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 | Hippolytus, Medea, Agamemnon, Herculas Oetaeus |  |
Medea. Nutrix,
For godsake (Madame) I you pray your tongue to silence frame.
Eke hyde your priuy languishing and greefe in secret vayne:
Who with a modest minde abides the Spurs of pricking payne,
And suffereth sorrowes paciently, may it repay agayne.
Who beares a priuy grudge in breast, and keepes his malyce close,
When least suspection is thereof, may most annoy his Foes.
He leeseth oportunity who vengeaunce doth requyre,
That shewes by open sparkes the flame the heate of kindled fyre.
ME.
Small is the grype of griefe that can to reasons lore obay,
And sneking downe with stealing steps can slyly slip away.
But they that throughly sowsed are with showers of greater payne,
Can not digest such corsyes sharpe, but cast it vp agayne:
Fayne would I giue them trouncing girds.
NV.
Good daughter deare asswage
Th'unbrydled sway, and boyling heate of this thy gyddy rage:
Scant maist thou purchase quietnesse, although thou hold thy tongue.
ME.
The valiaunt heart dame Fortune yet durst neuer harme wt wrōg,
But dreading dastards downe she driues.
NV.
If any corage dure,
And harbred be in noble breast, now put the same in vre.
ME.
The show of sturdy valiant heart, at any time doth shyne.
NV.
No hope doth in aduersity thy way to scape assygne.
ME.
Hee that hath none affiaunce left, nor any hope at all,
Yet let him not mystrust the luck of ought that may befall.
NV.
Thy Countrey cleane hath cast thee of, to let thee sinke or swim,
As for thy husband Iason bee, there is no trust in him:
Of all the wealth, and worldly mucke wherewith thou didst abounde:
No porcion remaynes at all, whereby some helpe is founde.
ME.
Medea yet is left, (to much) and here thou mayst espy
The Seas to succour vs in flyght, and landes aloofe that ly:
Yea yron tooles, with burning brands we haue to worke them woe,
And Gods that with the thunder dint shall ouerquell our foe:
NV.
Who weares ye goldēcrested crowne him dred with awe yee should.
ME.
My Father was a King, yet I betrayed his Fleece of gould.
NV.
Can not the deadly vyolence of weapons make thee feare?
ME.
No, though such grisly Lads they were, as whilom did appeare.
That bred of gargell Dragons teeth in holow gaping grounde,
When mutually in bloudy fight eche other did confounde.
N.
Thē wilt thou cast thy self to death.
M.
Would God yt I were dead.
NV.
Fly, fly to saue thy life.
ME.
Woe worth the time that once I fled.
N.
What O Medea.
M.
Why shall I fly?
N.
A mother deere art thou,
Fly therefore for thy childrens sake.
ME.
Yee see by whom, and how,
A wretched Mother I am made.
NV.
Thy lyfe by flight to saue
Dost thou mistrust?
ME.
Nay, fly I will, but vengeaunce first ile haue.
NV.
Then some shall thee at heeles pursue, to wrecke the same agayne.
ME.
Perhap ile make his cōming short.
NV.
Be still, and now refrayne
O despret dame thy thundring threates, and slake your raging ire.
Apply, and frame thy froward will as time and tides requyre.
ME.
Full well may fortunes welting wheele to begging bring my state,
As for my worthy corage, that shee, neuer shall abate.
Who bowncing at the Gates, doth cause the creaking dores to Iar?
It is the wretch (Creon his selfe,) whom princely power far
Hath lift aloft, with lordly looke, puft vp with pouncing pryde,
That hee may Corinth countrey, with the sway of Scepter guide.
Aye
mee, (alas) I am vndone, For at the Brydall cheare,
The warble note of wedding songs resounded in mine eare.
Yet for all this scant I my selfe, yet scant beleue I can,
That Iason would play such a prancke, as most vnthāckfull man,
Both of my Countrey, and my Syre, and kingdome me to spoyle,
And yet forsake mee wretch forlorne, to stray in forrein soyle.
O hath he such a stony heart, that doth no more esteeme,
The great good turnes, and benefits that I imployde on him?
Who knowes, that I haue lewdly vsed enchauntments for his sake,
The rigour rough, and stormy rage, of swelling Seas to slake.
The grunting firy foming Bulles, whose smoking guts were sluft,
With smoltring fumes, that frō theyr Iawes, & nosthrils out they puft.
I stopt their gnashīg moūching mouths, I quēcht their burning breath,
And vapors hot of stewing paunch, that els had wrought his death,
Or feedes hee thus his fansy fond, to thinke my skill of charme
Abated is, and that I haue no power to doe him harme?
Bestract of wits, with wauering minde perplext on euery part,
I tossed, and turmoyled am, wyth wayward crasy hart.
Now this, now that, and neyther now, but now another way,
By diuers meanes I toyle, that so my wrong reueng I may.
I would the wretch a brother had: but what? he hath a Wyfe.
Goe cut her throate, with gastly wounds bereue her of her lyfe.
On her ile worke my deadly spight: her, her alone I craue,
To quit such bitter sowsing stormes, as I sustayned haue.
If any graund notorious guilt in all Pelasga Land
Be put in practise, yet vnknowne vnto thy harming hand,
Thereof to get experience the time doth now begin:
Thy former feates doe byd thee take good hope, to thryue herein:
Let all thy guilts with thronging thick assemble thee to ayde,
The golden Fleece (the chiefe Nouell) of Colchis Ile betrayde.
My tender Brother eke, that with my Syer did mee pursue,
Whom with his secret partes cut of, I wicked Uirgin slewe,
Whose shreaded and dismembred corps, with sword in gobbits hewd,
(A wofull Coarse toth' Fathers heart) on Pontus ground I strewd.
How hory headded Pelias his wythred age to shyft
To greener yeares, for longer lyfe: his daughters by my dryft
His members all and mangled flesh with licour scalding hot
Ysodden, and perboyled haue, in seething brasen pot.
How oft in haynous bloud haue these my cruell handes bene dyed?
And neuer any guilt as yet by wrath inflamde I tryed.
But now the parlous poysning wound of Cupids percing dart,
Doth boyle and rage within my breast, it ranckles at my hart.
But how could Iason it redresse, whom fortunes froward wyll
Hath yeelde vnto anothers hande, at lust to saue or spill?
O rage of rufty cancred minde, this sclaundrous talke amende,
If Fortunes grace will graunt it thus, let him vnto his ende
Lyue still my Iason as he was: but if not Iason myne,
Yet caytife suffer Iason liue, though Iason none of thyne:
Who being mindefull still of vs some fauour let him showe,
For these good turnes that our good will could earst on him bestowe:
King Creon is in all the fault, and onely worthy blame,
Who puffed vp with Scepter proude, vnable for to frame
His fickle minde to modesty, made breach twixt vs agayne,
Whom Hymens bands, and link of loue had made but one of twayne,
By whom eke from her tender brats the mother (wretch) is drawne,
Hee breakes the vowe, that gaged is with such a precious pawne.
Seeke after such a villaynes bloud, in daunting pangs of smart,
Let him alone bee surely dowst, such is his due desart,
A dungell hept of Cinders burnt his Pallayce make I shall,
That Malea where in winding strights, the lingring ships doe crall,
Shall gase on smolthring turrets tops turmoylde in crackling flame.
NV.
The warble note of wedding songs resounded in mine eare.
Yet for all this scant I my selfe, yet scant beleue I can,
That Iason would play such a prancke, as most vnthāckfull man,
Both of my Countrey, and my Syre, and kingdome me to spoyle,
And yet forsake mee wretch forlorne, to stray in forrein soyle.
O hath he such a stony heart, that doth no more esteeme,
The great good turnes, and benefits that I imployde on him?
Who knowes, that I haue lewdly vsed enchauntments for his sake,
The rigour rough, and stormy rage, of swelling Seas to slake.
The grunting firy foming Bulles, whose smoking guts were sluft,
With smoltring fumes, that frō theyr Iawes, & nosthrils out they puft.
I stopt their gnashīg moūching mouths, I quēcht their burning breath,
And vapors hot of stewing paunch, that els had wrought his death,
Or feedes hee thus his fansy fond, to thinke my skill of charme
Abated is, and that I haue no power to doe him harme?
[122]
I tossed, and turmoyled am, wyth wayward crasy hart.
Now this, now that, and neyther now, but now another way,
By diuers meanes I toyle, that so my wrong reueng I may.
I would the wretch a brother had: but what? he hath a Wyfe.
Goe cut her throate, with gastly wounds bereue her of her lyfe.
On her ile worke my deadly spight: her, her alone I craue,
To quit such bitter sowsing stormes, as I sustayned haue.
If any graund notorious guilt in all Pelasga Land
Be put in practise, yet vnknowne vnto thy harming hand,
Thereof to get experience the time doth now begin:
Thy former feates doe byd thee take good hope, to thryue herein:
Let all thy guilts with thronging thick assemble thee to ayde,
The golden Fleece (the chiefe Nouell) of Colchis Ile betrayde.
My tender Brother eke, that with my Syer did mee pursue,
Whom with his secret partes cut of, I wicked Uirgin slewe,
Whose shreaded and dismembred corps, with sword in gobbits hewd,
(A wofull Coarse toth' Fathers heart) on Pontus ground I strewd.
How hory headded Pelias his wythred age to shyft
To greener yeares, for longer lyfe: his daughters by my dryft
His members all and mangled flesh with licour scalding hot
Ysodden, and perboyled haue, in seething brasen pot.
How oft in haynous bloud haue these my cruell handes bene dyed?
And neuer any guilt as yet by wrath inflamde I tryed.
But now the parlous poysning wound of Cupids percing dart,
Doth boyle and rage within my breast, it ranckles at my hart.
But how could Iason it redresse, whom fortunes froward wyll
Hath yeelde vnto anothers hande, at lust to saue or spill?
O rage of rufty cancred minde, this sclaundrous talke amende,
If Fortunes grace will graunt it thus, let him vnto his ende
Lyue still my Iason as he was: but if not Iason myne,
Yet caytife suffer Iason liue, though Iason none of thyne:
Who being mindefull still of vs some fauour let him showe,
For these good turnes that our good will could earst on him bestowe:
King Creon is in all the fault, and onely worthy blame,
Who puffed vp with Scepter proude, vnable for to frame
His fickle minde to modesty, made breach twixt vs agayne,
Whom Hymens bands, and link of loue had made but one of twayne,
By whom eke from her tender brats the mother (wretch) is drawne,
Hee breakes the vowe, that gaged is with such a precious pawne.
124
Let him alone bee surely dowst, such is his due desart,
A dungell hept of Cinders burnt his Pallayce make I shall,
That Malea where in winding strights, the lingring ships doe crall,
Shall gase on smolthring turrets tops turmoylde in crackling flame.
For godsake (Madame) I you pray your tongue to silence frame.
Eke hyde your priuy languishing and greefe in secret vayne:
Who with a modest minde abides the Spurs of pricking payne,
And suffereth sorrowes paciently, may it repay agayne.
Who beares a priuy grudge in breast, and keepes his malyce close,
When least suspection is thereof, may most annoy his Foes.
He leeseth oportunity who vengeaunce doth requyre,
That shewes by open sparkes the flame the heate of kindled fyre.
ME.
Small is the grype of griefe that can to reasons lore obay,
And sneking downe with stealing steps can slyly slip away.
But they that throughly sowsed are with showers of greater payne,
Can not digest such corsyes sharpe, but cast it vp agayne:
Fayne would I giue them trouncing girds.
NV.
Good daughter deare asswage
Th'unbrydled sway, and boyling heate of this thy gyddy rage:
Scant maist thou purchase quietnesse, although thou hold thy tongue.
ME.
The valiaunt heart dame Fortune yet durst neuer harme wt wrōg,
But dreading dastards downe she driues.
NV.
If any corage dure,
And harbred be in noble breast, now put the same in vre.
ME.
The show of sturdy valiant heart, at any time doth shyne.
NV.
No hope doth in aduersity thy way to scape assygne.
ME.
Hee that hath none affiaunce left, nor any hope at all,
Yet let him not mystrust the luck of ought that may befall.
NV.
Thy Countrey cleane hath cast thee of, to let thee sinke or swim,
As for thy husband Iason bee, there is no trust in him:
Of all the wealth, and worldly mucke wherewith thou didst abounde:
No porcion remaynes at all, whereby some helpe is founde.
ME.
Medea yet is left, (to much) and here thou mayst espy
The Seas to succour vs in flyght, and landes aloofe that ly:
Yea yron tooles, with burning brands we haue to worke them woe,
And Gods that with the thunder dint shall ouerquell our foe:
NV.
Who weares ye goldēcrested crowne him dred with awe yee should.
ME.
My Father was a King, yet I betrayed his Fleece of gould.
NV.
Can not the deadly vyolence of weapons make thee feare?
ME.
No, though such grisly Lads they were, as whilom did appeare.
[124]
When mutually in bloudy fight eche other did confounde.
N.
Thē wilt thou cast thy self to death.
M.
Would God yt I were dead.
NV.
Fly, fly to saue thy life.
ME.
Woe worth the time that once I fled.
N.
What O Medea.
M.
Why shall I fly?
N.
A mother deere art thou,
Fly therefore for thy childrens sake.
ME.
Yee see by whom, and how,
A wretched Mother I am made.
NV.
Thy lyfe by flight to saue
Dost thou mistrust?
ME.
Nay, fly I will, but vengeaunce first ile haue.
NV.
Then some shall thee at heeles pursue, to wrecke the same agayne.
ME.
Perhap ile make his cōming short.
NV.
Be still, and now refrayne
O despret dame thy thundring threates, and slake your raging ire.
Apply, and frame thy froward will as time and tides requyre.
ME.
Full well may fortunes welting wheele to begging bring my state,
As for my worthy corage, that shee, neuer shall abate.
Who bowncing at the Gates, doth cause the creaking dores to Iar?
It is the wretch (Creon his selfe,) whom princely power far
Hath lift aloft, with lordly looke, puft vp with pouncing pryde,
That hee may Corinth countrey, with the sway of Scepter guide.
| Hippolytus, Medea, Agamemnon, Herculas Oetaeus | |