 | The Tragedy of Orestes |  |
Scen. II.
Enter Ægystheus. Clytem.Ægyst.
Faire morning to my Queene, nay more, my loue,
How likes my sweet her change of bedfellow?
Clyt.
Looke as a hollow leafelesse failing oake,
To whom for that he hath bin her weight too long,
The earth denies to lend him moysture, so
His sap failes, and he stands on a green
Mongst sprouting Elms, that they may seem more fresh
Whilst hee's but held a monument of yeeres,
Such one seem'd Agamemnon; a drie tree:
Thou like a sprouting elme, whom I embrace
Like twining Iuy, with these now-blest armes,
Blest whilst this treasure in them they holdlockt.
Ægyst.
O who'ld not doe a murder for a woman!
Heauen had but two things for the Gods reseru'd
Fire, and women, when with Giant thought
Promotheus had tane one, Ioue in his rage
O th'are rare creatures, they haue such Mæanders,
Their teares will come and goe with such Art,
Come now my Queene, one sweet Ambrosian kisse;
O Nectar! prethe hadst thou taught thy teares
How they should flow before:
Clyt.
No, trust me loue,
I knew my teares would soon be at command,
And faith the boy had almost made me weepe
Really once: were not my curses rare?
Ægyst.
Yes, all was womanlike, but yet that boy
He tooke it deepely, would he were with his father,
So gon, it skills not how, were he away
We would act freely all our lustfull play:
Clyt.
O but my loue, hee's mine; nor can the rauen
Dig her sharpe beake into her owne birds brest:
He will forget his father: woe will breake,
'Tis not the greatest griefe that most doth speake.
Egyst.
O but hee'll beare a still suspitious eye;
And who in bloudy Scenes doth act a part,
Thinks euery eye doth penetrate his heart.
Nor can we ere be free, or I inioy
True pleasures, we must be but theeues at most,
Close in delights, and haue a Pander still
To be a Factor, 'twixt thy bed and mine
This we could haue before, what now we doe
The world should see done, and applaud it too.
Clyt.
Why my deare Loue, I that would set my hand
To staine my marriage sheets with husbands blood
Would let these hands instructed now in ill,
Not leaue one arme of that vprooted tree;
Could but Ægystheus giue me any hope,
That from this top there should one spreading branch
Grow vp and flourish.
Ægyst.
Now thou art thy selfe,
Yes, yes my loue, there shall one spring from vs
Shall be a lofty Pine, let this be cropt,
Murder must murder guard, guilt adde to guilt,
After one drop whole streams of blood be spilt.
walks away.
| The Tragedy of Orestes | |