University of Virginia Library

THE FIFTE ACTE.

NVNTIVS.
VUhen OEdipus accursed wretch, his fatall fals had spied,
To hell be damnd his wretched soule and on the Gods he cryed
For vengeaunce due. And posting fast with franticke moode & griesly hue,
Unto his dolefull Court hee went, his thoughts for to pursue.
Much like a Lion ramping wylde, his furious head that shakes.
And roares with thundring mouth alowd, and often gnashing makes,
None otherwise this miser farde. A lothsome sight to see.
Besides himselfe for very rage, he still desires to dye.
And rowling round his wretched Eyes with vysage pale and wan:
Ten thousand Cursers out he powres. Himselfe the vnhappiest man
Of all that liue, he doth account: as iustly he may doe.
A wretch, a slaue, a caitife vyle. The cause of all our woe.
And in this case enflamd with spight he cries, he stamps, he raues.
And boyling in his secret thoughts, he still desyres to haue
All torments vnder sun that may his Cares conceiude encrease.
O wretched wyght, what should hee doe? What man may him release?
Thus foming all for rage at mouth, with sighes, and sobs, & grones,
His damned head ten thousand times, as oft his weryed bones
He beats. And often puffing makes, and roares, and swels, & sweats.
And on the Gods for death hee calles, for Death hee still entreats,
Three times he did begin to speake: and thryse his tong did stay.
At length he cried out alowd: O wretch. Away, away.
Away thou monstrous Beast (he sayd:) wilt thou prolong thy lyfe?
Nay rather some man strike this breast with strooke of bloudy knyfe.
Or all you Gods aboue on mee your flaming fiers outcast:
And dints of Thunderbolts down throw. This is my prayer last.
What greedy vile deuouring Gripe, vpon my guts will gnaw?
That Tigre fierce my hatefull limmes will quight a sunder draw?
Loe, here I am you Gods: Loe, heere, wreke now on me your will:
Now, now you fyry Feendes of Hell, of vengeaunce take your fill.
Send out some wilde outragious beast send Dogs mee to deuoure.
Or els all ils you can deuise, at once vpon me powre.
O wofull soule. O sinfull wretch. Why dost thou feare to dye?
Death only rids frō woes thou knowst. Than stoutly Death defie.
With that his bloudy fatall Blade, from out his sheath he drawes.
And lowd he roses, wt thūdring voice, Thou beast why dost thou pawse?
Thy Father cursed caitife thou, thy Father thou hast slayne
And in thy Mothers bed hast left an euerduring stayne.
And Brothers thou hast got: nay Sons thou liest: thy Brothers all
They are. Thus for thy monstrous lust thy Countrey down doth fall.
And thinkst thou than for all these ils enough so short a payne?
Thynkst thou the Gods will be apeasde, if thou forth with be slayne?
So many mischiefes don: and ist enough one stroke to byde?
Account'ste thou it sufficient paynes, that once thy sword should glide
Quight through thy guilty breast for all? why than dispatch and dye.
So maist thou recompence thy Fathers death sufficiently.
Let it be so: what mends vnto thy Mother wilt thou make?
Unto thy children what? these plagues (O wretch) how wilt thou slake?
That thus for thee thy countrey wastes? One push shall ende them all.
A proper fetch. A fine deuise. For thee a worthy fall.
Inuent thou monstrous beast forthwith: a fall euen worthy for
Thy selfe inuent: whom all men hate and loth, and doe abhor.
And as dame Natures lawfull course is broke (O wretch) by thee.
So let to such a mischiefe great, thy Death agreeing bee.
O that I might a thousand times, my wretched lyfe renewe.
O that I might reuyue and dye by course in order dewe.
Ten hundred thousand times & more: than should I vengeance take
Upon this wretched head. Than I perhaps in part should make
A meete amends in deede, for this my fowle and lothsom Sin.
Than should the proofe of payne reproue the life that I liue in.
The choyse is in thy hand thou wretch, than vse thine owne discretion.
And finde a meanes, whereby thou maist come to extreame confusion.
And that, that oft thou maist not doe, let it prolonged bee.
Thus, thus, maist thou procure at length an endlesse death to thee.
Serch out a death whereby thou mayst perpetuall shame obtayne:
And yet not dye. But still to liue in euerlasting payne.
Why stayst thou man? Go to I say: what meane these blubbring teares?
Why weepst thou thus? Alas to late. Leaue of thy foolysh feares.
And ist enough to weepe thinkst thou? shall teares and wayling serue?
No wretch it shall not be. Thou dost ten thousand deaths deserue.
Myne eyes doe dally with mee I see, and teares doe still out powre.
Shall teares suffice? No, no, not so I shall them better scowre,
Out with thine Eyes (he sayd:) and than with fury fierce enflam'de.
Like to a bloudy raging Feend and monstrous beast vntam'de.
With fiery flaming spotted Cheekes his breast he often beats.
And scratch, and teare his Face hee doth and Skin a sunder freats.
That scarse his eyes in head could stand so sore he them besets.
With furious fierce outrageous minde hee stamps and cries alowd:
And roares & rayles, with ramping rage. Thus in this case he stood,
Perplext, and vexed sore in minde, with deadly sighs and teares.
When sodenly all franticklike himselfe from ground hee reares.
And rooteth out his wretched Eyes, and sight a sunder teares.
Than gnasheth bee his bloudy Teeth, and bites, and gnawes, & champs,
His Eyes all bathd and brude in bloud, for fury fierce he stamps.
And raging more than needes (alas,) his Eyes quight rooted out:
The very holes in vayne hee scrapes so sore the wretch doth dout:
Least sight should chaunce for to remayne he rents and mangels quight
His Face, his Nose, his Mouth, and all whereon his hands do light
Hee rygs and ryues. Thus fowly rayd (alas) in piteous plight:
At length his head aloft he lifts, and therewith geues a shright.
And whan he sees that all is gone, both light, and sight, and all.
Than schriching out: he thus begins vpon the Gods to call.
Now spare you Gods, now spare at length my countrey prest to fall.
I haue done that you did cōmaund: Your wraths reuenged bee.
This wretched looke, this mangled face, is fittest now for mee.
Thus speaking, down the blackish bloud by streams doth gushing flow
Into his mouth. And clottred lumps of flesh the place doth strow.
Wherein hee standes.
Beware betimes, by him beware, I speake vnto you all.
Learne Iustice, truth, and feare of God by his vnhappy fall.

Chorus.
Mans lyfe wt tumbling fatal course of fortunes wheele is rowld,
To it giue place for it doth run all swiftly vncontrowld.
And Cares & teares are spent in vayn, for it cannot be stayed:
Syth hie decree of heauenly powers perforce must be obayed.
What mankind bydes or does on earth it cōmeth from aboue,
Then wayling grones powrd out in griefe do nought at all behoue.
Our life must haue her pointed course, (alas) what shall I say.
As fates decree, so things do run, no man can make them stay.
For at our byrth to Gods is known our latter dying day.
No Prayer, no Arte, not God himselfe may fatall fates resist.
But fastned all in fixed course, vnchaunged they persist.
Such ende them still ensues as they appointed were to haue,
Than fly all feare of Fortunes chaung, seeke not to lyue a slaue
Enthrald in bondage vyle to feare. For feare doth often bring
Destnies that dreaded ben and mischiefs feard vpon vs fling.
Yea many a man hath come vnto his fatall ende by feare.
Wherefore set peuish feare aside, and worthy courage beare.
And thou that subiect art to death. Regard thy latter day.
Thinke no man blest before his ende. Aduise thee well and stay.
Be sure his lyfe, and death, and all, be quight exempt from mysery:
Ere thou do once presume to say: this man is blest and happy.
But out alas, see where he coms: a wretch withouten Guide,
Bereft of sight. Halfe spoyld of lyfe: without all Pomp, and Pride
(That vnto Kings Estate belongs.)

THE SECOND SCENE.

OEdipus.
Chorus, Iocasta.
Well , well, tis done: more yet? No, no, no mischiefs more remaynes.
My Fathers Rytes performed are. What God on Mysers paynes
That rues within this Cloud hath rolde, and wrapt my wretched Pate.
Ah sir: this is a life alone. This is a happy State.
This is a case ene fit for thee, for thee thou wretch, for thee.
From whose accursed sight the Sun, the Stars and all doe flee.
Yet mischiefs more, who giues to doe? The dreadfull day I haue
Escapt. Thou filthy Paracide: thou vile mischieuous Slaue.
Unto thy right hand nought thou owst, all things performed bee.
O woe is mee that euer I liu'de this lucklesse day to see.
Where am I now? Alas, alas, the light and all doth mee
Abhor: O wretched OEdipus this looke is first for thee.

CHO.
See, see, where Iocasta coms, with fierce and furious moode,
Quight past her selfe. For very rage shee frets and waxeth woode.
Much like to Cadmus daughter mad, who late hir Sonne did kill.
Fayne would she speake her mynde: for feare (alas) she dares not: still
Shee stayes, and yet from out her breast these ills haue quight exilde
All shamefastnes. See how shee lookes, with coūt'naunce fierce & wilde.

IO.
Fayne would I speake, I am afraide. For what should I thee call
My Son? doubt not. Thou art my Son. My Son thou art for all
These mischiefs great: alas, alas I shame my Son to see.
O cruell Son. Where dost thou turn thy Face? Why dost thou flee
From me. From me thy Mother deare? Why dost thou shun my sight?
And leaue me thus in misery, with Cares consumed quight.

OE.
Who troubles me? Let me alone. I thought not to be founde:
Who now restores myne Eyes to mee, Mother? or Mothers sounde?
Our labour all is spent in vayne, now may wee meete no more.
The Seas deuide those meetings vile that wee haue had before.
The gaping earth deuide vs both, th'one from th'other quight.
Still let our feete repugnant bee. So shall I shun the light
That most of all me grieues. So shall I space obtaine to wayle
These bleeding woes on euery side, that doe my thoughtes assayle.

IOC.
The Destenies are in fault. Blame them. Alas, alas, not wee.

OED.
Spare now. Leaue of to speake in vayne, spare now O Mother mee,
By these Reliques of my dismembred body I thee pray.
By myne vnhappy Children pledges left. What shall I say?
By all the Gods I thee beseech. By all that in my name
Is good or bad, let mee alone. Alas you are to blame
To trouble mee. You see what hell my haplesse heart doth payne.
You see that in my Conscience ten thousand horrors raine.

IOC.
O dying heart: O sindrownd soule. Why dost thou faint alas?
Why dost thou seeke and toyle in vayne these ills to ouerpas?
What meane these sighes, & scalding teares? why dost thou death refuse?
Thou mate of all his mischiefs thou, by whose meanes onely rues
The law of nature all: by whom, Ah, Ah, confounded lies,
Both God, and man, and beast, and all that eyther liues or dies.
Die thou, dispatch at once thrust through thy vile incestuous brest:
Thou hast none other meanes (alas) to set thine heart at rest.
Not thou, if God him selfe, if he his flaming fiers should throw
On thee, or mischiefs all by heapes vpon thy body strow
Couldst once for thy deserued ills due paines or vengeaunce pay:
Some meanes therefore to wreak Gods wrath vpon thy selfe assay.
Death, death now best contenteth mee, then seeke a way to dye.
So maist thou yet at length finde end for all thy misery.
O Son lend mee thy hand: sith that thou art a Paracyde.
This labour last of all remaynes, this labour thee doth byde.
Dispatch rid mee thy mother deare from all my deadly woe
It will not be: no prayers auaile. Thy selfe this deede must doe.
Take vp this sword. Goe to, with this thy husbande late was slayne.
Husband? thou term'st him false: hee was thy syer: O deadly payne.
Shal I quight through my brest it driue? or through my throte it thrust?
Canst thou not choose thy wound? away: die, die, (alas) thou must.
This hateful womb then woūd (O wretch) this, this wt thine own hand
Strike, strike it hard: (O spare it not) sith both a husband, and
(The same a Son it bare.)

CHOR.
Alas, alas, shee is slaine, she is slayne, dispatched with a push:
Who euer sawe the like to this: see how the bloud doth gush.
O heauy doulfull case: who can this dyrefull sight enduer
Which for the hideousnesse thereof might teares of stones procuer.

OED.
Thou God, thou teller out of Fates. On thee, on thee, I call,
My Father onely I did owe, vnto the Destnies all.
Now twise a Paracide, and worse than I did feare to bee:
My Mother I haue slayne. (Alas) the fault is all in mee.
O OEdipus accursed wretch, lament thine owne Calamity,
Lament thy state, thy griefe lament, thou Caitife borne to misery.
Where wilt thou now become (alas?) thy Face where wilt thou hyde:
O myserable Slaue, canst thou such shamefull tormentes byde?
Canst thou which hast thy Parents slain? Canst thou prolong thy life?
Wilt thou not dye? deseruing Death: thou cause of all the griefe,
And Plagues, and dreadfull mischiefs all that Thebane City prease.
Why dost thou seeke by longer life, thy sorrowes to encrease?
Why dost thou toyle and labour thus in vayne? It will not bee.
Both God, and man: and beast, and all abhorre thy Face to see.
O Earth why gapst thou not for me? why doe you not vnfolde
You gates of hell mee to receaue? why doe you hence withholde?
The fierce Infernall Feends from me, from me so wretched wight?
Why breake not all the Furyes lose this hatefull head to smight
With Plagues? which them deserued hath (alas) I am left alone,
Both light, and sight, and comfort all from mee (O wretch) is gone.
O cursed head: O wicked wight, whom all men deadly hate.
O Beast, what meanst thou still to liue in this vnhappy state?
The Skies doe blush and are ashamd, at these thy mischiefes great
The Earth laments, ye Heauens weepe, the Seas for rage doe freat.
And blustring rise, and stormes doe stir, and all thou wretch for thee.
By whose incest, and bloudy deedes all things disturbed bee.
Quight out of course, displaced quight, O cursed fatall day.
O mischiefes great, O dreadfull times, O wretch, away, away.
Exile thy selfe from all mens sight, thy life halfe spent in misery,
Goe end consume it now outright in thrise as great calamity.
O lying Phœbe thine Oracles my sin, and shame surmount:
My Mothers death amongst my deedes, thou neuer didst recount.
A meete Exploict for me that am to Nature deadly Foe.
With trembling fearefull pace goe forth, thou wretched monster goe,
Grope out thy wayes on knees in darke thou miserable Slaue.
So maist thou yet in tract of time due paynes, and vengeaunce haue,
For thy mischeuous lyfe. Thus, thus, the Gods themselues decree.
Thus, thus, thy Fates: thus, thus, the skyes appoint it for to bee.
Then headlong hence, with a mischiefe hence, thou caitife vyle away.
Away, away, thou monstrous Beast. Goe, Run. Stand, stay,
Least on thy Mother thou doe fall.