Penelopes complaint

Penelope’s Complaint: Or, A Mirror for wanton Minions. Taken out of Homers Odyssey, and written in English Verse, By Peter Colse. Armat spina rosas, mella tegunt apes. London, Printed by H. Jackson dwelling in Fleetstreet, and are to be sold at his shop under Temple-barre gate. 1596.

To the virtuous and chaste Lady, the Lady Edith, wife to the right worshipful sir Rase Horsey knight, increase of all honourable virtues.

Perusing (virtuous Lady) a Greek author, entitled Odyssey (written by Homer prince of Greek poets) noting therein, the chast life of the lady Penelope (in the twenty years absence of hir loving lord Ulysses) I counterfeited a discourse, in English verses, terming it her Complaint: which treatise, coming to the view, of certain my special friends, I was by them oftentimes incited to publish it. At length viewing with myself, the shipwreck that noble virtue chastity is subject unto: and seeing an unknown author, hath of late published a pamphlet called Avisa (overslipping  so many praiseworthy matrons), hath registered the meanest: I have presumed under your Ladyship’s patronage, to commit this my Penelope’s complaint (though imperfectly portrayed) to the press: not doubting but the etymology of so rare a subject, enchased with the physiognomy of your excellent chastity: so worthy a conclusion cannot but be a sufficient argument, both to abolish Venus Idolaters, & also to countervail the checks of artisans ill willers, which carpe at all, but correct nothing at all: measuring other men’s labours, by their own idle humours. Thus offering unto your Ladyship the firstlings of my scholar’s crop for a satisfaction of my presumption, and hoping you will pardon my boldness, and accept of this my proffered service, I commit you to the grace and tuition of the Almighty.

Your ladyships to command,

Peter Colse.

In commendation of the right worshipful sir Rause Horsey knight.

S Sweet Muse strike up thy silver string,

I In shrill consort thy shake but strain,

R Reflecting peals let Cosmos ring,

R Resound Apollo’s piercing vain:

A Arise and rouse thyself with speed,

U Use no delay but do the deed.

F Fear not, for Momus nor his mates

E Encounter dare with rare renown,

H Honour with arms defends the states,

O Of those whom due desert doth crown,

R Recount at large what trump of fame,

S sounds in the praise of Horsey name.

E Engraved in golden letters write,

Y Your censure sage with due advices

K Known truth ne snaky envies spite,

N Nor wrath can touch in any wise,

I Into thy Poem though there pry, 

G Gross Zoilus with squinted eye.

H Harsh, and too rude I must confess

T The Poem is to move delight:

Yet force of duty would no less.

But it present in open sight:

For what my wit cannot discharge,

My will surely supplies at large.

His valour daunts the valiant’st heart,

His wisdom worthy worship wins,

His perfect zeal by due desert

To highest point of honour climes:

His hand the sword most justly guides,

And therewith causes due decides.

His wit doth orphans wrong redress,

His hand relieves the needy heart,

His word the widows wo doth ease,

He double doth reward desert:

He naught attempts in any case

Whereby he may incur disgrace.

His chiefest care his countries love,

His chiefest love his countries care,

Whose care considered, well doth prove

His love, the country cannot spare:

Whom countrymen do so adore,

That worship never man had more.

To Prince he true lieutenant is,

To commonweal a faithful knight,

Her Grace his service cannot miss,

Nor commonweal so worthy a wight:

Whom Jove to Prince and subjects’ joy

Preserve and keep from all annoy.

Finis P. C.

An encomium upon the right worshipful sir Rafe Horsey knight, and the Lady Edith in Sapphic verse.

If merits may true, honour attain unto,

Or fame advance worthy renowned offspring,

Les Muses sound forth triple tuned harp strings,

unto their honour.

Whose lovely blood with favourable aspect

Nurture and good fortune enhanceth highly

unto bright heavens generously springing,

theirs be the glory.

From far apart those lovely doves 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 gentility knightly adorned,

Worthy their worships stately well adopted,

Humble their humanity highly graced

with lovely nature.

Whose divine deeds and tried hearts true meaning

Duly commented manifest sequences,

Happy doubtless, worthy no doubt the titles

of their alliance.

Whose honours unburied I will entomb,

For everlasting ages to look upon,

Clear of obscureness, free of envies outrage

will I defend them.

Happy my Muses, but unhappy master,

That can advance encomiums renowned

Of others, obscurely lying in hope’s grave

buried himself.

Yet dying, and dead will I sing due trophies,

Then triumphs shall stately records eternize,

My Muse shall ever erect monuments to their praise

unto the world’s end.

FINIS. P. C.

In commendation of the virtuous, prudent, and chaste virgin, mistress Grace Horsey, daughter to the right worshipful, sir Raph Horsey knight, and the Lady Edith.

G Glorious Nymph, Diana’s darling deer,

R Rose-garland dress of damask red and white,

A Adorn thou Vesta’s shrine, her poesies wear,

C Conserved with sweet of honour, high delight.

E Enter the lion’s cave he is thy friend,

Though dragon swell saint George that thee defend.

H Hunt as Diana did, with Daphne fly,

O Outrun Apollo, trust not to his rage,

R Repose no trust in Cupid’s deity,

S say frustra to his force, make him thy page.

E Enchase thou virtue with pearls of grace,

Y Youngsters may wonder at the interlace.

What faire? wise? rich? with grace combin’d?

A joy to all that such a grace behold:

so rare a sympathy is hard to find,

A gift with fame worthy to be enroll’d.

Beauty and chastity two deadly foes,

Live reconciled in her lovely brows.

Faire: look on her there dwelleth beauties grace:

Wise: her whit the wisest doth abash

Sweet: where is sweet but in her sweetest face:

Rich: to her store all 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, et δία γυναικῶν,

cuius tot vates nomen ubique canunt.

Si cupis illius niveos cognoscere mores,

hunc parvum 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.

Quid quaerit titulos, quid dotes lactat Avisa.

Anne ea Penelope est aequiparanda tua?

Penelope clara est, veneranda fidelis: Avisa

obscura, obscuro foemina nata loco.

Penelope satrapae est, coniunx illustris: Avisa

coniunx cauponis, filia pandochei.

Penelope casta est cum sponsus abesset: Avisa

casta suo sponso nocte dieque domi.

Penelopeia annos bis denos mansit: Auisa

tot (vix credo) dies intenter ata foret.

Penelopeia procos centum neglexit: Avisa

Vix septem pretium sustinuitque precem.

Penelope nevit, pensum confecit: Avisae

lassavit nunquam pendula tela manus.

Penelope Graiis, Latiis celebratur: Avisae

unus homo laudes, nomen & acta canit.

Ergo Penelope vigeat, cantetur: Avisa

nullo Penelope est aequivalenda modo.

To the Readers.

Having taken upon me (Gentlemen) to pipe with Hiparchion, though my music be not melodious enough to con tent the proud Thessalians, yet I doubt not but poor shepherds will stir their stumps after my minstrelsy: If the strains be too harsh, to delight your stately ears (pardon me and accept my mind, and not my music) I stretch my strings as I can, desiring rather to teach the simple their uniform cinquepace,  then effect Courtiers in their lofty galliards, which alter every day with new devises. The cause I have contrived so pithy a matter, in so plain a style, and short verse, is: for that a vainglorious Avisa (seeking by slander of her superiors, to eternize her folly) is in the like verse, (by an unknown author) described: I follow (I say) the same style, and verse, as neither misliking the method, nor the matter, had it been applied to some worthier subject. Thus hoping you will courteously accept my Penelope’s Complaint, I will shortly make you amends with her will, and testament, in pentameters, wherein I will stretch my wits to ela,  to shew my duty, and satisfy your desires: and so farewell.

Peter Colse.

Penelope’s complaint.

Penelope complaineth of Ulysses departure.

You Nymphs that Alcidalion’s brooks,

And Paphos’ sports are dispossess’d:

Which want the sun of lovely looks.

And are displac’d of Cupid’s crest:

If you have tried, love’s sweet aspect,

And do lament, your joys defect:

Surcease, your cases to complain,

Your losses leave so much to moan,

Alas my loves long lacking pain,

Is more than yours tenne to one:

But if you needs will puling sit,

A pew-mate for you am I fit.

Let foolish Phillis cease to faint,

And for Demophoon leave to mourn:

Let Dido finish her complaint,

And faithless false Aeneas scorn:

For careless wights why do you care,

And causeless eke so woeful are?

Leave off (I say) those causeless cares,

Help me bewail my wretched woe:

What need you shed those ruthless tears?

Your passions but of pleasure grow,

Oh help me seely  soul, relate

My toilsome lamentable state.

My love (alas) and I love sick,

Ten thousand leagues to wars is gone,

And me hath left here widow-like,

In shivering bed to lie alone:

Oh now, unto my pain I prove,

A dreary loathsome thing is love.

Alack, how am I galled with grief,

sith that nowhere I can behold,

Those lovely looks that of relief,

The locks and keys and all do hold:

Whose smiling cheeks and merrie cheer,

To pleasure sweet the Porters were.

She sheweth how Ulysses fained himself mad at his departure, and how he was bewrayed by Palamedes.

Ulysses, my Ulysses dear,

Alack, alack, and well away,

My bedfellow, my friend and fere,

Ulysses mine is wend away:

To siege of Troy, with heavy cheer,

Against his will, I dare to swear.

Half frantic he (unwilling wretch)

And mad almost, himself did fain,

He warily his wit did stretch,

New nuptial sport so vext his brain.

Love tickled so his lovely breast,

That he (poor soul) could take no rest.

But oft would stare as one amazed,

Or as the foul amidst the fire:

Yea, grimly oft on me he gazed,

His flesh so fumed with love’s desire:

Alack how oft did he complain,

Loves parting was a pinching pain.

Woe worth the wretch, that did bewray,

My good Ulysses wary wit:

Foul fare Palamedes I say,

That so his poisoned venom spit.

But my Ulysses will ere long,

Revenge the villain’s sprightful wrong.

Meane while (alas) poor worthless wight,

I want my hearts most chiefest treasure:

I lead my life in fancy’s spite,

And tarry ever Fortune’s leisure.

I harping sit on Hopes sweet string,

Till Time Ulysses home doth bring.

A due  my joy, a due my bliss,

My comfort, and my dear delight,

By day I shall his presence miss:

Much more, his absence in the night.

Of joy, of bliss, and sweet delight,

One man at once, deprived me quite.

She discommendeth her married estate, and sheweth the toile she endures.

Ah, what a doting fool was I?

To marry such a manly mate,

Well taught (alas) now do I try,

Too merry was my maiden-state,

And Angel-like my virgin’s life,

But hellish-like, to be a wife.

With mangled mind, love’s worthless ware,

(Poore wretch) I have too dearly bought:

Like seely bird, I saw the snare,

Yet foolishly my woe I wrought:

Woe to myself 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 meacock mate,

As could have kept but dogs from door,

And not a knight that armes had bore.

Well mought I think, as now I find,

That long Ulysses could not stay

In Venus’ court, his martial mind

And courage stowt would it gainsay:

Had I at first had this forecast,

I need not thus repent at last.

Had nature me deformed faced,

Or had I not Ulysses seen,

Or had he never me embraced,

Or in his bed had I not been:

Then maiden-like had bin my care,

Not widowlike, thus need I fare.

With distaff thus I need not drudge,

Nor yet with wheel have worn my hand:

Nor want of sleep need I thus grudge,

Nor tired thus a-twisting stand,

Nor yet have busied thus my brain,

From hasty suitors to refrain.

She accuseth Helen of light consent.

O for those routs of roisters’ rank,

Which do my silly soul assault,

And for this toil I well may thank,

Dame Helen and her foolish fault:

Her light consent makes all men say,

The Grecian dames cannot say nay.

Had Helen felt my love’s long lack,

So many weary winters woe,

Or sunny summer’s lustful wrack,

As I poor wretched woman do:

Then had there been some reason why,

Her loving fere she should defy.

Or she such troops of wooers had,

Or half the courting I endure,

Of saucy suitors staring mad,

Her honours breach for to procure:

some would have thought, love had her won,

Not lust, to go with Priam’s son.

To one man’s suite she did consent,

And scarce entreated did she yield,

unasked almost, to bed she went,

Without repulse, she fled the field.

O vile, inconstant, fickle dame,

unworthy worthy women’s name.

How will sir Paris vaunt at Troy?

Of his success, how will he boast?

(Well let him heed amidst his joy,

Lest Menelaus mar his roast)

Both Troy, and Greece may well repent,

Thy peremptory light consent.

Fie, what were all your frumps forgot?

Where were your chaste and chary looks?

Were you so far with fancy shot,

To trust to beauty’s hidden hooks?

Where were your sharp conceited shifts,

Your witty, subtle, shrewish drifts?

She controlleth Helen for her ill example.

How dar’st thou look the Greeks in face,

When they at Troy shall with thee meet?

Alas, with what disguised grace,

Wilt thou thy wedded husband greet?

Alack, it would have burst my heart,

If I had played such a part.

Fie, Helen fie: thou woman’s foe,

Foul fare thy frenzy foolish fall:

Thy wantonness hath wrought our woe,

Oh, this thy fault hath shamed us all.

Thy folly doth us crucify:

This foul defame can never die.

A thousand pretty damsels peart,

Have cause to curl this fact of thine!

A thousand thousand in their heart,

Wil wish that Helen had not been:

Thy giggish  trick, thy queanish  trade,

A thousand bridewell birds hath made.

Thy foul example works such force,

The brav’st thereby to lust are bent:

The rich as bad as poor, or worse,

To brothel houses do frequent.

False play (say they) is no offence,

For Helen exercised it once.

This made fair Ioane of Naples queen,

so wantonly to tread awry,

And Messaline for to be seen,

Those tricks in common stows to try.

This damned deed that thou hast done,

May infants curse that are unborn.

Thy toy is grown to such a trade,

That few or none will wive and wed,

so common now the use is made,

That lust, not love, brings brides to bed.

For few will household charge endure:

That palliardise  do put in ure. 

Against Paris and his treachery.

A lack how could sir Paris fly,

His country and his own true love?

What heart had he, how durst he try,

From native soil thus to remove?

What had his love Oenone done?

That he so retches  from her run.

What fury forc’d his frantic head?

To Troy had Helen’s beauty rung?

What, was he sure at first to speed?

That thither in such haste he flung?

Was he so resolute and rash,

No princely port could him abash?

What (Devil) set his ships on sail,

And hither sent the leachers band?

Could he unto no harbour hail,

But thus at Lacedaemon land?

Was there no place for to arrive?

Must needs the wind him hither drive?

I would his mother had not known,

His father Priam, or that she,

so foul 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 been born,

Or seas had sunk him down to hell,

Would tempests had his tackling torn,

Or he on craggy rocks had fell:

Would sea hags had transformed his hue

Ere ever Helen did him view.

I would (I wish with all my heart)

That leacher he my guest had been,

I would have better plaid my part,

Then did the brainsick doting queen:

Had he but sought Ulysses place,

These fingers should have fled his face.

Then should sir Paris soon have felt,

The fury of my chaste desires,

Ulysses seen how I had delt,

The dole that lawless love requires.

My good Ulysses had been sure,

How faithful always I endure,

My heart had not thus sacrificed,

Nor yet such woeful incense sent:

sorrow had me not thus surprized,

Then had I liv’d at hearts content:

In corners dark I need not creep,

Lie down to wail, and rise to weep.

The world had not felt my outcries,

The air my sighs, the earth my tears,

My prayers had not pearst the skies,

Nor troubled so celestial ears:

But sighs and prayers are in vain,

My Lord sith they bring not again.

Antinous interrupting her sighing, offereth his suit.

Fie Lady fie: why sigh you so?

Be of good cheer, what need you fray

Those heart blood suckers wreck your woe,

Those farfetcht sighs loves want bewray,

Heigh ho again: alas for woe,

To whom shall this sweet message go.

Extirpe  the monster out of mind,

Those passions all tread under foot,

sith that Ulysses proves unkind,

From of your heart the traitor root:

Who would take care for such a knight,

That leaves his love in field to fight?

Let not love’s want disturb your head,

For by the Stygian lake I swear:

I am a Lord, I will thee wed,

My faith and troth shall soon appear:

Else will I rest your secret friend,

Those lovesick motions to amend.

Her answer to her wooers.

My Lord: for me take you no care,

My love’s loss I myself will mourn:

I wonder you so witless are,

To try by force, the stream to turn:

What though my love doth time prolong,

With shame shall I requite the wrong?

shame follows sin, as beams the sun,

Amiss will out though closely done:

Folly defame can never shun,

Reproach breaks out unthought upon

My countenance would me bewray,

If I amiss should do or say.

Shall I my souls shipwreck procure?

shall hateful slander spot my name?

shall faire speech me to lust allure?

With pleasure shall I purchase shame?

I’ll rather pine in my complaint,

Then shame shall crown me Cupid’s saint.

I can but thanks afford for love,

Your good will for to gratify:

Your practise meane I not to prove,

Your secret friendship I defy,

Sith (lordings) you have miss’d your aim,

Leave off in time, those toys reclaim.

For why? it never shall be said,

Penelope did tread awry:

Not truly told, she false hath played,

Or spotted her pure chastity.

My lords, I loathe your wanton lure,

Your faith shall not my fall procure.

Therefore my Lords and lovers all,

Let me this at your hands obtain:

(For fear of that which may befall)

That you my house a while refrain:

Until my tow be at an end,

Then I with speed will for you send.

She complaineth of her wooers misrule, and fearth to write to Ulysses, for putting him in a jealousy.

What shall I say? what shall I do?

How diversly am I perplex’d?

With lusty gallants that mee woo,

How am I silly woman vex’d?

What shall I to those roisters say,

That shameless tempt me night and day?

From Samos suitors 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 shall I say?

Those stately gamesters brook no nay.

My good Ulysses’ goods they waste,

And me poor wretch, do they torment:

Lord-like forsooth is their repast,

When he poor man is well content,

At siege of Troy, with soldiers’ fare,

unwitty of my woeful care.

If I should to Ulysses write,

And shew him of their careless coil,

How earnestly they me incite,

My constant faith, and troth to foil:

I might breed bees’ nests in his brain,

And put him in a jealous vain.

For he is wise, he will suspect,

My lightness breeds their fond desire,

some cause he’le think, doth add effect.

No smoke appears without some fire:

so seldom is there fervent love,

But where some kindness doth it move.

Then may he presently for spite

Acquaint him with some foreign frow:

My slut (saith he) I will requite,

Sith she at home doth serve me so,

since so unruly she doth range,

Brow antlers with her Ile exchange,

She wisheth Ulysses to beware of the cruel Trojans.

No, no, my gem and sweetest joy,

Thou shalt not need for me to care,

Thou business hast enough at Troy,

Look wisely to thy own welfare,

For Troy yeelds many a dogged lad,

Which makes me sighing sit thus sad.

Ah how doth fear affright my heart?

I dread and yet I need not doubt,

Though froward fortune doth him thwart,

He’s wary, valiant, yea and stout,

And bears the mind he will not stoop:

For proudest he in Trojan troupe.

Yet (Heartagold) restrain thy heat,

Be not too forward on thy foes,

Ah (truelove) let me thee entreat,

Be not the first at bloody blows:

Though of thyself no care thou make:

Yet (sweet) of me, some pity take.

Beware of hugy  Hector’s hand,

To swifty Dolon take good heed:

What needst thou fight, which maist command,

Thy soldiers for to do the deed?

Let them God Mars his mercy try,

Stand back and come not thou too nigh.

Give Menelaus leave to fight,

The cause is his, he had the wrong,

And Agamemnon worthy knight,

The quarrel doth to them belong:

Let fiery Ajax fight his fill,

But (if thou love me) stand thou still.

Ah let thy consort Diomede,

And stout Achilles battel wage:

Let hardy Hercules at need,

His swelling fury there asswage:

From battel (sweet) do thou desist,

Love thou, and let them fight that list.

Her supplication to the Gods.

Thou Jove, Lord of Olympus hie,

If thou wilt hear poor widow’s grief,

Look down with thy transplendent eye,

And yield us wretches due relief:

Our loves, our lives, and destiny,

Do on thy Princely power rely.

And thou Apollo, which in fight,

With Thunderclaps, didst Cyclops quell:

In Greeks’ just quarrel shew thy might,

Raze and confound those Trojans fell:

Which wrong us with their villainy,

And triumph in their tyranny.

And Juno: we do thee implore,

To tender our unworthy wrong:

To us, our wedded mates restore,

For we, (alas) have lackt them long:

With speed let them return again,

Lest we our bridal beds do stain.

She accuseth Menelaus of folly, for making wars for Helen.

Was not Prince Menelaus mad,

For strumpet thus to leave arms?

This makes the wanton woman glad,

Yea: she will laugh at those alarms:

For war’s a play-game, they suppose,

That never tasted bloody blows.

Who would in wars his person trust,

Which safe in peace at pleasure swims?

For paltry giglet so unjust,

What Prince would hazard life and limbs?

At push of pike, as soon doth light,

A wound on Prince, as worthless wight.

What if the Grecians have the foil?

(As wars event uncertain is)

How will she glory at thy spoil?

Thy bane will be to her a bliss:

Then shall we widows weary worn,

A fresh begin to wail and mourn.

Put case the Trojans have the worst,

(As we all wish for Helen’s sake)

The silly people then accurst,

With outcries will the air shake:

Then shall they wretches dearly buy,

Their princock  Paris’ treachery.

What ghastly groans, will dead men give?

How will the maimed howling lie?

How will the aged fathers grieve?

How will the silly infants cry?

And widows (in worst case of all)

How will they for their husbands call?

From fire and sword shall few be free,

With famine some shall hunger-starve:

The virgins they deflower’d shall be,

(The Lord us from such state preserve)

It grieves my heart to shew the pain,

They for a strumpet shall sustain.

She sheweth Ulysses’ worthiness.

Ulysses dear, the Gods thee shield,

And send thee home well to return,

For love to thee they all may yield,

Thy like in love was never borne:

so Angel-like did shine thy face,

It was a bliss thee to embrace.

Alack he was the worthiest,

The gentlest, and the meck’st of mind:

The truest, and the faithfullest,

That of a thousand I could find:

The wisest and the wariest,

And one I lov’d and liked best.

Ah, good Ulysses was my trust,

With him contented still I stood,

He hath my love in clay and dust:

I’ll die for him to do him good.

To him I gave my heart and hand:

Therefore both vow and gift shall stand.

She bewails the want of Ulysses in the night.

Alack how loathsome is my bed!

How sore for sleep my eyelids chimb? 

What phantasies possess my head?

How palsy-sick is every limb?

Such shivering ague-fits me shake,

As make my very heart to quake.

such ugly shapes doth Morpheus shew,

such hips and haws, and sudden care,

Doth of those vain illusions grow,

Which dreaming represented are:

sometimes I sigh, sometimes I start,

such terror doth torment my heart.

I want (poor wretch) in darksome night,

The comfort of my dearest friend:

My sorrows leach, my hearts delight,

Whose very sight my grief would end:

Whom if I mought but once embrace,

I sure should be in happy case.

She sheweth her defect of beauty.

Alas how tawny am I turn’d?

How am I wretch transform’d in hue?

How am I scorched, and sunburn’d?

A ghastly creature for to view:

A mirror I for beauty was,

But now a muster for disgrace.

My skin that clear as crystal was,

My cheeks that crimson silk did stain,

My eyes like bright transplendent glass,

My brows, fraught with each pretty vain:

My skin, my cheeks, my eyes and brows,

Are like to soot, in smoky house.

Ah when to Troy my true-love wend,

He left me shining maiden like,

But when that he doth backward bend,

He sure shall find me beldam-like:

But Jove I thank thy glorious grace,

For this my wrinkling sorrowed face.

Penelope warneth her maids to beware of hot affection.

Ah damsels dear, which see the care,

Of mistress yours Penelope:

And see how foully I do fare,

Be ruled, and take this reed of me:

Hast not too soon for wedded charge,

Lest that you wish you liv’d at large:

Of hot affection eke take heed,

For often I have heard it told,

That hasty liking hath slow speed,

And love soon hot, is quickly cold:

And those that woo, ere wise they are,

Are won sometime, ere they beware.

The virgins state, I must confess,

Is too too tedious for to bear:

But widow’s state exceeds excess,

so fickle and so fraught with fear:

Wherefore see that you maids remain,

Of evils take the least of twain.

For if you (wantons) wedded were,

(As yet you far unworthy are,)

To one that with my wedded fere,

Might every way for worth compare:

What pleasure of him can you take,

If he your company forsake.

Put case that you (my pretty ones)

should match with such a brainsick boy:

As would not stick to baste your bones,

What then? where were your bridal joy?

Then might you wish, but all in vain,

That you unwedded were again.

Thus if you wed a worthy knight,

Then of his death you still will doubt,

And if you have a wretched wight:

Then will you wish, his brains were out:

But either ill for to prevent,

I wish you unto none consent.

The speech of her wooers.

Ah Princely nymph Penelope,

A goddess, were thou not to coy,

Pallas may not compare with thee,

Nor Venus with her blinded boy,

Mycenae could not thy craft fulfil,

Nor had Alcmena half thy skill.

Say (sweet Icarius’ daughter dear)

Do thou no longer us delay,

Whom wilt thou take to wedded fere,

That all the rest may post away.

Either say yea, or else deny:

Thou must take one, or all defy.

No worthless wight shall with thee wed,

Though thou the worst amongst us chose,

Fear not: Ulysses he is dead:

shew reason if thou us refuse:

say, if thou loathe our Parentage,

Or dost dislike our personage.

Her answer to her suitors.

My lovely youths, and lordings all,

As I have said, so say I still:

I can but thank you great and small,

For this your kindness and good will.

It grieves me (Gallants) to the heart,

I cannot grant you your desert.

I love you all, I do protest,

As did Diana Phoebus fair,

Who of all woodmen, liked him best,

But when he lov’d, to loath him sware: 

so you as friends, I entertain,

But lovers, I you all disdain.

Yea though my love his bane hath bought,

(As Gods forebode) yet must you stay,

Until my web be fully wrought,

For why the world shall never say:

That such a worthy knight as he,

without a shrowde should buried be.

The wooers advised Telemachus, Ulysses’ son, to put his mother out of door, 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 all can prove it:

Wherefore it now doth thee behove,

That thou thy mother dost remove.

Why dost thou not thy birthright claim,

And turn the beldam out of door?

Thou seest all we at her do aim,

To do us right, we thee implore:

If from thy house, thou her expel,

We would her wed, and all were well.

With scoffing cards she doth us load,

And with faire speeches us delay:

And woodcock-like leads us to road,

Yea like tame fools, she makes us stay:

Thou art the only cause of this,

Therefore amend that is amiss.

Telemachus’ answer to the wooers.

And is this all that you can say?

Is this the counsel that you use?

Do you your parents so obey?

Can you your mothers so abuse?

No force: my father shall not find,

His Telemach, so much unkind.

For let my father live or die,

If I my mother ill entreat: 

Why then my grandsire I carry,

With vengeance (surely) will me threat.

I fear 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 father’s goods consume:

Except you better you behave,

Your absence shortly let me crave.

She debateth with herself of marriage.

Now may I leave, now may I take,

Now may I love, now may I hate,

I now may choose, I may forsake,

Twixt yea, and nay, stands my estate:

Now may I marry, for my case,

Or else may tarry  if I please.

My husband (hardly) is alive:

And though alive, yet ten to one,

If ever here he do arrive:

What fool so long would lie alone?

Who would a widow stay so long,

And nature of her right thus wrong?

Antinous my love doth seek,

(A gallant Lordly minded lad)

And Eurymac (fac’d Angel-like)

To win my love would be right glad:

Sith with such suitors I am sped,

Why should I not poor widow wed.

My father wills me for to wed,

And that shall stand for my excuse:

What though I foil my bridal bed?

Ulysses will me not refuse.

And when again he doth return,

What care I though he do me scorn.

But devilish wretch, how do I dote?

What hellish hag doth me possess?

What? shall I sing Medea’s note?

Know good, and follow nothing less:

shall I that young a saint have seem’d,

In age a devil right be deem’d.

No, no, my constant chastity,

The world throughout about shall ring

In praise of chaste Penelope,

From time, to time, shall all men sing:

My fame shall mount unto the sky,

When Helen’s vile defam’d shall die:

Her commendation of chastity.

O Chastity, the chiefest key,

Of women’s worthy treasury:

A virtue that’s of virgins gay,

The pure and redoubted dowry.

A poesy springing fresh for aye,

A flower that never can decay.

Diana it did beautify,

And her among the gods enrol:

And Ganimede her chastity,

Did to the heaven’s hie extoll.

Zenobia with her maiden might,

Did ramping Lyons put to flight.

When lawless love, to luckless end,

A thousand, thousand, daily brings,

Diana to the woods doth wend,

And sweetly with hir damsels sings,

Diana-like, I will disdain,

Both lovers joy, and lovers pain.

The complaint of her waiting women against the wooers.

Ah Madame, if you love your life,

Or do regard your chastity:

If you will be Ulysses wife,

Or tender your poor family:

Those hellhounds all with speed expel,

Which of your house do make a hell.

Antinous he swears and stares,

By all the oaths he can devise,

If you come not, he unawares,

Wil you salute in shameful wise.

Foul shame shall take them all and some.

Ere I again amongst them come.

For madame they have me defiled,

with cruel shameless villainy:

Alas I fear I am with child,

With trusting to their tyranny.

Oh would to God I buried were,

I am so tost with doubtful fear.

They are so drunken all with wine,

They care not what they say or do:

(saving your presence) where they dine,

They do discharge their stomachs too.

And all that ever they invent,

Is but to have us wretches shent. 

One sings, Ulysses sure is dead,

Another says, he feeds the fish,

Another at him stakes his head,

Another doth him evil wish.

Yea some your strangers ill entreat,

And others do your servants beat.

Yet all this will not them suffice,

Not all your cates, and costly chair.

But they amidst their gourmandize,

Your silver plate in pieces tear:

But when Ulysses comes, no doubt,

He will asswage this revel rout.

Her speech unto her son Telemachus.

Telemachus (my lovely son)

What shall we silly wretches do?

I see we shall be all undone,

unless thou to thy father go.

Those lordlings that a wooing come,

Will eat us out of house and home.

Alas I cannot be so rude,

By cruel meanes their blood to spill:

Not yet by force them to extrude,

That proffer me so much good will:

Alas their love I must respect,

Though their conditions I reject.

Thou seest, how wasteful eke they are,

And in our house keep careless coil:

There’s neither of them all do care,

Nor what they spend, nor what they spoil.

Yea now with me they may not match,

Well’s he my silly maids can catch.

The reply of her son Telemachus, then but a child.

Peace (mother) fie: what need you mourn?

My father will not you forsake:

Be of good cheer he will return,

No thought for him (good mother) take:

He will with us arrive here long,

And will revenge our woeful wrong.

(Ah mother) would I were a man,

I would so plague these leachers vile,

Not one of them should scape me than,

They should not thus our house defile:

O how I would their carcass carve?

They should not you thus shrewdly serve.

These trencher flies me tempt each day,

To turn you (mother) out of door:

The land is mine (these liars say)

My father he is dead of yore.

Yet mother, here you still shall rest,

Of women all I love you best.

Oh you may see (sweet mother dear)

How friendly minded they are bent:

And eke what loving hearts they bear,

By this their treacherous intent.

But I commanded them be gone,

How say you? was’t not stoutly done?

Well, though my father he be slain,

(As Gods forbid it should be so)

And that he never come again,

Yet one day will I work their woe.

My dearest blood I sure will spend,

My father’s house for to defend.

Meanwhile (all heart) to Troy I’ll trudge,

If you thereto will but consent,

To run or go I will not grudge,

Pray (mother) peace, lest they prevent

My going forth, when I come back,

I will not fear the proudest jack.

Her Epistle to Ulysses.

Ulysses (if thou be alive)

Peruse those lines I send to thee,

(sweet) let me see thee here arrive,

Tis bootless for to write to me.

Not thy epistle be thou sure,

Thy present sight, my grief must cure.

Ah say (sweet heart) and truelove mine,

How canst thou lingering stay so long?

Why cam’st thou not home a’ this time?

How canst thou offer me this wrong?

say (sluggard) what doth thee restrain,

That thou dost not return again?

The Trojan war is at an end,

To cinders Troy is quite consumed,

The Argives all do homeward bend,

With incense are the altars fumed.

Some frow I fear me, holds thee back,

And that’s the cause thou art so slack.

To Pylon have I often sent,

To foreign countries far and near:

My messenger to Sparta went,

But there no certain news could hear:

At Troy (they say) thou were not slain,

That makes me hope thou com’st again.

Ah good Ulysses hie thee home,

For I had suitors long ago:

If that thou say, thou wilt not come,

Then know I what I have to do:

I need not long a widow live,

A hundred gladly would me wive.

For of Dulichium fifty-two,

Most stately suitors seek my shame:

Of Zacinthe, twenty do mee woo,

From Samos four and twenty came:

Besides twelve of our Ithac’ states,

On whom, Maedon the minstrel waits.

My father eke doth me accuse,

And says, I do my wooers wrong:

And too too much myself abuse,

sith widow-like I stay so long.

But let him daily me reprove,

From constant faith I will not move.

Yea, let him say, or do his worst,

I will be but Ulysses’ wife:

To him I gave my faith at first,

With him I’ll end my love and life.

To him, ere I will fail my faith,

I sure will die a martyr’s death.

As twenty winters there are gone,

so twenty more I mean to spend,

I will undo that I have done,

Ten thousand times before I end.

Yet shall I think each hour twain,

Until you do return again.

She accuseth Antinous, that he goeth about to kill her son.

Antinous I have been told,

Thou wert a youth that did excel,

(Ah true I prove the proverb old)

Report untruth doth often tell.

They say, thy like not Ithac had,

I think 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 devise his blood to spill.

But you can wake, although you wink,

And say right well, though ill you think.

But take thou heed, and warning good,

And warning give to all the rest:

Beware of spilling princely blood,

For unreveng’d it will not rest.

Wherefore see that his life you save,

If favour you of me will have.

The reply of Eurymachus, in the behalf of the wooers.

Assure yourself (my darling sweet)

There’s no man here, that will or shall,

Him hurt, I’ll die first at his feet,

Before mishap shall him befall.

Be bold, whilst me alive you see,

From sword I sure will set him free.

For thine, and for Ulysses’ sake,

Telemachus I will preserve,

(Who on his knee would oft me take)

And roast meat often to me carve:

I’ll sheath my sword within his skin,

That first to touch him dares begin.

Am I not here? what needs thou dread?

Thou maist command me heart and hand,

Ile him defend alive or dead,

My word and deed, shall firmly stand.

Wherefore (sweet heart) be of good cheer,

And cast away this foolish fear.

She bewaileth the sending of her son Telemachus to his father.

Alas, what have I (fondling) done?

How have I on adventure sent,

Telemachus my only son?

Ah: for his sake shall I be shent.

If by this meanes he do miscarry:

Then of my life shall I be weary.

What will the common people say?

(As they are prone to speak the worst)

She, she, her son 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 shall he endure?

Rocks renting dread, and tempests doubt,

Of measure hard he shall be sure,

If prowling Pirates pry him out:

Or if Antinous descry,

His skill in swimming shall he try.

Alas: if my sweet Telemach,

(Whom for to shield the Gods I pray)

On wasteful seas should go to wrack,

What will my good Ulysses say:

My life alas I soon should lack,

As herbs to pot he would me hack.

But if it be my destiny:

I still will wail with woeful heart,

Till time doth end this tragedy,

Or chance doth cure my careful smart.

And I myself, myself will hate,

Till death doth ease my doleful state.

But see, he comes right welcome home,

(sweet Telemach my pretty boy)

What? is thy father with thee come?

Tel true, what lives my lovely joy?

Ah say the truth, and do not feign,

Will my Ulysses come again?

Telemachus sheweth his father’s coming: and how he means to be revenged of his Rivals, and sheweth some of his father’s acts.

My father (as you say) doth live,

Lo here, a letter he hath sent,

And shortly here he will arrive,

For to return is his intent.

But privily he will you greet,

That with those rivals he may meet.

He swears he will torment them all,

Not one of them shall scape alive,

He’ll kill and slay, both great and small:

As dogs from door he will them drive.

He sweares he’ll see their eyes all out,

Ere he will feed so soul a rout.

Eurymachus he will take down,

And eke Antinous’ swelling pride,

He’ll cox them all, I hold a crown,

For that they do him thus deride,

He’ll teach them better use their tearms,

He’ll learn them scoff a man at arms.

Though that those lads have long him loath’d,

If he in sight should but appear,

They all would wish they were uncloath’d,

so that they lighter legged were.

They’ll rather wish for feet that day,

Then either gold or rich array.

For he at hazard more hath been,

Then taking down such trencher-knights,

His prows at siege of Troy was seen,

He hath subdued worthier wights.

Yea (mother) he hath been at hell,

Where the Prince Pluto dire doth dwell.

He thrust out Polyphemus eye,

For that he did his fellows eat,

And he scapt Circes’ sorcery:

He fear’d not God Neptune’s threat.

When three days shipless he did sail,

His hardy heart did never fail.

Penelope readeth Ulysses’ letter.

Thy letter when I over-look,

(Penelope my sweetest saint)

I note the care that thou hast took,

And pity take of thy complaint.

Lo: to release thee of thy doom,

(sweet 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 solemn oath.

so welcome thereof was the sight,

My heavy heart it made full light.

I would to God my sluggardise, 

Which thou so highly dost accuse:

The Greeks at Trojan enterprise,

Had holden for a just excuse:

Then had I not endured the toile,

I now sustain in foreign soil.

Then had I stayed still with thee,

When I myself did frantic fain:

It griev’d me (trust me) to agree,

The wars so soon should part us twain.

I would, nor could, as thou maist see,

so lightly leave thy company.

No Trojan trull doth me retain,

For Troy to cinders quite is razed,

Priam, and Paris, both are slain,

And all the country quite defaced.

Sarpedon slain, and Hector stout,

And Mars so hurt, his guts came out.

I scot-free scap’t, and Rhesus slain,

His palfreys led I to my tent:

I fear’d not the Thracian train,

But boldly I amidst them went:

And those that Diomedes slue,

still by the heels I from him threw.

Thou needst not doubt, my life or love,

The one the Trojans could not spill,

Nor th’other Mermaids could remove:

To thee it resteth constant still.

No comfort have I on the sea,

But love, to make me think on thee.

Parthenope did oft assay,

Me to her love for to allure,

Yet could she not me so betray,

My toil I stoutly did endure:

And when she saw I would not stay,

she drown’d herself in surging sea.

Nor yet Calypso with her skill,

When in Ogygean Isle I staid,

Could with her drugs win my good will:

Though oft so shamefully she assayed.

Though me immortal she would make,

Yet could I not thee so forsake.

And where thou saist, thou suitors hast,

It is a credit I confess,

If they our substance do not wast,

Nor thee of honour dispossess:

Beware lest thou amidst thy wine,

Dost grant them that is none of thine.

If to the hundred thou hast had,

A thousand suitors more thou set,

Yet have I had a star as bad,

With lasses, my true love to get.

Do Lords the court? a common case,

unask’d, brave Ladies me embrace.

But (wife) you scarcely did me please,

When Telemach my only son,

You set on mercy of the seas:

Confess a truth it was ill done.

That love ungrateful is iwis,

That to such danger, subject is.

But now his course is finished,

Our danger all is at an end,

My dolour eke diminished:

You after me no more shall send:

For suddenly you shall me see,

Before those rivals look for me.

Meane while, suppress thy merry cheer,

Let not thy suitors know my mind,

unto their costs I will appear:

The hellhounds shall me feel and find.

Thy countenance see that thou keep,

When thou shouldst laugh, see that thou weep.

I will not open wars proclaim,

Nor yet by force of arms there come,

Amidst their banket will I aim,

To cut them off both all and some.

And when you see those rivals slain,

Then say that I am come again.

The advice of Euryclea, nurse to Penelope.

Oh daughter dear, my gem and joy:

My comfort, and my only care,

Ah, I ove preserve thee from annoy,

And from those spoils that, threatened are

Be chary of thy chastity,

Which suitors seek so shamefully.

Thy waiting women they abuse,

Without remorse or conscience sting,

And of thy house they make a stews,

Thee to dishonour, for to bring.

Take heed in time I thee advise,

Wit bought, is at too dear a prise.

These lusty Gallants swear and stare,

If thou to wed wilt not consent,

Thy house they’ll topsy-turvy tear,

And eke thy heart in pieces rent.

To hide thyself I think it best,

And unto Love commit the rest.

Her reply to Euryclea.

What are they men, or are they not?

Or are they beasts, or are they worse?

Are laws of God, and men, forgot?

No care of God, nor yet his curse?

Or dread they not the day of doom?

That they so beastlike are become.

Shal men, that God himself hath made

And do his Image represent,

By their abominable trade:

To be the deuil’s limbs consent?

O most unworthy wretches vile,

That do their vessels so defile.

Fie: what can they not eat and drink?

But they must surfeit shamefully?

Can they not mischief meane or think?

But they must blab it by and by.

Can they not pretty damsels use?

But they their bodies must abuse.

Aurelianus here we lack,

Or Iulia with her sacred law:

Then should those gallants go to wrack,

Then better would they stand in awe:

For then the sword or else the tree,

From shameful force, should set us free.

O cursed times, O cruel facts,

O manners vile, for men unfit,

O dismal days, O heinous acts,

O hellish hags, of Pluto’s pit.

O sprightful, cruel tyranny,

Enforcing endless misery.

My tongue doth tremble for to tell,

The villany that they invent,

My heart (alas) with grief doth swell,

To see brave men so beastly bent,

From this their wicked treachery,

The Lord above deliver me.

She bewaileth Ulysses long tarrying.

How doth Ulysses time detract?

How doth he play the cozening knight,

He writes Troy is already sack’d,

Yet will he not appear in sight.

I fear me he hath caught some dove,

And keeps her tame, with tills of love.

I would I wist he false did play,

Of spite I would revenged be:

But then what would the people say?

As is the he, so is the she:

No, no, the care I absent take,

His presence will the sweeter make.

Nor wealth, nor woe nor envies crosse,

Nor grief, nor gain, nor fortunes fall:

Nor pain, nor pleasure, luck or loss,

Nor treasure, nor yet wretched thrall,

shall make me my Ulysses loath.

Nor to him false my faith and troth. 

The speech of her wooers challenging her by promise.

Come on (sweet nymph) what answer now?

Your tow is twist, your web is wrought,

With speed perform your sacred vow:

Thy murmuring mate his death hath sought:

Harpyades have on him fed,

The city-spoiler he is dead.

Thee for to wed is all our suite,

And now thy answer we expect:

Therefore say quick, be not so mute,

Which of our suites wilt thou accept?

If thou no ready answer make,

Thy house we never will forsake.

(sweete Nimph) resolve us now with speed,

Think ere thou speak, deny not flat:

For we are they can do the deed:

Thou maist refuse thou knowest not what:

Make ready Hymaeneus’ bed,

For why, we must and will thee wed.

Her answer to the wooers.

Sweet Lordlings though my web be wrought,

And all my tow be ready spun,

Another doubt comes to my thought,

You know, what worth Ulysses won:

Yow know he was a worthy knight,

And got him honour for his might.

It me behoves to draw the latch,

And of my choice in time beware,

Lest I with such a milksop match,

As may augment my wonted care.

Or you in fight for me contend,

And so the mighty Gods offend.

Lo Lordings, this is my decree,

He that Ulysses bow can bend,

That worthy wight shall wed with me:

Away with him I soon will wend.

Hold take in hand to bend the bow,

Your strength that quickly I may know.

Ulysses being come home, disguiseth himself, and sojourning with Penelope amongst the wooers, maketh this answer.

Why then (faire queen) to win thy love,

I silly wretch will also try,

My shrivelled sinews will I prove:

To win this worthy mastery.

Had I my youthful strength and skill,

I would the act right soon fulfil.

Eurymachus I thee beseech,

And eke Antinous I thee pray,

To give me leave my strength to stretch,

Which gods have almost tane  away:

Necessity hath pinch’d me too,

A cruel dart it is you know.

The bow resign into my hand,

I trial of my strength will make,

And if the same I cannot bend,

The prize you shall among you take.

But if the bow be by me bent,

To wed the nymph is my intent.

The wooers scoffingly check Ulysses.

How dar’st thou Palmer thus to prate?

And with us youngsters thus compare?

Content thee with thine own estate:

Of palmery  go take thou care:

Although Ulysses bow thou bend,

With bald-pate shall she never wend,

But too much wine makes thee thus mad,

Which wiser men doth brainsick make,

And brag of that they never had,

If out of measure they it take:

Therefore leave off to make such strife,

For her thou shalt not take to wife.

Leave off I say: thus to contend,

If thou wilt banket here at rest,

We weigh  not who the bow doth bend,

For that we hold but as a jest.

But if with us thou so contend,

Thou soon shalt feel thy fatal end.

She checketh Antinous for abusing her guests.

Antinous leave off I say,

Our guests thus evil to entreat,

Discourteous parts why dost thou play?

My stranger thus why dost thou threat?

Their neighbours all they will abuse,

That strangers practise to misuse.

This stranger is of stature tall,

And borne of worthy parentage:

The likeliest amongst you all,

If force consists in personage:

Pray give him leave his strength to try,

Why offer you this injurie?

If that Apollo give him power,

For manly might the price to win,

Then will I wait on him each hour,

And costly webs array him in:

My only joy I will him make,

And him to husband will I take.

Telemachus wisheth his mother to be silent.

Fie: fie: what need you thus to chaunt,

silence doth best become your sex,

T’is giglet -like, thus for to taunt,

What though those villains do you vex:

Yet (mother) you must patience use,

And smother up this vile abuse.

unto your maids your mind disclose,

And talk of that you have to do,

What need you countercheck with those,

That nothing appertains you to?

They’ll say you are already won,

Their company you cannot shun.

Sweet (mother) let me answer make,

That am a man, and know to speak:

My speech shall make them for to quake,

Against me dare they not to creak.

My father absent, I am king,

New dirges shall they shortly sing.

The death of her wooers represented unto hir, in a dream of an eagle and a flock of geese.

Why dost thou Morpheus me annoy?

What fantasies dost thou intrude?

Why dost thou me of sleeps sweet joy,

With vain illusions thus delude?

Those dreams iwis that I endure,

I doubt but little good procure.

Last night as I lay in my bed,

stretch forth (alas) in slumbering wise,

Me thought a flock of geese I fed,

That all my corn could not suffice.

To give them food I did deny,

And yet not one away would fly.

They were a number numberless,

Whose gaggling did me much offend:

I made them answer answerless,

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 mew,

A mighty Eagle with them met:

And them, both great and smal he slew,

Not one of them could from him get.

No creature could the spoil prevent,

The Eagle was so fiercely bent.

At length when his bloodthirsty bill,

Had thus upon these gooselings preyed

(Me thought) the people for to kill,

This matchless eagle all assayed.

They were so wrath they swore by gis, 

They would despoil both him and his.

Ah Cesta sweet, I thee implore,

My doubtful dream for to dissolve,

For that which Morpheus told of yore.

I often in my mind revolve.

The resolution to me show,

And endless thanks I will thee owe.

She hearing Ulysses fighting with her wooers, unknown to her, she fearth.

How doth Ulysses me me deride?

How doth he fool-fain me possess?

He promised to return with speed,

But sure he thinks of nothing less.

My eyes with looking for him ache,

with trembling fear my heart doth quake.

What horror doth my heart oppress?

What hurly burly do I hear?

What sturdy tumults? (God me bless)

What’s he that plays the tyrant there?

Who’s he cries out, what’s he is slain?

Go girl and see, but hie again.

Hark, hark, at daggers’ point on life,

Those drunkards with each other fight:

Why doth my son not stint the strife?

Ah how doth fear my heart affright?

What is the cause of this their ruth?

Come quick (sweet wench) and tell the truth.

Her maid sheweth the slaughter of her wooers.

Alas, beblubbered all with blood,

Antinous lieth under bord,

Yea Eurymach that was so proud,

Is slain with dint of sharped sword:

Pisander’s brains are beaten out,

And Polybe slain that Champion stout.

Eurynomus, he waltering lies,

And eke Polidor worthy knight,

Amphimedon for mercy cries:

And Liodes is put to flight.

Ctesippus put to deadly pain,

And eke Eurydamantus slain.

Liocritus that lordly lad,

And Demoptolemus is dead,

Euriades hath sped as bad,

His brains are knockt out of his head:

I thought amidst their stately pride

some tragedy there would be played.

She hearing of the death of her wooers, fearth lest Ulysses will slay her also.

A lack, and are those lordings slain?

Why then my Lord Ulysses dear,

Ulysses mine, is come again,

How am I toss’d twixt joy and fear?

Ah he, tis he hath done this deed:

Yea, he this stratagem hath played,

It is Ulysses deals such blows,

What shall I silly woman do?

Ah see, how furiously he glows,

I fear he will torment me too:

I will him try, with weeping eyes,

Him to withdraw from tyrannies.

Fie: cannot twenty years suffice,

Thy wrathful venom for to spit,

But thou must thus in warlike wise,

Thy tyranny continue yet?

Though no wight can thy wrath appease,

Let me request thee to surcease.

Ulysses making himself known, comforteth Penelope with these speeches.

Fear not my gem and heart’s delight,

Penelope my spotless spouse,

Those lads no more shall work our spite,

They shall no more defile our house.

Ah I have seen thy constancy,

Thy virtues have rejoic’d mine eye.

But oh: what have I tyrant done,

(Oh miser borne to endless toil)

Now have I new my care begun,

By this my pity-wanting spoil.

I merciless have many slain.

For blood shall I pay blood again,

O fury with repentance fraught,

(Ah enemy to perfect peace)

Thou to confusion hast me brought,

(Ah fury foe to humane ease.)

I that my foes have put to flight,

Against my friends am forc’d to fight.

Penelope fearing to entertain Ulysses, debateth as followeth.

But ah me wretch (borne but to wo)

What entertainment shall I give?

Him, for my Lord how shall I know?

T’is hard to know whom to believe.

Ah my Ulysses was too kind,

To bear such a blood-thirsty mind,

But (doting dame) what can I tell,

May not God Mars his fury move?

May not Bellona make him fell?

Ah Mars makes Turtles Tyger’s prove:

And those are ordinary events,

To them that do frequent the tents.

But yet, Ulysses welcome home,

(If thou my Lord Ulysses be)

A thousand times to me welcome,

Thee safe I do rejoice to see.

Yet shew (ah good Ulysses show)

some token that I may thee know.

Ulysses sheweth by evident tokens, he is no cozening knight.

Why then I am Laertes’ son,

And he that Gods, and men do hate,

scum of the world, by fates foredone, 

Whose death my deeds do calculate,

Ah I am he, that for thy love,

A thousand perils daily prove.

Yea I am he, that feigned me mad,

Thee in my arms for to embrace,

And I am that unhappy swad,

That Palemedes did disgrace.

Yea I am he that for thy sake,

All dangers dare to undertake.

Yea I am he, whose damned hand,

Have slain a knot of noble blood:

And I am he, thou maist command,

Alive or dead, to do thee good.

Yea I am he that maugre spite,

Will always rest thy constant knight.

L’envoy.

Lo Ladies, Jove reserves a friend,

For those that tender chastity,

But Leachers brought to doleful end,

Amidst their chief security:

Penelope for bale had bliss,

When villains vengeance could not miss.

Let rivals’ lot learn Lordly youths,

To shun the snare of lewd desires,

Lest lawless love procure their ruths,

With lifeless lue  that lust requires:

Lest whilst they reck not what they do,

some good Ulysses wreck their woe.

FINIS.