Penelopes Complaint: Or, A Mirrour for wanton Minions. Taken out ofHomers
Odiſſea, and written in Engliſh Verſe, By PeterColſe. Armat ſpina roſas, mella tegunt apes. London, Printed by H.Iackſon dwelling in Fleetſtreet, and are to be ſold at his ſhopvnder Temple-barre gate. 1596.
To the vertuous and chaſte Ladie, the Ladie Edith, wife to the rightworſhipfull ſir Rafe Horſey knight, increaſe of all honourablevertues.
Peruſing (vertuous Ladie) a Greeke Author, entituled
Odyſſea(written by Homer prince of Greeke poets) noting therein, the chaſtlife of the Ladie Penelope (in the twentie yeers abſence of hirlouing lord Vlyſſes) I counterfeited a diſcourſe, in Engliſhverſes, terming it her Complaint: which treatiſe, comming to theview, of certaine my ſpecial friends, I was by them oftentimesencited to publiſh it. At length weying with my ſelfe, theſhipwracke that noble vertue chaſtitie is ſubiect vnto: and ſeeingan vnknowne Author, hath of late publiſhed a pamphlet called Auiſa(ouerſlipping ſo many praiſeworthy matrons, hath regiſtred themeaneſt: I haue preſumed vnder your Ladiſhips patronage, to committhis my Penelopes complaint (though vnperfectly portraied) to thepreſſe: not doubting but the Etimologie of ſo rare a ſubiect,enchaſed with the Phyſiognomie of your excellent chaſtitie: ſoworthie a concluſion cannot but be a ſufficient argument, both toaboliſh Venus Idolaters, & alſo to counteruaile the checkes ofArtizans ill willers, which carpe at al, but correct nothing at al:meaſuring other mens labours, by their owne idle humors. Thusoffering vnto your Ladiſhip the firſtlings of my ſcholers crop fora ſatiſfaction of my preſumption, and hoping you wil pardon myboldnes, and accept of this my proffered ſeruice, I commit you tothe grace and tuition of the Almightie.
Your Ladiſhips to commaund
Peter Colse.
In commendation of the right Worſhipfull ſir Raufe Horſey knight.
S S Weete Muſe ſtrike vp thy ſiluer ſtring,
I In ſhrill conſort thy ſhake but ſtraine,
R Reflecting peales let Coſmos ring,
R Reſound Apolloes piercing vaine:
A Ariſe and rowſe thy ſelfe with ſpeede,
V Vſe no delay but do the deede.
F Feare not, for Momus nor his mates
E Encounter dare with rare renowne,
H Honour with Armes defends the ſtates,
O Of thoſe whom due deſert doth crowne,
R Recount at large what trump of fame,
S ſounds in the praiſe of Horſeu name.
E Engraude in golden letters write,
Y Your cenſure ſage with due aduiceſ
K Knowne trueth ne ſnaky enuies ſpite,
N Nor wrath can touch in any wiſe,
I Into thy Poem though there prie,
G Groſe Zo/us with ſquinted eie.
H Harſh, and too rude I muſt confeſſe
T The Poem is to moue delight:
Yet force of duety would no leſſe.
But it preſent in open ſight:
For what my wit cannot diſcharge,
My will ſurely ſupplies at large.
His valour daunts the valiantſt heart,
His wiſedome worthy worſhip winnes,
His perfect zeale by due deſart
To higheſt point of honour climes:
His hand the ſword moſt iuſtly guides,
And therewith cauſes due decides.
His wit doth Orphanes wrong redreſſe,
His hand relieues the needy heart,
His word the widowes wo doth eaſe,
He double doth reward deſart:
He naught attempts in any caſe
Whereby he may incurre diſgrace.
His chiefeſt care his countries loue,
His chiefeſt loue his countries care,
Whoſe care conſidered, well doth proue
His loue, the countrey cannot ſpare:
Whom countriemen do ſo adore,
That worſhip neuer man had more.
To Prince he true lieutenant is,
To common weale a faithfull knight,
Her Grace his ſeruice cannot miſſe,
Nor common weale ſo worthy a wight:
Whom Ioue to Prince and ſubiects ioy
Preſerue and keepe from all annoy.
Finis P. C.
An Encomion vpon the right worſhipful ſir Rafe Horſey knight, andthe Lady Edith in Saphic verſe.
If merites may true, honour //taine ////,
Or fame aduance worthy renowmed offſpring,
Les Muſes ſound forth triple tuned harp eſtrings,
vnto their honour.
Whoſe louely bloud with fauourable aſpect
Nurture and good fortune enhanceth highly
Vnto bright heauens generouſly ſpringing,
theirs be the glory.
From farre apart thoſe louely doues did aſcend,
Th’one fro th’eaſt with Phoebus aroſe for our good,
Th’ other of weſt where Coronaeus hardy
camped in old time.
Gentle their gentilitie knightly adorned,
Worthy their worſhips ſtately well adopted,
Humble their humanitie highly graced
with louely nature.
Whoſe diuine deedes and tried hearts true meaning
Duely commented manifeſt ſequences,
Happy doubtleſſe, worthy no doubt the titleſ
of their aliance.
Whoſe honours vnburied I will entombe,
For euerlaſting ages to looke vpon,
Cleare of obſcureneſſe, free of enuies outrage
will I defend them.
Happy my Muſes, but vnhappy maſter,
That can aduance encomions renowmed
Of others, obſcurely lying in hopes graue
buried himſelfe.
Yet dying, and dead wil I ſing due trophees,
Then triumphs ſhall ſtately records eternize,
My Muſe ſhall euer erect monuments to their praiſe
vnto the worldes end.
FINIS. P. C.
In commendation of the vertuous, prudent, and chaſte virgin, miſtrisGrace Horſey, daughter to the right Worſhipfull, ſir Raph Horſeyknight, and the Ladie Edith.
G G Lorious Nimph, Diana’s darling deere,
R Roſe-garland dreſſe of damaſke red and white,
A Adorne thou Veſtaes ſhrine, her poeſies weare,
C Conſerude with ſweete of honor, high delight.
E Enter the Lyons caue he is thy friend,
Though Dragon ſwell ſaint George that thee defend.
H Hunt as Diana did, with Daphne flie,
O Outrunne Apollo, truſt not to his rage,
R Repoſe no truſt in Cupids deitie,
S ſay Fruſtra to his force, make him thy page.
E Enchaſe thou vertue with pearles of grace,
Y Yongſters may wonder at the enterlace.
What faire? wiſe? rich? with grace combind?
A ioy to al that ſuch a grace behold:
ſo rare a ſympathie is hard to find,
A gift with fame worthie to be enrold.
Beautie and chaſtitie two deadly foes,
Liue reconciled in her louely browes.
Faire: looke on her there dwelleth beauties grace:
Wiſe: her wit the wiſeſt doth abaſh
Sweete: where is ſweete but in her ſweeteſt face:
Rich: to her ſtore al treaſure is but traſh.
A Grace ſhe is with ſuch rare Graces dight,
Tongue, pen, nor art her grace can ſhew aright.
Finis. P. C.
Candido Lectori hexaſtichon.
En tibi Penelope prudens, & δίαγυναικῶν,
cuius tot vates nomen vbique canunt.
Si cupis illius niueos cognoſcere mores,
hunc paruum placido perlege fronte librum.
Nam de Penelope quae doctus dixit Homerus:
hic plano & pleno carmine (Lector) habes.
Ioannes Mayo.
Amico ſuo chariſsimo P.C. S.D.
Qvid quærit titulos, quid dotes lactat Auiſa.
Anne ea Penelope eſt aequiparanda tua?
Penelope clara eſt, veneranda fidelis: Auiſa
obſcura, obſcuro foemina nata loco.
Penelope ſatrapae eſt. coniux illuſtris: Auiſa
coniux cauponis, filia pandochei.
Penelope caſta eſt cum ſponſus abeſſet: Auiſa
caſta ſuo ſponſo nocte diéque domi.
Penelopeia annos bis denos manſit: Auiſa
tot (vix credo) dies intenter ata foret.
Penelopeia procos centum neglexit: Auiſa
Vix ſeptem pretium ſuſtinuitque precem.
Penelope neuit, penſum confecit: Auiſæ
laſſauit nunquam pendula tela manus.
Penelope Graijs, Latijs celebratur: Auiſæ
vnus homo laudes, nomen & acta canit.
Ergo Penelope vigeat, cantetur: Auiſa
nullo Penelope eſt aequiualenda modo.
To the Readers.
Hauing taken vpon me (Gentlemen) to pipe with Hiparchion, though mymuſicke be not melodious inough to con tent the proud Theſſalians,yet I doubt not but poore ſhepheards will ſtirre their ſtumpsafter my minſtrelſie: If the ſtranes be too harſh, to delightyour ſtately eares (pardon me and accept my mind, and not mymuſicke) I ſtretch my ſtrings as I can, deſiring rather to teachthe ſimple their vniforme cinquepace, then effect Courtiers in theirlofty galliards, which alter euery day with new deuiſes. The cauſeI haue contriued ſo pithie a matter, in ſo plaine a ſtile, andſhort verſe, is: for that a vaineglorious Auiſa (ſeeking byſlaunder of her ſuperiors, to eternize her folly) is in the likeverſe, (by an vnknowen Authour) deſcribed: I follow(I ſay) theſame ſtile, & verſe, as neither miſliking the methode, northe matter, had it beene applyed to ſome worthier ſubiect. Thushoping you wil courteouſly accept my Penelopes Complaint, I wilſhortly make you amends with her Will, and Teſtament, inPentameters, wherein I wil ſtretch my wits to Ela, to ſhew myduetie, and ſatiſfie your deſires: and ſo farewell.
Peter Colſe.
Penelopes complaint.
Penelope complaineth of Vlyſſes departure.
You Nymphs that Alcidalions brookes,
And Paphos ſportes are diſpoſſeſt:
Which want the ſun of louely lookes.
And are diſplac’d of Cupids creſt:
If you haue tried, loues ſweete aſpect,
And do lament, your ioyes defect:
Surceaſe, your caſes to complaine,
Your loſſes leaue ſo much to mone,
Alas my loues long lacking paine,
Is more then yours tenne to one:
But if you needes will puling ſit,
A pew-mate for you am I fit.
Let fooliſh Phillis ceaſe to faint,
And for Demophoon leaue to mourne:
Let Dido finiſh her complaint,
And faithleſſe falſe Æneas ſcorne:
For careleſſe wights why do you care,
And cauſeleſſe eke ſo wofull are?
Leaue off (I ſay) thoſe cauſeleſſe cares,
Help me bewaile my wretched woe:
What neede you ſhed thoſe ruthleſſe teares?
Your paſsions but of pleaſure grow,
Oh help me ſeely ſoule, relate
My toileſome lamentable ſtate.
My loue (alas) and I loue ſicke,
Ten thouſand leagues to warres is gone,
And me hath left here widdow-like,
In ſhiuering bed to lie alone:
Oh now, vnto my paine I proue,
A dririe lothſome thing is loue.
Alacke, how am I gallde with griefe,
ſith that no where I can behold,
Thoſe louely lookes that of reliefe,
The locks and keyes and al do hold:
Whoſe ſmiling cheekes and merrie cheere,
To pleaſure ſweete the Porters were.
She ſheweth how Vliſſes fained himſelfe mad at his departure, andhow he was bewraied by Palemedes.
Vlyſſes, my Vlyſſes deare,
Alacke, alacke, and wel away,
My bedfellow, my friend and pheere,
Vlyſſes mine is wend away:
To ſiege of Troy, with heauie cheare,
Againſt his wil, I dare to ſweare.
Halfe franticke he (vnwilling wretch)
And mad almoſt, himſelfe did faine,
He warily his wit did ſtretch,
New nuptiall ſport ſo vext his braine.
Loue tickled ſo his louely breſt,
That he (poore ſoule) could take no reſt.
But oft would ſtare as one amazde,
Or as the foule amids the fire:
Yea, grimly oft on me he gazde,
His fleſh ſo fumde with loues deſire:
Alacke how oft did he complaine,
Loues parting was a pinching paine.
Woe worth the wretch, that did bewray,
My good Vlyſſes warie wit:
Foule fare Palemedes I ſay,
That ſo his poyſoned venome ſpit.
But my Vlyſſes wil ere long,
Reuenge the villaines ſpightful wrong.
Meane while (alas) poore worthles wight,
I want my hearts moſt chiefeſt treaſure:
I leade my life in fanſies ſpight,
And tarry euer Fortunes leaſure.
I harping ſit on Hopes ſweete ſtring,
Till Time Vlyſſes home doth bring.
Adue my ioy, adue my bliſſe,
My comfort, and my deare delight,
By day I ſhal his preſence miſſe:
Much more, his abſence in the night.
Of ioy, of bliſſe, and ſweete delight,
One man at once, depriude me quight.
She diſcommendeth her married eſtate, and ſheweth the toile ſheindures.
Ah, what a doting foole was I?
To marry ſuch a manly mate,
Well taught (alas) now do I trie,
Too mery was my maiden-ſtate,
And Angel-like my virgins life,
But helliſh-like, to be a wife.
With mangled mind, loues worthles ware,
(Poore wretch) I haue too deerely bought:
Like ſeely bird, I ſaw the ſnare,
Yet fooliſhly my woe I wrought:
Woe to my ſelfe t’was my deſire,
To Iunoes heſts thus to aſpire.
But ſith I would the wanton play,
And enter into wedded ſtate,
I wiſh (but all too late) I ſay,
That I had choſe ſome meacocke mate,
As could haue kept but dogges from dore,
And not a knight that Armes had bore.
Well mought I thinke, as now I find,
That long Vlyſſes could not ſtay
In Venus court, his martiall mind
And courage ſtowt would it gaineſay:
Had I at firſt had this forecaſt,
I neede not thus repent at laſt.
Had nature me deformed fac’de,
Or had I not Vlyßes ſeene,
Or had he neuer me embrac’de,
Or in his bed had I not beene:
Then maiden-like had bin my care,
Not widdowlike, thus neede I fare.
With diſtaffe thus I neede not drudge,
Nor yet with wheele haue worne my hand:
Nor want of ſleepe neede I thus grudge,
Nor tired thus a-twiſting ſtand,
Nor yet haue buſied thus my braine,
From haſtic ſutors to refraine.
Shee accuſeth Hellen of light conſent.
Oh for thoſe routs of roiſters ranke,
Which do my ſilly ſoule aſſault,
And for this toile I wel may thanke,
Dame Hellen and her fooliſh fault:
Her light conſent makes al men ſay,
The Grecian dames cannot ſay nay.
Had Hellen felt my loues long lacke,
So many wearie winters woe,
Or ſunnie ſummers luſtful wracke,
As I poore wretched woman do:
Then had there beene ſome reaſon why,
Her louing pheere ſhe ſhould defie.
Or ſhe ſuch troopes of wooers had,
Or halfe the courting I endure,
Of ſaucie ſuters ſtaring mad,
Her honours breach for to procure:
ſome would haue thought, loue had her won,
Not luſt, to go with Priams ſonne.
To one mans ſute ſhe did conſent,
And ſcarce entreated did ſhe yeeld,
Vnaſkd almoſt, to bed ſhe went,
Without repulſe, ſhe fled the field.
O vile, vnconſtant, fickle dame,
Vnworthie worthie womens name.
How wil ſir Paris vaunt at Troy?
Of his ſucceſſe, how wil he boaſt?
(Wel let him heed amidſt his ioy,
Leſt Menelaus marre his roaſt)
Both Troy, and Greece may wel repent,
Thy peremptorie light conſent.
Fie, what were al your frumps forgot?
Where were your chaſte and chary lookes?
Were you ſo farre with fanſie ſhot,
To truſt to beauties hidden hookes?
Where were your ſharpe conceited ſhifts,
Your wittie, ſubtle, ſhrewiſh drifts?
She controlleth Hellen for her ill example.
How dar’ſt thou looke the Greekes in face,
When they at Troy ſhal with thee meete?
Alas, with what diſguiſed grace,
Wilt thou thy wedded huſband greete?
Alacke, it would haue burſt my heart,
If I had played ſuch a part.
Fie, Hellen fie: thou womans foe,
Foule fare thy frenſie fooliſh fal:
Thy wantonnes hath wrought our woe,
Oh, this thy fault hath ſhamde vs al.
Thy follie doth vs crucifie:
This foule defame can neuer die.
A thouſand prettie damſels peart,
Haue cauſe to curle this fact of thine!
A thouſand thouſand in their heart,
Wil wiſh that Hellen had not beene:
Thy giggiſh tricke, thy queaniſh trade,
A thouſand Bridewel birds hath made.
Thy foule example works ſuch force,
The brau’ſt thereby to luſt are bent:
The rich as bad as poore, or worſe,
To brothell houſes do frequent.
Falſe play (ſay they) is no offence,
For Hellen exerciſde it once.
This made faire Ioane of Naples queene,
ſo wantonly to tread awry,
And Meſſaline for to be ſeene,
Thoſe tricks in common ſtowes to trie.
This damned deede that thou haſt done,
May infants curſe that are vnborne.
Thy toy is growne to ſuch a trade,
That few or none wil wiue and wed,
ſo common now the vſe is made,
That luſt, not loue, brings brides to bed.
For few wil houſhold charge endure:
That Palliardice do put in vre.
Againſt Paris and his trecherie.
A Lacke how could ſir Paris flie,
His countrey and his owne true loue?
What heart had he, how durſt he trie,
From natiue ſoile thus to remoue?
What had his loue Oenone done?
That he ſo retchles from her runne.
What furie forc’d his franticke head?
To Troy had Hellens beautie rung?
What, was he ſure at firſt to ſpeede?
That thither in ſuch haſte he flung?
Was he ſo reſolute and raſh,
No princely port could him abaſh?
What (Deuil) ſet his ſhips on ſaile,
And hither ſent the leachers band?
Could he vnto no harbour haile,
But thus at Lacedemon land?
Was there no place for to arriue?
Muſt needs the wind him hither driue?
I would his mother had not knowne,
His father Priam, or that ſhe,
ſo foule a firebrand had not borne,
As he to Troy is like to be:
Would ſhe had dreamed of his death,
Or wiſely ſhe had ſtopt his breath.
I would that he had not beene borne,
Or ſeas had ſunke him downe to hel,
Would tempeſts had his tackling torne,
Or he on craggie rocks had fell:
Would ſea hagges had tranſformd his hue
Ere euer Hellen did him vew.
I would (I wiſh with al my heart)
That Leacher he my gheſt had beene,
I would haue better plaid my part,
Then did the brainſicke doting queene:
Had he but ſought Vlyſſes place,
Theſe fingers ſhould haue flead his face.
Then ſhould ſir Paris ſoone haue felt,
The furie of my chaſt deſires,
Vlyſſes ſeene how I had delt,
The dole that lawles loue requires.
My good Vlyſſes had beene ſure,
How faithful alwaies I endure,
My heart had not thus ſacrifizde,
Nor yet ſuch woful incenſe ſent:
ſorrow had me not thus ſurprizde,
Then had I liu’d at hearts content:
In corners darke I neede not creepe,
Lie downe to waile,and riſe to weepe.
The world had not felt my outcries,
The aire my ſighes, the earth my teares,
My prayers had not pearſt the skies,
Nor troubled ſo celeſtial eares:
But ſighes and prayers are in vaine,
My Lord ſith they bring not againe.
Antinous interrupting her ſighing, offereth his ſuit.
Fie Ladie fie: why ſigh you ſo?
Be of good cheare, what neede you fray
Thoſe heart bloud ſuckers wrecke your woe,
Thoſe farfetcht ſighes loues want bewray,
Heigh ho againe: alas for woe,
To whom ſhal this ſweete meſſage go.
Extirpe the monſter out of mind,
Thoſe paſſions al tread vnder foote,
ſith that Vlyſſes proues vnkind,
From of your heart the traitor roote:
Who would take care for ſuch a knight,
That leaues his loue in field to fight?
Let not loues want diſturbe your head,
For by the Stygian lake I ſweare:
I am a Lord, I will thee wed,
My faith and troth ſhal ſoone appeare:
Elſe wil I reſt your ſecret friend,
Thoſe loueſicke motions to amend.
Her anſwere to her wooers.
My Lord: for me take you no care,
My loues loſſe I my ſelfe wil mourne:
I wonder you ſo witleſſe are,
To trie by force, the ſtreame to tourne:
What though my loue doth time prolong,
With ſhame ſhal I requite the wrong?
ſhame followes ſinnne, as beames the ſunne,
Amiſſe wil out though cloſely done:
Folly diffame can neuer ſhunne,
Reproach breaks out vnthought vpon
My countenance would me bewray,
If I amiſſe ſhould do or ſay.
Shall I my ſoules ſhipwracke procure?
ſhal hateful ſlander ſpot my name?
ſhall faire ſpeech me to luſt allure?
With pleaſure ſhal I purchaſe ſhame?
Ile rather pine in my complaint,
Then ſhame ſhal crowne me Cupids ſaint.
I can but thanks afford for loue,
Your good will for to gratifie:
Your practiſe meane I not to proue,
Your ſecret friendſhip I defie,
Sith (Lordings) you haue miſſt your aime,
Leaue off in time, thoſe toyes reclaime.
For why? it neuer ſhal be ſaid,
Penelope did tread awry:
Not truely told, ſhe falſe hath playde,
Or ſpotted her pure chaſtitie.
My lords, I loath your wanton lure,
Your faith ſhal not my fall procure.
Therefore my Lords and louers al,
Let me this at your hands obtaine:
(For feare of that which may befall)
That you my houſe a while refraine:
Vntil my towe be at an end,
Then I with ſpeede wil for you ſend.
She complaineth of her wooers miſrule, and feareth to
write to Vlyſſes, for putting him in a ielouſie.
W Hat ſhall I ſay? what ſhall I doo?
How diuerſly am I perplext?
With luſtie gallants that mee woo,
How am I ſilly woman vext?
What ſhall I to thoſe roiſters ſay,
That ſhameles tempt me night and day?
From Samos ſutors to me poſt,
And Zacinth cutters do me court:
Beſides thoſe of our Ithac coaſt,
Lads of Dulichium do reſort.
What ſhall I do? what ſhal I ſay?
Thoſe ſtately gamſters brooke no nay.
My good Vlyſſes goods they waſte,
And me poore wretch, do they torment:
Lord-like forſooth is their repaſt,
When he poore man is wel content,
At ſiege of Troy, with ſouldiers fare,
Vnwitty of my wofull care.
If I ſhould to Vlyſſes write,
And ſhew him of their careles coyle,
How earneſtly they me incite,
My conſtant faith, and troth to foyle:
I might breede Bees neſts in his braine,
And put him in a ielous vaine.
For he is wiſe, he wil ſuſpect,
My lightneſſe breedes their fond deſire,
ſome cauſe he’le thinke,doth adde effect.
No ſmoake appeares without ſome fire:
ſo ſeldome is there feruent loue,
But where ſome kindnes doth it moue.
Then may he preſently for ſpight
Acquaint him with ſome forrein fro:
My ſlut (ſaith he) I wil requite,
Sith ſhe at home doth ſerue me ſo,
ſince ſo vnrulie ſhe doth range,
Brow antlers with her Ile exchange,
She wiſheth Vliſſes to beware of the cruel Troians.
No, no, my gem and ſweeteſt ioy,
Thou ſhalt not neede for me to care,
Thou buſines haſt enough at Troy,
Looke wiſely to thy owne welfare,
For Troy yeeldes many a dogged lad,
Which makes me ſighing ſit thus ſad.
Ah how doth feare affright my heart?
I dreade and yet I neede not doubt,
Though froward fortune doth him thwart,
He’s warie, valiant, yea and ſtout,
And beares the minde he will not ſtoupe:
For proudeſt he in Troian troupe.
Yet (Heartagold) reſtraine thy heat,
Be not too forward on thy foes,
Ah (trueloue) let me thee intreate,
Be not the firſt at bloudie blowes:
Though of thy ſelfe no care thou make:
Yet (ſweete) of me, ſome pittie take.
Beware of hugy Hectors hand,
To ſwifty Dolon take good heede:
What needſt thou fight, which maiſt command,
Thy ſouldiers for to do the deede?
Let them God Mars his mercie trie,
Stand backe and come not thou too nie.
Giue Menelaus leaue to fight,
The cauſe is his, he had the wrong,
And Agamemnon worthie knight,
The quarrel doth to them belong:
Let fiery Aiax fight his fill,
But (if thou loue me) ſtand thou ſtill.
Ah let thy conſort Diomede,
And ſtout Achilles battel wage:
Let hardy Hercules at neede,
His ſwelling furie there aſſwage:
From battel (ſweete) do thou deſiſt,
Loue thou, and let them fight that liſt.
Her ſupplication to the Gods.
T Hou Ioue, Lord of Olympus hie,
If thou wilt heare poore widows griefe,
Looke down with thy tranſplendant eie,
And yeeld vs wretches due reliefe:
Our loues, our liues, and deſtinie,
Do on thy Princely powre relie.
And thou Apollo, which in fight,
With Thunderclaps, didſt Cyclops quell:
In Greekes iuſt quarrel ſhew thy might,
Raze and confound thoſe Troians fell:
Which wrong vs with their villanie,
And triumph in their tyranny.
And Iuno: we do thee implore,
To tender our vnworthy wrong:
To vs, our wedded mates reſtore,
For we, (alas) haue lackt them long:
With ſpeede let them returne againe,
Leſt we our bridall beds do ſtaine.
She accuſeth Menelaus of folly, for making warres for Hellen.
Was not Prince Menelaus mad,
For ſtrumpet thus to leuie armes?
This makes the wanton woman glad,
Yea: ſhe will laugh at thoſe alarmes:
For war’s a play-game, they ſuppoſe,
That neuer taſted bloudie blowes.
Who would in warres his perſon truſt,
Which ſafe in peace at pleaſure ſwimmes?
For paltrie giglet ſo vniuſt,
What Prince would hazard life and lims?
At puſh of pike, aſſoone doth light,
A wound on Prince, as worthles wight.
What if the Grecians haue the foile?
(As warres euent vncertaine is)
How wil ſhe glorie at thy ſpoile?
Thy bane wil be to her a bliſſe:
Then ſhal we widdowes wearie worne,
A freſh begin to waile and mourne.
Put caſe the Troians haue the worſt,
(As we al wiſh for Hellens ſake)
The ſilly people then accurſt,
With outcries wil the aire ſhake:
Then ſhall they wretches dearely buy,
Their prinkox Paris trecherie.
What ghaſtly groanes, wil dead men giue?
How wil the maimed howling lie?
How wil the aged fathers grieue?
How wil the ſilly infants crie?
And widdowes (in worſt caſe of al)
How wil they for their huſbands call?
From fire and ſword ſhal few be free,
With famine ſome ſhal hunger-ſtarue:
The virgins they deflowr’d ſhalbe,
(The Lord vs from ſuch ſtate preſerue)
It grieues my heart to ſhew the paine,
They for a ſtrumpet ſhall ſuſtaine.
She ſheweth Vlyſſes worthines.
Vlyſſes deare, the Gods thee ſhield,
And ſend thee home wel to retourne,
For loue to thee they all may yeeld,
Thy like in loue was neuer borne:
ſo Angel-like did ſhine thy face,
It was a bliſſe thee to embrace.
Alacke he was the worthieſt,
The gentleſt, and the meck’ſt of mind:
The trueſt, and the faithfulleſt,
That of a thouſand I could finde:
The wiſeſt and the warieſt,
And one I lou’d and liked beſt.
Ah, good Vlyſſes was my truſt,
With him contented ſtill I ſtood,
He hath my loue in clay and duſt:
Ile die for him to do him good.
To him I gaue my heart and hand:
Therefore both vow and gift ſhal ſtand.
She bewailes the want of Vlyſſes in the night.
A Lacke how loathſome is my bed?
How ſore for ſleepe my eielids chim?
What phantaſies poſſeſſe my head?
How palſy-ſicke is euery lim?
Such ſhiuerring ague-fits me ſhake,
As make my very heart to quake.
ſuch vgly ſhapes doth Morpheus ſhew,
ſuch hips and hawes, and ſudden care,
Doth of thoſe vaine illuſions grow,
Which dreaming repreſented are:
ſometimes I ſigh, ſometimes I ſtart,
ſuch terror doth torment my heart.
I want (poore wretch) in darkeſome night,
The comfort of my deareſt friend:
My ſorrowes leach, my hearts delight,
Whoſe verie ſight my griefe would end:
Whom if I mought but once embrace,
I ſure ſhould be in happie caſe.
Shee ſheweth her defect of beautie.
Alas how tawnie am I turnd?
How am I wretch tranſformd in hue?
How am I ſcorched, and ſunburnd?
A gaſtly creature for to vew:
A mirror I, for beautie was,
But now a mouſter, for diſgrace.
My ſkinne that cleare as chriſtal was,
My cheekes that crimſon ſilke did ſtaïne,
My eies like bright tranſplendant glaſſe,
My browes, fraught with each prettie vaine:
My ſkinne, my cheeks, my eies and browes,
Are like to ſoot, in ſmoaky houſe.
Ah when to Troy my true-loue wend,
He left me ſhining maiden like,
But when that he doth backward bend,
He ſure ſhal find me beldam-like:
But Ioue I thanke thy glorious grace,
For this my wrinkling ſorrowed face.
Penelope warneth her maides to beware of hot affection.
Ah damſels deare, which ſee the care,
Of miſtres yours Penelope:
And ſee how fowly I do fare,
Be ruld, and take this reede of me:
Haſt not too ſoone for wedded charge,
Leſt that you wiſh you liu’d at large:
Of hot affection eke take heede,
For often I haue heard it told,
That haſtie liking hath ſlow ſpeede,
And loue ſoone hot, is quickly cold:
And thoſe that woo, ere wiſe they are,
Are won ſometime, ere they beware.
The virgins ſtate, I muſt confeſſe,
Is too too tedious for to beare:
But widdowes ſtate exceedes exceſſe,
ſo fickle and ſo fraught with feare:
Wherefore ſee that you maides remaine,
Of euils take the leaſt of twaine.
For if you (wantons) wedded were,
(As yet you farre vnworthie are,)
To one that with my wedded pheere,
Might euerie way for worth compare:
What pleaſure of him can you take,
If he your companie forſake.
Put caſe that you (my prettie ones)
ſhould match with ſuch a brainſicke boy:
As would not ſticke to baſte your bones,
What then? where were your bridall ioy?
Then might you wiſh, but al in vaine,
That you vnwedded were againe.
Thus if you wed a worthie knight,
Then of his death you ſtill wil doubt,
And if you haue a wretched wight:
Then wil you wiſh, his braines were out:
But either ill for to preuent,
I wiſh you vnto none conſent.
The ſpeech of her wooers.
Ah Princely nymph Penelope,
A goddeſſe, were thou not to coy,
Pallas may not compare with thee,
Nor Venus with her blinded boy,
Mycene could not thy craft fulfill,
Nor had Alcmena halfe thy ſkill.
Say (ſweete Icarius daughter deare)
Do thou no longer vs delay,
Whom wilt thou take to wedded Pheere,
That al the reſt may poſt away.
Either ſay yea, or elſe denie:
Thou muſt take one, or al defie.
No worthles wight ſhal with thee wed,
Though thou the worſt amongſt vs chuſe,
Feare not: Vlyſſes he is dead:
ſhew reaſon if thou vs refuſe:
ſay, if thou loathe our Parentage,
Or doſt diſlike our perſonage.
Her anſwere to her ſutors.
My louely youthes, and Lordings all,
As I haue ſaid, ſo ſay I ſtill:
I can but thanke you great and ſmall,
For this your kindnes and good will.
It grieues me (Gallants) to the heart,
I cannot grant you your deſart.
I loue you all, I do proteſt,
As did Diana Phoebus faire,
Who of al woodmen, likde him beſt,
But when he lou’d, to loathe him ſware:
ſo you as friends, I entertaine,
But louers, I you al diſdaine.
Yea though my loue his bane hath bought,
(As Gods forebode) yet muſt you ſtay,
Vntil my web be fully wrought,
For why the world ſhal neuer ſay:
That ſuch a worthie knight as he,
without a ſhrowde ſhould buried be.
The wooers aduiſed Telemachus, Vlyſſes ſon, to put his mother outof doore, and inherit the land.
Telemachus, thou fooliſh lad,
A Lord thou were, if thou hadſt wit:
Thou hear’ſt thy father he is dead,
And we thy friends al can proue it:
Wherefore it now doth thee behoue,
That thou thy mother doſt remoue.
Why doſt thou not thy birthright claime,
And turne the beldame out of doore?
Thou ſeeſt al we at her do aime,
To do vs right, we thee implore:
If from thy houſe, thou her expell,
We would her wed, and al were wel.
With ſcoffing cardes ſhe doth vs load,
And with faire ſpeeches vs delay:
And woodcocke-like leades vs to roade,
Yea like tame fooles, ſhe makes vs ſtay:
Thou art the onely cauſe of this,
Therefore amend that is amiſſe.
Telemachus anſwere to the wooers.
And is this al that you can ſay?
Is this the counſel that you vſe?
Do you your parents ſo obey?
Can you your mothers ſo abuſe?
No force: my father ſhal not find,
His Telemac, ſo much vnkind.
For let my father liue or die,
If I my mother ill intreate:
Why then my Graundſire I cary,
With vengeance (ſurely) wil me threat.
I feare if I ſhould her offend,
The Lord ſhort life would to me lend.
Your companies I well could ſpare:
Pardon me if I fret and fume,
I ſee right little do you care,
How you my fathers goods conſume:
Except you better you behaue,
Your abſence ſhortly let me craue.
She debateth with her ſelfe of marriage.
Now may I leaue, now may I take,
Now may I loue, now may I hate,
I now may chuſe, I may forſake,
Twixt yea, and nay, ſtands my eſtate:
Now may I marrie, for my caſe,
Or elſe may tarrie if I pleaſe.
My huſband (hardly) is aliue:
And though aliue, yet ten to one,
If euer here he do arriue:
What foole ſo long would lie alone?
Who would a widdow ſtay ſo long,
And nature of her right thus wrong?
Antinous my loue doth ſeeke,
(A gallant Lordly minded lad)
And Eurymac (fac’d Angel-like)
To win my loue would be right glad:
Sith with ſuch ſutors I am ſped,
Why ſhould I not poore widdow wed.
My father wils me for to wed,
And that ſhal ſtand for my excuſe:
What though I foyle my bridall bed?
Vlyſſes will me not refuſe.
And when againe he doth retourne,
What care I though he do me ſcorne.
But deuiliſh wretch, how do I dote?
What helliſh hag doth me poſſeſſe?
What? ſhal I ſing Medeas note?
Know good, and follow nothing leſſe:
ſhall I that yong a ſaint haue ſeemd,
In age a deuill right be deemd.
No, no, my conſtant chaſtitie,
The world throughout about ſhal ring
In prayſe of chaſt Penelope,
From time, to time, ſhal al men ſing:
My fame ſhall mount vnto the ſkie,
When Hellens vile defamd ſhall die:
Her commendation of chaſtitie.
O Chaſtitie, the cheefeſt kay,
Of womens worthie treaſury:
A vertue that’s of virgines gay,
The pure and redoubted dowry.
A poeſy ſpringing freſh for aye,
A flowre that neuer can decay.
Diana it did beautifie,
And her among the gods enroll:
And Ganimede her chaſtitie,
Did to the heauens hie extoll.
Zenobia with her maiden might,
Did ramping Lyons put to flight.
When lawles loue, to luckles end,
A thouſand, thouſand, daily brings,
Diana to the woodes doth wend,
And ſweetely with hir damſels ſings,
Diana-like, I wil diſdaine,
Both louers ioy, and louers paine.
The complaint of her waiting women againſt the wooers.
Ah Madame, if you loue your life,
Or do regard your chaſtitie:
If you wil be Vlyſſes wife,
Or tender your poore familie:
Thoſe helhounds al with ſpeede expell,
Which of your houſe do make a hel.
Antinous he ſweares and ſtares,
By al the othes he can deuiſe,
If you come not, he vnawares,
Wil you ſalute in ſhamefull wiſe.
Foule ſhame ſhal take them al and ſome.
Ere I againe amongſt them come.
For madame they haue me defilde,
with cruel ſhameles villanie:
Alas I feare I am with childe,
With truſting to their tyrany.
Oh would to God I buried were,
I am ſo toſt with doubtful feare.
They are ſo dronken al with wine,
They care not what they ſay or do:
(ſauing your preſence) where they dine,
They do diſcharge their ſtomackes too.
And al that euer they inuent,
Is but to haue vs wretches ſhent.
One ſings, Vlyſſes ſure is dead,
Another ſaies, he feedes the fiſh,
Another at him ſtakes his head,
Another doth him euil wiſh.
Yea ſome your ſtrangers ill intreate,
And others do your ſeruants beate.
Yet al this wil not them ſuffice,
Not al your cates, and coſtly cheare.
But they amidſt thei Gourmandice,
Your ſiluer plate in peeces teare:
But when Vlyſſes comes, no doubt,
He wil aſſwage this reuel rout.
Her ſpeech vnto her ſonne Telemachus.
Telemachus (my louely ſonne)
What ſhall we ſilly wretches do?
I ſee we ſhall be al vndone,
Vnleſſe thou to thy father go.
Thoſe Lordings that a wooing come,
Will eate vs out of houſe and home.
Alas I cannot be ſo rude,
By cruel meanes their bloud to ſpill:
Not yet by force them to extrude,
That proffer me ſo much good will:
Alas their loue I muſt reſpect,
Though their conditions I reiect.
Thou ſeeſt, how waſtful eke they are,
And in our houſe keepe careles coyle:
Ther’s neither of them al do care,
Nor what they ſpend, nor what they ſpoile.
Yea now with me they may not match,
Well’s he my ſillie maids can catch.
The reply of her ſonne Telemachus, then but a childe.
Peace (mother) fie: what neede you mourne?
My father will not you forſake:
Be of good cheare he wil returne,
No thought for him (good mother) take:
He will with vs arriue ere long,
And wil reuenge our wofull wrong.
(Ah mother) would I were a man,
I would ſo plague theſe leachers vile,
Not one of them ſhould ſcape me /han,
They ſhould not thus our houſe defile:
O how I would their carcas carue?
They ſhould not you thus ſhrewdly ſerue.
Theſe trencher flyes me tempt each day,
To turne you (mother) out of doore:
The land is mine (theſe lyars ſay)
My father he is de/d of yore.
Yet mother, here you ſtill ſhall reſt,
Of women al I loue you beſt.
Oh you may ſee (ſweete mother deare)
How friendly minded they are bent:
And eke what louing hearts they beare,
By this their trecherous intent.
But I commanded them be gone,
How ſay you? waſ’t not ſtoutly done?
Wel, though my father he be ſlaine,
(As Gods forbid it ſhould be ſo)
And that he neuer come againe,
Yet one day will I worke their woe.
My deareſt bloud I ſure wil ſpend,
My fathers houſe for to defend.
Meane while(al heart) to Troy Ile trudge,
If you thereto wil but conſent,
To runne or go I wil not grudge,
Pray (mother) peace, leſt they preuent
My going forth, when I come backe,
I wil not feare the proudeſt iacke.
Her Epiſtle to Vlyſſes.
Vlyſſes (if thou be aliue)
Peruſe thoſe lines I ſend to thee,
(ſweete) let me ſee thee here arriue,
Tis booteles for to write to me.
Not thy epiſtle be thou ſure,
Thy preſent ſight, my griefe muſt cure.
Ah ſay (ſweete heart) and trueloue mine,
How canſt thou lingring ſtay ſo long?
Why cam’ſt thou not home a this time?
How canſt thou offer me this wrong?
ſay (ſluggard) what doth thee reſtraine,
That thou doſt not returne againe?
The Troian warre is at an end,
To ſinders Troy is quite conſumde,
The Argiues al do homeward bend,
With incenſe are the Altars fumde.
ſome froe I feare me, holdes thee backe,
And that’s the cauſe thou art ſo ſlacke.
To Pylon haue I often ſent,
To forrein countries farre and neare:
My meſſenger to Sparta went,
But there no certaine newes could heare:
At Troy (they ſay) thou were not ſlaine,
That makes me hope thou com’ſt againe.
Ah good Vlyſſes hie thee home,
For I had ſutors long agoe:
If that thou ſay, thou wilt not come,
Then know I what I haue to doe:
I neede not long a widow liue,
A hundred gladly would me wiue.
For of Dulichium fifty two,
Moſt ſtately ſutors ſecke my ſhame:
Of Zacinthe, twentie do mee woo,
From Samos foure and twentie came:
Beſides twelue of our Ithac ſtates,
On whom, Maedon the minſtrell waites.
My father eke doth me accuſe,
And ſaies, I do my wooers wrong:
And too too much my ſelfe abuſe,
ſith widdow-like I ſtay ſo long.
But let him daily me reproue,
From conſtant faith I wil not moue.
Yea, let him ſay, or do his worſt,
I wil be but Vlyſſes wife:
To him I gaue my faith at firſt,
With him Ile end my loue and life.
To him, ere I wil faile my faith,
I ſure wil die a Martirs death.
As twentie winters there are gone,
ſo twentie more I meane to ſpend,
I wil vndoe that I haue done,
Ten thouſand times before I end.
Yet ſhal I thinke each hōurē twaine,
Vntil you do returne againe.
She accuſeth Antinous, that he goeth about to kil her ſonne.
Antinous I haue beene told,
Thou wert a youth that did excell,
(Ah true I proue the prouerbe old)
Report vntruth doth often tell.
They ſay, thy like not Ithac had,
I thinke it hath not one ſo bad.
How dar’ſt thou me the mother court,
And go about my child to kill:
Thou ſwear’ſt and ſtar’ſt thou mean’ſt no hurt,
Yet doſt deuiſe his bloud to ſpill.
But you can wake, although you winke,
And ſay right wel, though ill you thinke.
But take thou heede, and warning good,
And warning giue to al the reſt:
Beware of ſpilling princely bloud,
For vnreueng’d it will not reſt.
Wherefore ſee that his life you ſaue,
If fauour you of me wil haue.
The reply of Eurymachus, in the behalfe of the wooers.
Aſsure your ſelfe (my dearling ſweete)
Ther’s no man here, that wil or ſhall,
Him hurt, Ile die firſt at his feete,
Before miſhap ſhal him befall.
Be bold, whilſt me aliue you ſee,
From ſword I ſure wil ſet him free.
For thine, and for Vlyſſes ſake,
Telemachus I wil preſerue,
(Who on his knee would oft me take)
And roſt meate often to me carue:
Ile ſheath my ſword within his ſkinne,
That firſt to touch him dares beginne.
Am I not here? what needs thou dread?
Thou maiſt command me heart and hand,
Ile him defend aliue or dead,
My word and deede, ſhal firmely ſtand.
Wherefore (ſweete heart) be of good cheare,
And caſt away this fooliſh feare.
She bewaileth the ſending of her ſonne Telemachus to his father.
Alas, what haue I (fondling) done?
How haue I on aduenture ſent,
Telemachus my onely ſonne?
Ah: for his ſake ſhal I be ſhent.
If by this meanes he do miſcarrie:
Then of my life ſhal I be wearie.
What will the common people ſay?
(As they are prone to ſpeake the worſt)
She, ſhe, her ſonne hath ſent away,
(See who would fickle women truſt,)
That ſhe may with hir wooers wed,
And ſo defile his fathers bed.
What dangers dire ſhal he endure?
Rocks renting dread, and tempeſts doubt,
Of meaſure hard he ſhal be ſure,
If prouling Pirates pry him out:
Or if Antinous deſcry,
His ſkil in ſwimming ſhal he trie.
Alas: if my ſweete Telemac,
(Whom for to ſhield the Gods I pray)
On waſtfull ſeas ſhould go to wracke,
What wil my good Vlyſſes ſay:
My life alas I ſoone ſhould lacke,
As hearbs to pot he would me hack.
But if it be my deſtinie:
I ſtil wil waile with woful heart,
Til time doth end this Tragedie,
Or chance doth cure my carefull ſmart.
And I my ſelfe, my ſelfe wil hate,
Til death doth eaſe my dolefull ſtate.
But ſee, he comes right wellcome home,
(ſweete Telemac my prettie boy)
What? is thy father with thee come?
Tel true, what liues my louely ioy?
Ah ſay the truth, and do not faine,
Will my Vlyſſes come againe?
Telemachus ſheweth his fathers comming: and how he means to bereuenged of his Riuals, and ſheweth ſome of his fathers acts.
My father (as you ſay) doth liue,
Loe here, a letter he hath ſent,
And ſhortly here he will arriue,
For to returne is his intent.
But priuily he will you greete,
That with thoſe Riuals he may meete.
He ſweares he wil torment them all,
Not one of them ſhall ſcape aliue,
He’ll kill and ſlay, both geat and ſmal:
As dogges from doore he wil them driue.
He ſweares he’ll ſee their eies al out,
Ere he wil feed ſo ſoule a rout.
Eurymachus he wil take downe,
And eke Antinous ſwelling pride,
He’ll coxe them all, I hold a crowne,
For that they do him thus deride,
He’ll teach them better vſe their tearmes,
He’ll learne them ſcoffe a man at armes.
Though that thoſe lads haue long him loath’d,
If he in ſight ſhould but appeare,
They al would wiſh they were vncloathd,
ſo that they lighter legged were.
They’ll rather wiſh for feete that day,
Then either gold or rich array.
For he at hazard more hath beene,
Then taking downe ſuch trencher-knights,
His prowes at ſiege of Troy was ſeene,
He hath ſubdued worthier wights.
Yea (mother) he hath beene at hel,
Where the Prince Pluto dire doth dwell.
He thruſt out Polyphemus eie,
For that he did his fellowes eate,
And he ſcapt Circes ſorcerie:
He feared not God Neptunes threat.
When three daies ſhiples he did ſaile,
His hardy heart did neuer faile.
Penelope readeth Vlyſſes letter.
Thy letter when I ouer-looke,
(Penelope my ſweeteſt ſaint)
I note the care that thou haſt tooke,
And pittie take of thy complaint.
Lo: to releaſe thee of thy doome,
(ſweete heart) at once I write and come.
Thy faithful hand I quickly found,
The pledge and token of my troth,
Whereby to me thou firſt wert bound,
And I to thee, by ſolemne oth.
ſo welcome thereof was the ſight,
My heauie heart it made ful light.
I would to God my ſluggardiſe,
Which thou ſo highly doſt accuſe:
The Greekes at Troian enterpriſe,
Had holden for a iuſt excuſe:
Then had I not endured the toile,
I now ſuſtaine in forrein ſoyle.
Then had I ſtaied ſtill with thee,
When I my ſelfe did franticke faine:
It grieu’d me (truſt me) to agree,
The warres ſo ſoone ſhould part vs twaine.
I would, nor could, as thou maiſt ſee,
ſo lightly leaue thy companie.
No Troian trull doth me retaine,
For Troy to cinders quite is raſde,
Priam, and Paris, both are ſlaine,
And al the countrey quite defaſde.
Sarpedon ſlaine, and Hector ſtout,
And Mars ſo hurt, his guts came out.
I ſcotfree ſcap’t, and Rheſus ſlaine,
His palfreys led I to my tent:
I feared not the Thracian traine,
But boldly I amidſt them went:
And thoſe that Diomedes ſlue,
ſtill by the heeles I from him threw.
Thou needſt not doubt, my life or loue,
The one the Troians could not ſpill,
Nor th’other Mermaids could remoue:
To thee it reſteth conſtant ſtill.
No comfort haue I on the ſea,
But loue, to make me thinke on thee.
Parthenope did oft aſſay,
Me to her loue for to allure,
Yet could ſhe not me ſo betray,
My toyle I ſtoutly did endure:
And when ſhe ſaw I would not ſtay,
ſhe drownd her ſelfe in ſurging ſea.
Nor yet Calypſo with her ſkill,
When in Ogygean Iſle I ſtaid,
Could with her druggs win my good will:
Though oft ſo ſhamefully ſhe aſſaid.
Though me immortall ſhe would make,
Yet could I not thee ſo forſake.
And where thou ſaiſt, thou ſutors haſt,
It is a credit I confeſſe,
If they our ſubſtance do not waſt,
Nor thee of honour diſpoſſeſſe:
Beware leſt thou amidſt thy wine,
Doſt grant them that is none of thine.
If to the hundred thou haſt had,
A thouſand ſutors more thou ſet,
Yet haue I had a ſturre as bad,
With laſſes, my true loue to get.
Do Lords the court? a common caſe,
Vnaſkt, braue Ladies me embrace.
But (wife) you ſcarcely did me pleaſe,
When Telemac my onely ſonne,
You ſet on mercie of the ſeas:
Confeſſe a truth it was ill done.
That loue vngrateful is ywis,
That to ſuch danger,ſubiect is.
But now his courſe is finiſhed,
Our danger al is at an end,
My dolour eke diminiſhed:
You after me no more ſhal ſend:
For ſuddenly you ſhal me ſee,
Before thoſe Riuals looke for me.
Meane while, ſuppreſſe thy merrie cheere,
Let not thy ſutors know my mind,
Vnto their coſts I wil appeare:
The helhounds ſhal me feele and find.
Thy countenance ſee that thou keepe,
When thou ſhouldſt laugh, ſee that thou weepe.
I wil not open warres proclaime,
Nor yet by force of armes there come,
Amidſt their banket wil I aime,
To cut them off both al and ſome.
And when you ſee thoſe Riuals ſlaine,
Then ſay that I am come againe.
The aduice of Euryclea, nurſe to Penelope.
Oh daughter deare, my Iem and ioy:
My comfort, and my onely care,
Ah, I oue preſerue thee from annoy,
And from thoſe ſpoiles that, threatned are
Be charie of thy chaſtitie,
Which ſutors ſeeke ſo ſhamefully.
Thy waiting women they abuſe,
Without remorſe or conſcience ſting,
And of thy houſe they make a ſtewes,
Thee to diſhonour, for to bring.
Take heede in time I thee aduiſe,
Wit bought, is at too deare a priſe.
Theſe luſtie Gallants ſweare and ſtare,
If thou to wed wilt not conſent,
Thy houſe they’ll topſie turuy teare,
And eke thy heart in peeces rent.
To hide thy ſelfe I thinke it beſt,
And vnto Loue commit the reſt.
Her reply to Euryclea.
What are they men, or are they not?
Or are they beaſts, or are they worſe?
Are lawes of God, and men, forgot?
No care of God, nor yet his curſe?
Or dread they not the day of doome?
That they ſo beaſtlike are become.
Shal men, that God himſelfe hath made?
And do his Image repreſent,
By their abhominable trade:
To be the deuils lims conſent?
O moſt vnworthie wretches vile,
That do their veſſels ſo defile.
Fie: what can they not eate and drinke?
But they muſt ſurfeit ſhamefully?
Can they not miſchiefe meane or thinke?
But they muſt blab it by and by.
Can they not prettie damſels vſe?
But they their bodies muſt abuſe.
Aurelianus here we lacke,
Or Iulia with her ſacred lawe:
Then ſhould thoſe gallants go to wracke,
Then better would they ſtand in awe:
For then the ſword or elſe the tree,
From ſhameful force, ſhould ſet vs free.
O curſed times, O cruel facts,
O manners vile, for men vnfit,
O diſmal daies, O hainous acts,
O heliſh hagges, of Plutoes pit.
O ſpightfull, cruel tyrany,
Enforcing endles miſery.
My tongue doth tremble for to tell,
The villanie that they inuent,
My heart (alas) with griefe doth ſwell,
To ſee braue men ſo beaſtly bent,
From this their wicked trechery,
The Lord aboue deliuer me.
She bewaileth Vlyſſes long tarrying.
How doth Vlyſſes time detract?
How doth he play the coſoning knight,
He writes Troy is alreadie ſack’t,
Yet wil he not appeare in ſight.
I feare me he hath caught ſome doue,
And keepes her tame, with tills of loue.
I would I wiſt he falſe did play,
Of ſpight I would reuenged be:
But then what would the people ſay?
As is the hee, ſo is the ſhee:
No, no, the care I abſent take,
His preſence wil the ſweeter make.
Nor wealth, nor woe nor enuies croſſe,
Nor griefe, nor gaine, nor fortunes fall:
Nor paine, nor pleaſure, lucke or loſſe,
Nor treaſure, nor yet wretched thrall,
ſhall make me my Vlyſſes loath.
Nor to him falſe my faith and troath.
The ſpeech of her wooers chalenging her by promiſe.
Come on (ſweet nimph) what anſwer now?
Your towe is twiſt, your web is wrought,
With ſpeede performe your ſacred vow:
Thy murmring mate his death hath ſought:
Harpyades haue on him fed,
The citie-ſpoiler he is dead.
Thee for to wed is al our ſute,
And now thy anſwere we expect:
Therefore ſay quicke, be not ſo mute,
Which of our ſutes wilt thou accept?
If thou no ready anſwere make,
Thy houſe we neuer wil forſake.
(ſweete Nimph) reſolue vs now with ſpeede,
Thinke ere thou ſpeake, denie not flat:
For we are they can do the deede:
Thou maiſt refuſe thou knoweſt not what:
Make readie Hymaeneus bed,
For why, we muſt and will thee wed.
Her anſwere to the wooers.
Sweete Lordings though my web be wrought,
And al my towe be readie ſpun,
Another doubt comes to my thought,
You know, what worth Vlyſſes won:
Yow know he was a worthie knight,
And got him honour for his might.
It me behoues to draw the latch,
And of my choyce in time beware,
Leſt I with ſuch a milkeſop match,
As may augment my wonted care.
Or you in fight for me contend,
And ſo the mightie Gods offend.
Lo Lordings, this is my decree,
He that Vlyſſes bowe can bend,
That worthie wight ſhall wed with me:
Away with him I ſoone wil wend.
Hold take in hand to bend the bowe,
Your ſtrength that quickly I may know.
Vlyſſes being come home, diſguiſeth himſelfe, and ſoiourningwith Penelope amongſt the wooers, maketh this anſwere.
Why then (faire queene) to win thy loue,
I ſilly wretch wil alſo trie,
My ſhriueled ſinewes will I proue:
To win this worthie maſterie.
Had I my youthfull ſtrength and ſkill,
I would the act right ſoone fulfill.
Eurymachus I thee beſeech,
And eke Antinous I thee pray,
To giue me leaue my ſtrength to ſtretch,
Which gods haue almoſt tane away:
Neceſſitie hath pincht me too,
A cruel dart it is you know.
The bowe reſigne into my hand,
I trial of my ſtrength wil make,
And if the ſame I cannot bend,
The prize you ſhal among you take.
But if the bowe be by me bent,
To wed the Nimph is my intent.
The wooers ſcoffingly checke Vlyſſes.
How dar’ſt thou Palmer thus to prate?
And with vs yongſters thus compare?
Content thee with thine owne eſtate:
Of Palmery go take thou care:
Although Vlyſſes bowe thou bend,
With Baldpate ſhall ſhe neuer wend,
But too much wine makes thee thus mad,
Which wiſer men doth brainſicke make,
And bragge of that they neuer had,
If out of meaſure they it take:
Therefore leaue off to make ſuch ſtrife,
For her thou ſhalt not take to wife.
Leaue off I ſay: thus to contend,
If thou wilt banket here at reſt,
We wey not who the bowe doth bend,
For that we hold but as a ieſt.
But if with vs thou ſo contend,
Thou ſoone ſhalt feele thy fatall end.
She checketh Antinous for abuſing her gheſts.
Antinous leaue off I ſay,
Our gheſts thus euil to intreate,
Diſcurteous parts why doſt thou play?
My ſtranger thus why doſt thou threat?
Their neighbours al they wil abuſe,
That ſtrangers practiſe to miſuſe.
This ſtranger is of ſtature tall,
And borne of worthie parentage:
The likelieſt amongſt you all,
If force conſiſts in perſonage:
Pray giue him leaue his ſtrength to trie,
Why offer you this iniurie?
If that Apollo giue him powre,
For manly might the price to win,
Then wil I waite on him each houre,
And coſtly webs array him in:
My onely ioy I wil him make,
And him to huſband wil I take.
Telemachus wiſheth his mother to be ſilent.
Fie: fie: what neede you thus to chaunt,
ſilence doth beſt become your ſex,
T’is giglet-like, thus for to taunt,
What thogh thoſe vilains do you vex:
Yet (mother) you muſt patience vſe,
And ſmother vp this vile abuſe.
Vnto your maids your mind diſcloſe,
And talke of that you haue to doe,
What neede you counterchecke with thoſe,
That nothing appertaines you to?
They’ll ſay you are alreadie won,
Their companie you cannot ſhun.
Sweete (mother) let me anſwere make,
That am a man, and know to ſpeake:
My ſpeech ſhal make them for to quake,
Againſt me dare they not to creake.
My father abſent, I am king,
New dirges ſhall they ſhortly ſing.
The death of her wooers repreſented vnto hir, in a dreame of an Egleand a flocke of geeſe.
Why doſt thou Morpheus me annoy?
What fantaſies doſt thou intrude?
Why doſt thou me of ſleepes ſweete ioy,
With vaine illuſions thus delude?
Thoſe dreames iwis that I endure,
I doubt but little good procure.
Laſt night as I lay in my bed,
ſtrecht forth (alas) in ſlumbring wiſe,
Me thought a flocke of geeſe I fed,
That al my corne could not ſuffice.
To giue them foode I did denie,
And yet not one away would flie.
They were a number numberles,
Whoſe gagling did me much offend:
I made them anſwere anſwereles,
And wiſht them to the fields to wend:
Yet would they not be anſwered ſo,
In reſt for them I could not go.
At laſt as they were ſafe in mue,
A mightie Eagle with them met:
And them, both great and ſmal he ſlue,
Not one of them could from him get.
No creature could the ſpoile preuent,
The Eagle was ſo fiercely bent.
At length when his bloud-thirſtie bill,
Had thus vpon theſe goſelings praide,
(Me thought) the people for to kill,
This matchles Eagle al aſſaide.
They were ſo wroath they ſware by gis,
They would diſpoile both him and his.
Ah Ceſta ſweete, I thee implore,
My doubtful dreame for to diſſolue,
For that which Morpheus told of yore.
I often in my mind reuolue.
The reſolution to me ſhow,
And endles thanks I wil thee owe.
She hearing Vlyſſes fighting with her wooers, vnknowen to her, ſhefeareth.
How doth Vlyſſes me me deride?
How doth he foolefaine me poſſeſſe?
He promiſde to returne with ſpeede,
But ſure he thinks of nothing leſſe.
My eies with looking for him ake,
with trembling feare my heart doth quake.
What horror doth my heart oppreſſe?
What hurly burly do I heare?
What ſturdy tumults? (God me bleſſe)
What’s he that plaies the tyrant there?
Who’s he cries out, what’s he is ſlaine?
Go Girle and ſee, but hie againe.
Harke, harke, at daggers point on life,
Thoſe dronkards with each other fight:
Why doth my ſonne not ſtint the ſtrife?
Ah how doth feare my heart affright?
What is the cauſe of this their ruth?
Come quicke (ſweete wench) and tel the truth.
Her maide ſheweth the ſlaughter of her wooers.
Alas, beblubred al with bloud,
Antinous lieth vnder bord,
Yea Eurymac that was ſo proud,
Is ſlaine with dint of ſharped ſword:
Piſanders braines are beaten out,
And Polybe ſlaine that Champion ſtout.
Eurynomus, he waltring lies,
And eke Polidor worthie knight,
Amphimedon for mercie cries:
And Liodes is put to flight.
Cteſippus put to deadly paine,
And eke Eurydamantus ſlaine.
Liocritus that Lordlie lad,
And Demoptolemus is dead,
Euriades hath ſped as bad,
His braines are knockt out of his head:
I thought amidſt their ſtately pride.
ſome ſtagedie there would be plaide.
She hearing of the death of her wooers, feareth leſt Vlyſſes wilſlay her alſo.
A Lacke, and are thoſe Lordings ſlaine?
Why then my Lord Vlyſſes deare,
Vlyßes mine, is come againe,
How am I toſt twixt ioy and feare?
Ah he, tis he hath done this deede:
Yea, he this stratageme hath plaied,
It is Vlyſſes deales ſuch blowes,
What ſhal I ſilly woman doo?
Ah ſee, how furiouſly he glowes,
I feare he wil torment me too:
I wil him trie, with weeping eies,
Him to withdraw from tyranies.
Fie: cannot twentie yeares ſuffice,
Thy wrathful venome for to ſpit,
But thou muſt thus in warlike wiſe,
Thy tyrany continue yet?
Though no wight can thy wrath appeaſe,
Let me requeſt thee to ſureeaſe.
Vlyſſes making himſelfe knowne, comforteth Penelope with theſeſpeeches.
Feare not my iem and hearts delight,
Penelope my ſpotles ſpouſe,
Thoſe lads no more ſhal worke our ſpight,
They ſhal no more defile our houſe.
Ah I haue ſeene thy conſtancie,
Thy vertues haue reioyc’d mine eie.
But oh: what haue I tyrant done,
(Oh miſer borne to endles toyle)
Now haue I new my care begon,
By this my pittie-wanting ſpoyle.
I merciles haue many ſlaine.
For bloud ſhall I pay bloud againe,
O furie with repentance fraught,
(Ah enemie to perfect peace)
Thou to confuſion haſt me brought,
(Ah furie foe to humane eaſe.)
I that my foes haue put to flight,
Againſt my friends am forc’d to fight.
Penelope fearing to entertaine Vlyſſes, debateth as followeth.
Bvt ah me wretch (borne but to wo)
What entertainment ſhal I giue?
Him, for my Lord how ſhal I know?
T’is hard to know whom to beleeue.
Ah my Vlyſſes was too kind,
To beare ſuch a bloud-thirſtie mind,
But (doting dame) what can I tell,
May not God Mars his furie moue?
May not Bellona make him fell?
Ah Mars makes Turtles Tygers proue:
And thoſe are ordinary euents,
To them that do frequent the tents.
But yet, Vlyſſes welcome home,
(If thou my Lord Vlyſſes be)
A thouſand times to me welcome,
Thee ſafe I do reioyce to ſee.
Yet ſhew (ah good Vlyſſes ſhow)
ſome token that I may thee know.
Vlyſſes ſheweth by euident tokens, he is no coſening knight.
Why then I am Laertes ſonne,
And he that Gods, and men do hate,
ſcomme of the world, by fates foredone,
Whoſe death my deedes do calculate,
Ah I am he, that for thy loue,
A thouſand perills daily proue.
Yea I am he, that fainde me mad,
Thee in my armes for to embrace,
And I am that vnhappie ſwad,
That Palemedes did diſgrace.
Yea I am he that for thy ſake,
All dangers dare to vndertake.
Yea I am he, whoſe damned hand,
Haue ſlaine a knot of noble bloud:
And I am he, thou maiſt command,
Aliue or dead, to do thee good.
Yea I am he that maugre ſpight,
Wil alwaies reſt thy conſtant knight.
L’enuoy.
Lo Ladies, Ioue reſerues a friend,
For thoſe that tender chaſtitie,
But Leachers brought to dolefull end,
Amidſt their chiefe ſecuritie:
Penelope for bale had bliſſe,
When villanes vengeance could not miſſe.
Let Riuals lot learne Lordly youthes,
To ſhun the ſnare of lewd deſires,
Leſt lawles loue procure their ruthes,
With liueles lue that luſt requires:
Leſt whilſt they recke not what they do,
ſome good Vlyſſes wrecke their woe.
FINIS.