University of Virginia Library

Scene the II.

Enter Ulysses and Souldiers.
Ill news I bring, but this I first require,
Though my mouth Speaks't, believ't not my desire,
It is the voyce of all the Greek guides, whom
Hector's Issue keeps from their long-left home.
Him do the Fates require, the Grecians will
Their peace uncertain think, behinde them still
Fear will enforce them for to look, nor can
They lay down armes, whilst Andromach! thy Son
Doth Courage to the Conquer'd Trojans bring.

Andr.
Doth thus indeed your Prophet Calchas sing?

Vlys.
If that our Augur Calchas silent were
Yet Hector tell us this, whose stock we fear.
The generous Seed the growing stock adorns.
So the small Hang-by calf, t'a herd, whose horns
Yet has not cut the Skin, when by and by
His forehead ample grown, and's necks on high
He rules the beasts, and leads his father's flock.
So a small twig left to the lopped stock
In a small time like to its mother grows,
Shaddows the Earth, its boughs to Heaven shows.
So Sparks left carelessely their strength resume.
Grief is of things an unjust judge. Presume
Thou may'st, that after a ten winters war
As many summers the old Souldiers are
Afraid of other broyles, nor well esteem
Themselves, Troy not destroy'd: A great thing them
Disturbs, A Future Hector 'tis. Do thou
Remove this fear, that onely stays us now.
This stops our ready ships. Cruel suppose
Me not, that I ask Hectors Son, for chose
By lot to do't, Orestes I'de require.
Come suffer what the Conquerer did bear.

Andro.
O Child! would thou wert in thy Mothers hand:
What Chance bereft me of thee, or what land
Now holds thee? Would I knew. Not Enemies darts
Stabb'd in my breast; Nor cutting bonds, nor smarts
Of fire my sides surrounding e're should shake
My maternal Faith. O Child! what chance doth take,
What place doth hold, thee now? wander unknown
About the Fields dost thou? Or overthrown
Amongst the rubbish of thy Country trod?
Or has fierce victors sported with thy blood?
Or wert thou cast unto some cruel beast?
Or wert thou to the Trojan soules a feast?

Ulysses.
Leave feigning thus. Thou canst not easily
Deceive Ulysses. Mothers Treachery,
Yea wiles of Goddesses I have undone:
Leave these vain fetches; tell me, where's thy Son?

Andro.
Where's Hector? Priamus? all the Trojans? where?
Thou ask'st for one, I for them all do Quære.

Ulysses.
You shall be forc'd to tell what you deny.

Andro.
For he who ought, would, can, 'tis safe to die.

Ulysses.
Approaching Death will scare great words away.

Andro.
If Andromach, Ulysses! thou'lt betray
With fear; threat' life, to die is my desire.

Ulys.
What now thou hid'st by torments, stripes, death, fire,
Thou shalt be forc'd to tell, unwilling, pain
Thy closest Secrets from thy breast shall drain.
Necessitie's wont to do more then zeal.
'Tis vain to hide, what straight thou must reveal.

An.
Flames, wounds, & the dire tricks of torments threat.
Famin and cruel thurst, all Plagues complete,
Hot irons thrust into my bowels, the
Plague of close Prison, and what e're may be
Pleasing to th'angry rumid Conquerer.
The valiant mother can admit no fear.

Ulysses.
This Love in which thou dost so stifly 'bide
The Greeks warns for their Children to provide.
After a ten years war, and so far off.
I less should fear, what Calehas prophiseth,
If For my self, but thou do'st wars prepare
For Telemachus.

Androm.
I will ease from Care
Ulysses and the Greeks. O sorrow! Griefes!
Say unto those you trouble: Joy O Greeks!
Do thou as thou wert wont Good news declare
To the Pelasgians. Dead is Hector's heir.

Ulysses.
How wilt thou prove that this is true?

Andromach.
So let
The Greatest ill the Conquerer doth threat
Happen to me, Let Fates me quickly sley,
May I be buried in my Country; may
The Native soil lightly on Hector spread,
As he wants light, and lies amongst the dead,
And with due exequies laid in his Tombe.

Ulysses.
The Fates are pleas'd if Hector's Son is gone.
A solid peace, and Joy to th'Greeks I'le Give.
Aside.
What dost Ulysses? will the Greeks believe
Thee? who thou? The Mother. What wont she swear?
Is't not Death's dreadful Omen makes her fear?
Fear Omens! what should such fear more? now she
Has ty'd her Faith by oath, what thing may be
Worse to be fear'd, then that she perish? Now
Wiles, Craft, Fraud, and thy self Vlysses shew.
“Truth will appear. Search out the Mother. Mourn,
Shed Tears, Lament she doth, at every turn,
Now here, now there her anxious steps she bears,
My words receiveth at her Careful Ears.
She fears more than she Mourns. Here's work for wit.
[To Andromach again.]
That parents ease to parents give 'tis fit.
Thou may'st rejoyce that thou dost want thy Son,
Whom a most Cruel Death did waite upon,
For from the Tower, that which remains alone
Of Troy, he should have been cast headlong downe.

Andromach.
My feeble limbs do shake, my Spirit's lost;
My blood grows stiffe bound with a frigid frost.

Aside.
Vlysses.
See how she trembles: This is the way to do't.
Fear has detected her: Now I'le renew't.
Aside.
[To the Souldiers, they seek about.]
Go, Go make hast, bring forth where e're he's hid,
The Greeks last plague, hid by his mothers fraud.
So so he's Caught: Go to; Make hast:
He'r lead.
[To Andromach.]
Why look'st thou back and fear'st? Thy Son is dead.

Andro.
Would I might fear! This is accustom'd fear.
“What we learn long, we cannot soon forbear.

Vlysses.
Since that the youth a purging Sacrum may
Not be, nor we our Prophet thus obey,
He being snatch'd by a more gentle Fate,
Thus Calchas saith. Our ships may remigrate,
If Seas to please we Hector's ashes spread
About; and's Tomb with th'Earth be equal made.
Since he escap'd has the appointed fate,
Our hand this Sacred Seat must violate.

aside.
Andro.
What shall I do? my mind a double fear
Distracts. My Son; the ashes of my dear
Husband. O Hector! I to witness, Call
The Cruel Gods; the True, thy Ghosts an all,
Nought but thy self in my Son pleaseth me;
May he live then for to be like to thee!
Shall's ashes merged be? his Tomb pull'd down?
Shall I let's bones into the Sea be thrown?
First let

[Astyanax.]

him die. But Can'st thou see him sent
To death? hurl'd down from the high battlement?
I will. I'le suffer 't. I will indure't, that the
Dead, by the victor's hand mayn't dammag'd be.
He may be sensible of pain; at rest
The Fates have placed him. Why waverest?
Determine which thou'lt save—Do'st doubt ingrate?
This is thy Hector—Both are Hectors, yet
This is alive, revenge perhaps he may
His dead Father. Both cann't be sav'd. Delay
Why dost? save him the Greeks do fear.

Vlysses.
I will
Distroy this Tomb, and th'Oracle fulfill.

Andromach.
That which ye sold?

Vlysses.
I will the Sepulchre
Rase to the Ground.

Andromach.
The help of Gods deter;
Achilles Faith I Call: O Pyrrhus! thy
Sire's gift defend.

Vlysses.
This Tomb shall by and by
O're all the field be spread.

Andromach.
Such villanies
The Greeks yet have not dar'd; of Deities
Your friends, you violated have the Fain,
Your Rage yet spar'd the Tombs.—
I'le you restrain:
My naked hands yours arm'd shall set upon.
Wrath Strength will Give. As the fierce Amazon
Beat down the Grecian Troops: As Menas strook
By Bacchick fury, all the forrests shook
With her Enthean rage, and furnished
With Thyrsus, mad, ne'r felt the wounds she made.
So in the midst I'le rush, a Mate become
To's Ashes in defending of his tombe.

Ulysses.
Cease ye? what doth a simple womans do
to the soldiers.
And fury move? Obey and quickly too.

Andr.
O slay me first! foil hell! break Fates delay!
Hector remove the Earth; So that you may
Ulysses tame: Thy Ghost can do't.—See see
He shakes the weapons: Hurleth fires; do yee
See Hector? or do onely I?

Ulysses.
Down down
With't to the Ground.

Andromach.
What do'st? shall overthrown
Aside.
Thy Son and Husband be together? pray
The Greeks, perhaps you pacifie them may.
The massy ruines of the Tomb will strait
Crush th'hidden wretch. O rather let his Fate
Be some where else, lest that the Father kill
The Son, the Son the Father's ashes spill.
I suppliant at thy feet do fall although
To Ulysses.
My hands did ne'r such humble postures know,
I lay them at thy Feet Ulysses, hear
My pious prayers gently, patient bear,
Pity a Mother; And the higher thou
By th'Gods art rais'd, unto the fallen shew
Less rigor: who the needy helps, doth gain.
So may'st thou thy chast wife's bed see again!
So may thy sight extend thy Fathers years!
Thy Son receive thee! May thy voteful prayers
In thy Son's virtues, more then answer'd be!
His grand-sires age, thy ingenuitie
May he surpass! The Mother pity; save
My onely Joy.

Ulysses.
Bring forth thy Son and Crave.