 | The Sixte Tragedie of the most Grave and prude[n]t Author Lvcivs Annaevs Seneca, entituled Troas |  |
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THE FOVRTH ACTE.
Helena,Andromacha, Hecuba
What euer woeful wedding yet, were cause of funerall,
Of wayling, teares, bloud, slaughter els or other mischiefes all,
A worthy match for Helena, and meete for me it ware,
My wedding torch hath bene the cause of al The Troyans care.
I am constraynd to hurt them yet, after their ouerthrow,
The false and fayned mariages of Pyrrhus must I showe.
And geue the mayde the Greekes attyre and by my pollecy:
Shal Paris sister be betrayd and by disceypt shal die.
But let her be beguiled thus, the lesse should be her payne
If that vnware without the feare of death: she might be slayne.
What ceasest thou the wil of Greekes, and messuage to fulfill?
Of hurt constraynd the fault returnth to th'auter of the ill.
O noble Uirgin of the famous house and stocke of Troy,
To thee the Grecians haue me sent I bring thee newes of ioy,
The Gods rue on thy afflicted state more merciful they bee,
A greate and happy maryage loe, they haue prepard for thee.
Thou neuer should if Troy had stoode, so nobly wedded be,
Nor Priam neuer could prefer thee to so hie degree.
Whom flowre of all the Grecians name the prince of honour hie,
That beares the Scepters ouer all, the lande of Thessaly
Doth in the law of wedlocke chose, and for his wyse require.
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Loe Thetis great with al the rest, of Gods that guide by sea.
Each one shall thee accompt as theirs and ioy by wedding day.
And Peleus shal thee daughter call when thou art Pirrhus wyfe,
And Nereus shall accompt thee his the space of all thy life.
Put of thy monrning garment now, this regall vesture weare
Fogret henceforth thy captiue state and seemly broyd thy hayre.
Thy fall hath lift thee higher vp, and doth thee more aduaunce
Oft to be taken in the warre doth bring the better chaunce
An.
This ill the Troyans neuer knew in all their griefs and payne
Before this tyme ye neuer made vs to reioyce in vayne.
Troy towres geue light, O seemely tyme for mariage to be made,
Who would refuse the wedding day that Helayne doth perswade?
The Plague and ruine of each parte behold dost thou not see,
These tombes of noble men, and how their bones here scattered bee?
Thy brydebed hath bene cause of this for thee all these be ded
For thee the bloud of Asia both and Europe hath bene shed.
When thou in ioy and pleasure both the fighting folke from farre,
Hast viewde: in doubt to whom to wish the glory of the warre.
Goe to, prepare the mariages, what neede the Torches light?
Behold the Towres of Troy do shine with brands that blase ful bright.
O Troyans all set to your handes, this wedlocke celebrate:
Lament this day with woeful cry and teares in seemly rate.
Hel.
Though care do cause the want of wit, and reasons rule denye,
And heauy hap doth ofttymes hate his mates in misery
Yet I before most hateful iudge dare wel defend my part,
That I of all your greuous cares sustayne the greatest smart.
Andromacha for Hector weepes, for Priam Hecuba,
For onely Paris priuily bewayleth Helena.
A hard and grieuous thing it is captiuity to beare,
In Troy that yoke I suffred long a prisoner whole ten yeare.
Turnd are the fates, Troy beaten downe, to Greece I must repeare,
The natiue countrey to haue lost is ill, but worse to feare.
For dread therof you neede not care your euilles all be past,
On me both partes wil vengeance take al lightes to me at last.
Whom each man prisoner takes God wot shee standes in slipper stay,
And me not captiue made by lot yet Paris led away,
I haue bene cause of all these wars, and then your woes were wrought,
When first your shippes the Spartayn Seas & land of Grecia sought.
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And for reward to her beautyes iudge shee had appoynted me,
Then pardon Paris: thinke this thing in wrathful iudge doth lie,
The sentence Monelaus geues, and he this case shall trye.
Now turne thy playntes Andromacha, and weepe for Polyxeyne
Mine eyes for sorrowes of my hart theyr teares may not refrayne.
An.
Alas, what care makes Heleyn weepe? what griefe doth she lament?
Declare what craftes Vlisses castes, what mischiefe hath he sent?
Shall shee from height of Idey hil be hedlong tombled downe?
Or else out of the turrets toppe in Troy shal she be throwne?
Or wil they cast her from the clieues into Sygeon seas?
In bottom of the surging waues to end her ruthful days?
Show what thy countnaunce hides and tell the secrets of thy breast:
Some woes in Pyrhus wedding are farre worse then all the rest.
Go to, geue sentence on the mayd, pronounce her desteny:
Delude no longer our mishappes, we are prepard to die.
H.
Would God the'xpoūder of the Gods would geue his dome so right
That I also on poynt of sword might leese the lothsome light,
Or at Achilles tombe with stroake of Pyrrhus hand be slayne:
And beare a part of al thy fates O wretched Polixeyne.
Whom yet Achilles woeth to wed, and where his ashes lie,
Requireth that thy bloud be shed, and at his tombe to die.
An.
Behold loe how her noble mynd of Death doth gladly heare,
She deckes her selfe: her regal weede in seemely wyse to weare,
And to her head she settes her hand the broyded hayre to lay,
To wed she thought it Death, to die she thinkes a wedding day
But help? (alas) my mother sounds to heare her daughters death,
Aryse plucke vp your heart and take agayne the panting breath.
Alacke good mother how slender stay, that doth thy life sustayne?
A little thinge shall happy thee thou art almost past payne.
Her breath returnes: she doth reuyue, her lims their life do take.
So see when wretches fayne would die, how death doth them forsake.
Hec.
Doth yet Achilles liue (alas) to work the Troyans spight?
Doth he rebell agaynst vs yet? O hand of Paris light.
The very tombe and ashes loe, yet thirsteth for our bloud,
A happy heape of children late on euery syde mee stoode.
It wearied me to deale the mothers kisse among them al,
The rest are lost, and this alone now doth me mother call.
Thou onely child of Hecuba, a comfort left to me.
Depart O wretched soule, and from this carefull carcas flie,
And ease me of such ruthfull fates, to see my daughter die.
My weepyng wets (alas) my eyes, and staines them ouer al,
And downe my cheekes the sodeine streames and showres of teares do fal.
But thou deare daughter maist be glad, Cassandra would reioyse,
Or Hectors wife thus wed to be if they might haue their choyse.
And.
We are the wretches Hecuba in cursed case we stande.
Whom straight the shippe shal tosse by seas into a forraine land.
But as for Heleyns grieues be gone and turned to the best,
She shall againe her natyue countrey se and liue at rest.
Hele.
Ye would the more enuy my state if ye might know your owne,
Andr.
And grouth there yet more griefe to me that erst I haue not known?
Hele.
Such masters must ye serue as doth by chaunce of lots befal.
Andr.
Whose seruaunt am I then become whom shall I maister call?
Hele.
By lot ye fall to Pyrhus hands you are his prisoner.
Andr
Cassandra is happy, fury saues perhaps and Phœbus her.
Hele.
Chiefe kinge of Greekes Cassandra keepes and his captiue is shee.
Hec.
Is any one amonge them all that prysoner would haue me?
Hele
You chaunsed to Ulysses are his pray ye are become.
Hec.
Alas what cruell, dyre and yrefull dealer of the dome.
What god vniust doth so deuide, the captiues to their lordes?
What grieuous arbiter is he? that to such choyce accordes,
What cruel hand to wretched folke, so euil fates hath caste?
Who hath amonge Achilles armour, Hectors mothers plaste?
Now am I captiue, and beset with all calamitie.
My bondage grieues me not, but him to serue it shameth mee.
He that Achilles spoyles hath won, shall Hectors also haue:
Shall barraine lande enclosde with seas receiue my boanes in graue?
Leade me Ulysses where thou wylt, leade me. I make no stay,
My master I, and me my fates, shall follow euery way.
Let neuer calme come to the seas, but let them rage with winde,
Come fire and sword, mine owne mischaunce and Priams let me finde.
In meane time haps this deepe distres my cares can know no calme:
I ran the race with Priamus, but he hath won the Palme,
But Pyrrhus comes with swiftned pace & thretning browes doth wrest.
What stayste thou Pyrrhus? strike thy sword now through this woful brest.
And both at ones the parents of thy fathers wife now slay,
Murderer of age, likes thee her bloud? he draw my daughter away
Defile the gods and staine the sprights, of hel with slaughtred bloud,
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The vengeance aske I on your ships, that it the gods may pleas,
According to this sacrifice, to guide you on the seas.
This wishe I to your thousand sayles, Gods wrath light on them all,
Euen to the ship that beareth me, what euer may befall.
Chorus.
A comfort is to mans calamity
A dolefull flocke of felowes in distres.
And sweete to him that mournes in miserie
To here them wayle whom sorowes like oppres
In deepest care his griefe him bites the les,
That his estate bewayles not all alone,
But seeth with him the teares of many one.
A dolefull flocke of felowes in distres.
And sweete to him that mournes in miserie
To here them wayle whom sorowes like oppres
In deepest care his griefe him bites the les,
That his estate bewayles not all alone,
But seeth with him the teares of many one.
For still it is the chiefe delight in woe,
And ioy of them that sonke in sorrowes are,
To see like fates by fall to many moe,
That may take part of all their wofull fare,
And not alone to be opprest with care.
There is no wight of woe that doth complayne,
When all the rest do like mischaunce sustayne.
And ioy of them that sonke in sorrowes are,
To see like fates by fall to many moe,
That may take part of all their wofull fare,
And not alone to be opprest with care.
There is no wight of woe that doth complayne,
When all the rest do like mischaunce sustayne.
In all this world if happy man were none,
None (though he were) would thinke himselfe a wretch.
Let once the ritch with heapes of Gold be gone,
Whose hundred head his pastours ouerretch,
Then would the poore mans hart begin to stretch.
There is no wretch whose life him doth displease,
But in respect of those that liue at ease.
None (though he were) would thinke himselfe a wretch.
Let once the ritch with heapes of Gold be gone,
Whose hundred head his pastours ouerretch,
Then would the poore mans hart begin to stretch.
There is no wretch whose life him doth displease,
But in respect of those that liue at ease.
Sweete is to him that standes in deepe distresse,
To see no man in ioyful plight to bee,
Whose onely vessel wind and waue oppresse,
Ful sore his chaunce bewayles and weepeth hee,
That with his owne none others wracke doth see
When he alone makes shipwracke one the sand,
And naked falles to long desyred land.
To see no man in ioyful plight to bee,
Whose onely vessel wind and waue oppresse,
Ful sore his chaunce bewayles and weepeth hee,
That with his owne none others wracke doth see
When he alone makes shipwracke one the sand,
And naked falles to long desyred land.
A thousande sayle who seeth to drench in Seas,
With better will the storme hath ouerpast
His heauy hap doth him the lesse displease
When broaken boardes abroade be many cast,
And shipwrackt shippes to shore they flit ful fast,
With doubled waues when stopped is the floud,
With heaps of them that there haue lost theyr good.
With better will the storme hath ouerpast
His heauy hap doth him the lesse displease
When broaken boardes abroade be many cast,
And shipwrackt shippes to shore they flit ful fast,
With doubled waues when stopped is the floud,
With heaps of them that there haue lost theyr good.
Ful sore did Pirrhus Helens losse complayne,
What time the leader of his flocke of shepe,
Vppon his backe alone he bare them twayne,
And wet his Golden lockes amid the deepe,
In piteous playnt (alas) he gan to weepe.
The death of her it did him deepe displease,
That shipwracke made amid the drenching seas.
What time the leader of his flocke of shepe,
Vppon his backe alone he bare them twayne,
And wet his Golden lockes amid the deepe,
In piteous playnt (alas) he gan to weepe.
The death of her it did him deepe displease,
That shipwracke made amid the drenching seas.
And piteous was the playnt and heauy moode
Of woful Pyrrha and eke Deucalion
That nought beheld aboute them but the flould,
When they of all mankynd were left alone
Amid the seas ful sore they made their mone
To see themselues thus left aliue in woe
When neyther land they saw, nor fellowes moe.
Of woful Pyrrha and eke Deucalion
That nought beheld aboute them but the flould,
When they of all mankynd were left alone
Amid the seas ful sore they made their mone
To see themselues thus left aliue in woe
When neyther land they saw, nor fellowes moe.
Anone these playnts and Troyans teares shall quaile,
And here and there the ship them tosse by seas:
When trompets sound shal warne to hoyse vp sayle,
And through the waues with wind to seeke their waies
Then shall these captiues goe to ende their dayes
In land vnknowne: when once with hasty ore
The drenching deepe they take and shunne the shore.
And here and there the ship them tosse by seas:
When trompets sound shal warne to hoyse vp sayle,
And through the waues with wind to seeke their waies
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In land vnknowne: when once with hasty ore
The drenching deepe they take and shunne the shore.
What state of mynd shal then in wretches bee?
When shore shall sinke from sight and seas aryse?
When Idey hill to lurke aloofe they see?
Then poynt with hand from farre wher Troia lies,
Shall child and mother: talking in this wyse:
Loe yonder Troy, where smoke it fumeth hie,
By this the Troyans shal their countrey spie.
When shore shall sinke from sight and seas aryse?
When Idey hill to lurke aloofe they see?
Then poynt with hand from farre wher Troia lies,
Shall child and mother: talking in this wyse:
Loe yonder Troy, where smoke it fumeth hie,
By this the Troyans shal their countrey spie.
| The Sixte Tragedie of the most Grave and prude[n]t Author Lvcivs Annaevs Seneca, entituled Troas | |