University of Virginia Library

Chorus.

O fortune hating men of stoutest brest,
How ill rewards dost thou to good deuyde?
Eurystheus raynes at home in easy rest,
Alcmenaes sonne in euery battayle tryde,
To Monsters turnes hys hande that Skyes dyd stay:
And cruell Neckes cuts of, of hydous Snake,
And Apples brynges from Systers mokt away,
When once to sleepe hys watchefull Eyes beetake,
Dyd Dragon set ryche fruicte to ouersee.
Hee past the Scythian bowres that straye abroade,
And those that in their countreys straungers bee
And hardned top of frosen freate hee troade,
And sylent Sea with bankes full dumme about.
The Waters hard want there their floudes to sloe.
And where before the Shyps full Sayles spred out
Is worne a pathe for Sarmates wylde to goe.
The Sea doth stande to mooue in course agayne,
Nowe apt to beare the Ship, nowe horsemen bolde
The Queene that there doth ouer Wydowes rayne,
That gyrds her Wombe wyth gyrth of glittring gold,
Her noble spoyle from body drawne hath shee
And shyelde, and bandes of breast as whyte as snowe,
Acknowledging the Conquerour with Knee.
Wyth what hope drawne to headlong Hell alowe,
So bolde to passe the vnreturned wayes
Saw'ste thon Proserpines rayne of Sicylye?
Wyth Southern wynde, or Western there no seas
Aryse wyth waue and swellinge Surges hye.
Not there of Tyndars stocke the double broode
Two starres the fearefull Shyps doe ayde and guide.
Wyth gulph full blacke doth stande the slouthfull floode
And when pale death with greedy teeth so wyde.
Vnnumbred Nations hath sent downe to sprightes
Wyth one Boateman all ouer feryed bee.
God graunt thou maist of Hell subdue the rightes
And vnreuoked webs of Systers three.
There kyng of many people raygneth hee,
Who when thou did'st wyth Nestors Pylos fight,
Pestiferous handes appli'de to matche with thee
And weapon bare with triple mace of might:
And prickt with litle wounde he fled away,
And lorde of death hymselfe did feare to dye.
Breake Fate by force: and let the sight of day
To sorry sprightes of Hell apparant lye
And porche vnpast shew way to Gods aboue.
The cruell lordes of sprightes wyth pleasaunt song
And humble bownefull well could Orpheus moue,
Whyle he Eurydicen them craues among.
The Arte that drew Woods, Byrds, and stones at will:
Which made delay to Floudes of flitting flight
At sound whereof the sauage Beastes stoode still
With tunes vnwont doth Ghosts of hell delight
And clearer doth resounde in darker place:
And weepe wyth teares did Gods of cruell brest:
And they which faultes with to seuere a face
Doe seeke, and former gylt of Ghosts out wrest:
The Thracian Daughters wayls Eurydicen.
For her the Iudges weeping sit also.
Wee conquer'de are, chyefe kyng of death sayd then
To Gods (but vnder this condition) goe,
Behynde thy husbandes backe keepe thou thy way,
Looke thou not backe thy Wyfe before to see.
Than thee to sight of Gods hath brought the day
And gate of Spartane Tænare present bee.
Loue hates delay, nor coulde abyde so long.
His gyft, hee lost, while hee desires the syght.
The place that coulde be thus subdew'de with song
That place may soone bee ouercome by myght.