,

Whyle Nero me within his armes did cléepe.

Reſoluing lims, at length gan ſléepe diſcharge,

And long I reſt not vnder quiets targe.

For loe, I ſaw a rout, that brought me feare,

Come to my chamber with diſheueled heare:

The Matrons ſage of Latin lande did mourne,

And ſounded ſhrycking ſyghes as though forlorne

They were, the dolefulſt wights that liue on grounde.

And oft among the warlike trumpets ſounde,

I ſawe my huſbandes mother terribly ſtande,

With threatning looke berayed with bloud, in hande,

A light fyre brand ſhée bare which oft ſhée ſhooke,

And made me goe with hir, through fearefull looke.

When downe we came through op'ned earth, ſhe led

The way, I after went with bowing hed,

And muſing much thereat, marke what I ſay,

My bed, me thought I ſaw, wherein I laye,

When firſt eſpouſde I was to Rufe Cryſpine:

And he me thought, with firſt ſonne of his line,

With many following them, againſt me faſt

Did come, and me to cléepe did ſwift his haſt,

And as he wouted was, he kiſſe me oft.

Then ruſht into my houſe, with pace not ſoft

Amaſed Nero ſore, in Criſpines breſt

That hidde his fauchion kene: feare ſhakte of reſt

From me: I trembling ſtoode with quiuering feare,

And breſt diſmaide to ſpeake made me forbeare.

Tyll now O nurſe I met with thée, whoſe truſt,

And faith into theſe words haue made me bruſt.

Alas what threatneth me eche grieſty ſprite?

What meanes of huſbands bloude that dolefull ſight?

Nutrix. The hidden ſacred vaine that moueth ſwift,

Which fantaſie we call by ſecrete drift,

When we do take our reſt, doth ſhew againe,

The things both good and bad that broyle in braine.

You maruel that you ſaw your make, and bower,

His goaſtly funerall ſtacks, at that ſame hower,

Round claſped cloſe in armes of huſband new:

Hereto, the beaten breſts with hands mou'd you,

And maidens heare, on mariage day diſplayed:

Octauias friends with heauie harts, bewrayed,

Amids hir brothers booth, and fathers hall

Their heauie chéere, for hir vnlucky fall.

That dreadfull blaſing flame of fyre foreborne

In Agryppinas hands, your grace beforne,

Which you did follow ſtreight, declares renowne

To you, though enuy ſtriue to kepe it downe:

The ſeat you ſaw beneath, doth promiſe you

Your ſtate to ſtand full ſure, not chaunging new:

That Nero prince in Criſpins throat did hyde

His ſwerd, it tels that he in peace ſhall byde,

Unknowen to bloudie ruthfull warre for aye.

Therefore, madame, plucke vp your hart, I pray:

Receyue bothe mirth, and glée, caſt feare aſyde,

With ioye, and eaſe you may in bower abyde.

Pop. To temples hie, where mightie Gods do dwell,

I will repaire, and offrings to them fell

In humble wiſe, their heauie wrath t'appeaſe,

And me of mighty ſight, and dreames to eaſe,

My ſecond with ſhal be, that this feare all,

Upon my foes as ſodaine chaunce may fall.

O nurſe, pray thou for me, ſome vowes do make

Toth' Gods, that goſtly feare his flight may take.

The ſecond Sceane of the fourth Act.

Chorus.

IF ſtelth diſcloſde by blabbing fame,

And luſtie, pleaſaunt, thankfull loue,

Of Ioue be true: who fourme did frame

Of ſwan, to come from ſkies aboue,

And did enioye the ſwéet conſent,

Of Ladie Laedas loues delight:

Who like a Bull his labour ſpent,

Through flowing fluds to carie quite.

Europa ſliely ſtolne away:

He will no doubt, leaue raigne of ſkye

And Poppies loue diſguiſde, aſſaye.

If he hir ſoueraigne beautie ſpie.

Which he might well prefer before

Faire Laedas ſugred ſwéete delight:

And Danaë whome he won of yore

Amaſde with golden ſhower ſo bright:

Let ſparte now for Helens ſake

Of beautie, bragging fame vpraiſe:

Admitte the Troian heardman make

Of gayned ſpoyle triumphant praiſe:

Faire Helen here is ſtained quite:

Whoſe beautie bredde ſuch boyling yre,

That earth was matched euen in ſighte

With Troian towers conſumde with fyre.

But who is this that runs with feare oppreſt?

Or els what newes brings he in panting breſt?

The thirde Sceane of the fourth Act.

Nuntius. Chorus.

WHat ſturdie champion ſtout doth ioy with glee

Our chieftaines royall bower ſafe to ſée,

Then to his court, I counſell him to wend,

Gainſt which the populus rout their force doth bend.

The rulers runne amaſde to fetch the garde,

And armed troupes of men, their towne to warde.

Nor woodneſſe raſhly cought through feare, doth ceaſſe,

But more and more, their power doth increaſe.

Cho. What ſodain rage doth beat their broyling brain?

Nunt. The gariſons great with fury aſtonde againe,

And ſturred vp for Quéene Octauias ſake

With monſtrous myſchiefe vile, their rage to ſlake,

They rumbling ruſhe into the Pallace farre.

Chor. What dare they do, their counſailers who are?

Nunt. Aduaunce their Empreſſe old, ſubuert the new:

And graunt hir, brothers beds, as is hir due.

Chor. Which Poppie now, with hole conſent doth hold?

Nunt. Yea that vnbrideled rage in breſt vprold,

Sets them agog, and maks them wondrous wood.

What euer ymage grauen in marble ſtood,

If Poppies badge it bare, or if in ſight,

It tended for to ſhewe hir beautie bright,

Though it on heauenly altares braue did ſtand,

They breake, or pull it downe, with ſword or hand.

Some parts with ropes ſure tyde, they trayle thē forth,

Which ſpurnd w^t durtie feete, as though naught worth

With filthy ſtinking myre, they it all beray.

And with their déedes their talke doth iumpe agrée,

Which mine amaſed minde, thinks true to bee.

For fierie flames they threat for to prepare,

Wherewith to waſte, the princes Pallace faire,

Unleſſe, vnto their furious moode he giue

His ſecond wife, and with Octauia liue,

But he by me ſhall know in what hard ſtaie

The Citie ſtands: the rulers Ile obaie.

Chor. Alack, what made you cruell warres, in vaine

To moue, ſith priſoner loue you can not gaine?

You can not him ouercome, your fierie flame

He recketh not: his ſyrs ouercomes the ſame.

He darkned hath thoſe thundring things that ſhake

Heauen, Earth, Hel, ſea, al things y^t makes to quake.

Yea mighty Ioue, in heauen that weares chief crowne

His flames from welkin hie hath brought adowne.

And you, not victors now, but vanquiſſhed,

Shall raunſome pay, the price of hearts bloud red.

Loue, pacient can not be, but hote in rage,

No eaſie thing it is, his wrath t'aſſwage.

Achilles worthy wight, that was ſo ſtout,

To twang the Harpe he made in Ladies rout,

Prince Agamemnon ſterne that boy benumd,

And rable rude of Gréekes with loue bronds bumd.

King Priams raigne he topſie turuis toſt,

And goodly Cities great he chiefly loſt.

And now my minde ſore frighted ſtands agaſt,

What Cupides furious force brings vs at laſt,

The fourth Sceane of the fourth Act.

Nero.

AH, ah, our captaines ſloe diſpatching coyle,

And our long ſuffring yre in ſuch a broyle,

That ſtreames of bloud yet do not quench their rage

Which they againſt our propre perſon wage.

And that all Rome, with corſes ſtrewd about,

Thoſe cruell villaines bloud, doth not ſweat out.

But déedes already done, with death to pay

A ſmall thing 'tis, a greater ſlaughtrous day

The peoples curſſed crime, and eke that dame,

Whome I did aye ſuſpect, deſerues the ſame.

To whome, to yelde thoſe peaſaunts would me make:

At laſt ſhe ſhall, with life our ſorow ſlake,

And with hir bodies bloud ſhall quench our yre.

Then, ſhall their houſes fall by force of fyre:

What burning both, and buildings fayre decay,

What beggerly want, and wayling hunger may,

Thoſe villaines ſhal be ſure, to haue eche day.

Ah Prouender pricks that vyle rebellious race,

Ne can they once our fauour well embrace,

Nor be content, with peace in quiet ſtate,

But broyling raumpe about with troubled gate.

Hereon with boldneſſe ſtraight hereon they flie,

With harebraind raſhneſſe hedling by and by.

Well, they muſt tamed be with heauy ſtroke,

And downe be kept with peiſe of weightie yoke:

That they, with like attempt, doe not ariſe,

Nor once caſt vp their deadly peaſaunts eyes,

Againſt our louing ſpouſes golden lookes:

Firſt puniſh them ſure, then feare ſhal be their bookes,

To teache them, at their Princes beck t'obaye.

But ſée at hand, whome fayth, and vertue rare,

Lieutenant chiefe of camps, appointed thare.

The fyft Sceane of the fourth Act.

Praefectus. Nero.

THe vulgare peoples raſh vnruly rage,

The ſlaughter of a fewe did ſone aſſwage,

Which long w^tſtode our valiant force in vain,

To tel your grace this newes, I come againe.

Nero. And is this then ynough, doeſt thou ſo well,

O ſouldiour marke what doth thy captaine tell?

Haſt thou with held thy hand from bloudie yre?

Is this the due reuenge that we requyre?

Prae. The captaine guides of treaſon payd their hyre,

By deſperate death of bloudie ſworde in fight.

The rout which ſought with flaming fyre to light,

Our royall Pallace great, who would aſſigne

Their Prince what he ſhould doe: and pull in fine

Our mate from vs diſſoluing wedlocke bandes:

Whoſe hardie ſlaunderous tongs, & wicked handes,

Hir princely grace reprochfully withſtandes,

From due reuenge, are they dyſmiſſed frée?

Praef. ſhall ſubiectes payne, by griefe aſſigned bée?

Ner. It ſhall aſſigne which time ſhall neuer weare.

Which neyther wrath may ende, nor yet our feare?

Shée ſhall appeaſe our hie diſpleaſed minde,

Who firſt, our wrath deſerued due to finde.

Praef. Declare whoſe death your mood doth moſt require

Let not my hande be ſtayde from your deſire.

Ner. It ſeekes our ſiſters death, and trayterous hed.

Praef. Thoſe wordes through all my lims, hath ſtifneſſe ſpred,

Oppreſt with grieſly feare: Ner. Us to obay

Stands thou in doubt? Praef. On fayth why do you lay

So great a fault? Ner. Bycauſe thou ſparedſt our foe.

Praef. Deſerues a woman to be termed ſo?

Ner. If treaſon ſhe begin. Praef. Is any man

So ſure, that hir accuſe of treaſon can?

Ner. The peoples rage: Praef. Thoſe madde vnweldie wightſ

Who ordre could? Ner. Who could ſtir vp their ſprits?

Praef. No creature as I thinke. Ner. A woman could,

In whome a mind Dame nature hath vpfould,

To miſchiefe prone: ſhée armed hath hir hart,

To hurt by myles: yet ſtrength ſhée ſet a part,

Leaſt ſhée vndaunted force with hir ſhould beare:

But now hir ſlender power with doubting feare,

Is quickly quaylde, or elſe with puniſhment,

Which hir condemned ſtate to miſchiefe bent,

To late doth ende: away with graue aduiſe,

Us with entreating ſéeke not to entyſe.

Diſpatch that we commaund on ſhipboorde borne,

Farre off to ſhore aloofe with daſhing worne,

Commaund ſhe be: that tunlike ſwelling breſt

At length in ſtorming ſtomack may take reſt.

The ſixt ſceane of the fourth Acte.

Chorus. Octauia.

A Lack the peoples bitter loue,

And dyre good will to many one,

Which, when they hoyſted ſayles aboue,

With pleaſaunt blaſtes it made to grone,

And caried them farre from quiet ſhore,

That faynting, leaues them in the déepe,

And tombling, raging waters rore.

Cornelia piteous wretch, did wéepe,

And ſore bewayle hir ſonnes eſtate:

The peoples loue did vndoe them,

And wondrous fauour, bred them hate:

Great worthy péeres of noble ſtem:

Of high renowne for vertues prayſe:

In faith and eloquence both did paſ

Their ſtomacks ſtout their fame did rayſe:

Ith lawes eche one moſt excellent was.

And ſcipio, thée did fortune yéelde

Unto lyke death, and curſſed wracke,

Whome neyther honours pompe could ſhéelde,

Nor fenced houſe thy foes kepe backe.

Moe to repeate, although I could,

Pure preſent griefe forbiddeth ſore:

Ere whyle to whom the people would,

Hir Fathers antique court reſtore,

And Brothers wedlock once againe,

Now wéeping, wringing hands poore wretch,

Unto hir cruell, deadly paine,

The armed ſouldiours do hir fetch.

How ſafe doth pouertie lye content,

In thetched houſe ſafe ſhrouded theare?

Hie rayſed towers with blaſts are bent,

Which often times them ouer beare.

Oct. Where pull you mee poore wretche? alas,

Into what banniſht exiles place,

Would Nero haue mée for to pas,

Or fortune bids, with frowning face?

If now with fainting ſtrength quite coolde,

And with my broyles all weried ceaſſe,

And longer life ſhée graunt me woolde,

If that ſhée work for to increaſe,

My ſorrowes great with deadly dart,

Why is ſhée then ſo muche my foe,

In countrie that I maye not part,

And leaue my life before I goe?

But now no helpe of health I feele,

Alas I ſée my Brothers boate:

This is the ſame, whoſe vaulted kéele,

His Mother once did ſet a floate.

And now his piteous ſiſter I,

Excluded cleane from ſpouſall place,

Shall be ſo caried by and by:

No force hath vertue in this caſe,

No Gods there be my woes to wrecke.

The grieſly, dreadfull drabbe Erin,

Doth weld the worlde at nod and becke,

Who can lament my ſtate, wherein

I am, alas, ſufficientlie?

How can Aëdon duely plaine,

My ſmarting ſtreames of teares that I

Do ſhedde? whoſe wings I would be faine,

If deſtnies would them graunt, to weare.

Then would I leaue my mourning mates,

As ſwiftly fled, as wings could beare,

And ſo auoyde theſe bloudie pates.

Then ſitting ſole in ſhirwood ſhirle,

And hanging ſure, by dandling twigge

With plaintiue pype I might out twirle

My heauye tuned note ſo bigge.

Chor. The mortal broode the deſtnies guide:

Them ſelues they nothing can aſſure,

That certainly doth ſtedfaſt bide:

Which our laſt day of life, procure,

(Whereof we alwayes ſhould beware,)

Much daungerous chaunces for to try:

Unto your troubled minde with care,

Now many ſaumples doe apply,

Which your accurſed court hath brought,

To bolden you in all your broyle:

For what hath more your troubles wrought,

What doth againſt you ſorer toyle,

Than fortune doth? thee firſt of all,

Agrippas childe brought forth to life,

Whome we Tyberius daughter call,

By lawe, and eke Prince Ceſars wyfe,

Of many ſonnes a carefull dame,

I cannot chooſe but nowe recount,

Whoſe worthie, glorious, ample name,

Throughout the world doth much ſurmount.

So oft with bellie bolne that bare

Deſyred fruits, and peaces pledge,

Ere long thou ſuffredſt exiles care,

Strypes, chaines, and bolts of yron wedge,

And mourning much, which ſo did frame,

That death they cauſde thée to abyde.

So Liuia, Druſus luckie dame

In male kinde babes, did hedling ſlyde,

Into a cruell monſtrous déede,

And death ſore pearcing deadly dart.

Hir Mothers fates doth Iulia ſpeede,

To folow ſtreight with all hir hart,

Who after longer waſted time

With bloudie fauchion kene, was ſlaine,

Although for no iuſte cauſe, or crime.

Your Mother eke that once did raigne,

Who then eſtéemd of Claudius well,

Did wiſely weld his court at will,

And fruitfull was, as you can tell,

What could not hir deſire fulfill?

Shée ſometime ſubiect to hir ſlaue,

To death was put with ſouldiours blade.

What ſhée, that caſly hope might haue,

Toth ſkies, hir raigne to riſe haue made,

Prince Neros luſtie parent great?

Firſt toſt with ſhipmans boyſterous force,

Then torne with ſword in Princes heat,

Did ſhée not lye a ſenſeles corſe?

Oct. Lo me the tyrant ſtern will ſend

To yrckſome ſhades, and helliſh ſprits.

Why wretch do I the tyme thus ſpend?

Draw me to death you to whoſe myghts,

Falſe fortune hath bequeathed mée.

I witneſſe now the heauenly powre.

What doeſt thou bedlame? leaue to flée,

With prayer to Gods, who on thée lowre.

I call to witneſſe Tartar déepe,

And ſprytes of Hell reuenging freakſ

Of hainous facts, in dongeon ſtéepe,

And ſyre whome death deſerued wreakes.

I do not now repyne to dye,

Deck vp your ſhip, and hoyſe your ſaile,

On frothing ſeas to windes on hie:

Let him that guydes the helm not fayle,

To ſéeke the ſhore of Pharian land.

Cho. O pippling puffe of weſtern wynde,

Which ſacrifice didſt once withſtand,

Of Iphigen to death aſſignde:

And cloſe in cloude congealed clad,

Did carie hir from ſmoking ares,

Which angrie, cruell Uirgine had:

This prince alſo oppreſt with cares,

Saue from this painefull puniſhment,

To Dians temple ſafely borne:

The barbarous Mores to rudeneſſe bent,

Then Princes courts in Rome forlorne,

Haue farre more ciuile curteſie:

For there doth ſtrangers death appeaſe

The angrie Gods in heauens on hie,

But Romaine bloud, our Rome muſt pleaſe

FINIS.

Imprinted at London, by Henry Denham, dwelling in Pater noſter rowe, at the ſigne of the ſtarre.

Faultes eſcaped.

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