University of Virginia Library

THE SIXTE TRAGEDIE OF THE MOST GRAVE & prudēt Author LVCIVS ANNÆVS SENECA, entituled TROAS, vvith diuers and sundrye Additions to the same, by IASPER HEYVVOOD.

The Argument.

The Speakers names.

• HECVBA Queene of Troy.
• A company of women.
• TALTHYBIVS a Grecian.
• AGAMEMNON King of Greeks.
• ASTYANAX.
• NVNCIVS.
• CALCHAS.
• PYRRHVS.
• CHORVS.
• ANDROMACHA
• An old man TROIAN.
• VLYSSES.
• HELENA.
• The Sprihgt of Achilles.

THE FIRST ACTE.

[THE FIRSTE SCENE.]

Hecuba.
Who so in pompe of prowde estate, or Kingdome sets delight:
Or who that ioyes in Princes courte to beare the sway of might.
Ne dreads the fates which from aboue the wauering Gods downe flinges:
But fast affiance fixed hath, in frayle and fickle thinges:
Let him in me both se the Face, of Fortunes flattering ioy:
And eke respect the ruthful end of thee (O ruinous Troy)
For neuer gaue shee playner proofe, then this ye present see:
How frayle and britle is the state of pride and high degree,
The flowre of flowring Asia, loe whose fame the heauens resound,
The Worthy worke of Gods aboue, is batered downe to ground.
And whose assaultes they sought afar, from West wt Banners spred
Where Tanais cold her braunches seuen, abroad the world doth shed.
With hugie host and from the East, where springes the newest dea,
Where Lukewarme Tygris channell runnes, and meetes the ruddy sea.
And which frō wandring land of Seythe, the band of widowes sought:
With fire and sworde thus battered be her Turrets downe to nought.
The walles but late of high renowne lo here their ruinous fall:
The buildinges burne, and flashing flame, swepes through the pallas al.
Thus euery house ful hie it smoakes, of old Assarackes lande:
Ne yet the flames withholdes from spoyle, the greedy Victors hand.
The surging smoake, the asure skye, and light hath hid away:
And (as with cloude beset) Troyes Ashes staynes the dusky day.
Through pearst with ire and greedy of hart, the victor from a farre.
Doth view the long assaulted Troy, the gaine of ten yeares warre,
And eke the miseryes therof abhorres to looke vppon,
And though he se it yet scant himselfe, belieues might be wonne,
The spoyles thereof with greedy hand, they snatch and beare awaye:
A thousand shippes would not receiue aboorde so huge a pray
The yreful might I do protest of Gods aduerse to mee,
My countryes dust, and Troyan King I call to witnes thee,
Whom Troy now hydes, and vnderneath the stones art ouertrode:
With al the Gods that guides the Ghost, and Troy that lately stoode.
And you also you flocking Ghostes of al my children dere:
Ye lesser Sprightes what euer ill, hath hapned to vs here.
What euer Phœbus watrish face, in fury hath foresayde:
At raging rise from seas when earst, the monsters had him frayde.
In childbed bandes I saw it yore, and wist it should be so:
And I in vayne before Cassandra told it long agoe.
Not false Vlysses kindled hath these fires, nor none of his:
Nor yet deceyptful Sinons craft, that hath bene cause of this.
My fyre it is wherwith ye burne, and Parys is the brand
That smoaketh in thy towres (O Troy) the flowre of Phrygian land.
But ay (alas) vnhappy age, why dost thou yet so sore,
Bewayle thy Countries fatall fall, thou knewest it long before:
Behold thy last calamityes, and them bewayle with teares:
Account as old Troys ouerturne, and past by many yeares,
I saw the slaughter of the King, and how he lost his life:
By Th'aulter sloe (more mischiefe was) with stroake of Pyrrhus knife.
When in his hand he wound his lockes, and drew the King to ground,
And hid to hiltes his wicked sword, in deepe and deadly wound.
Which when the gored King had tooke, as willing to bee slayne,
Out of the old mans throate he drew his bloudy blade agayne.
Not pitty of his yeares (alas) in mans extreamest age:
From slaughter might his hand withhold, ne yet his yre asswage:
The Gods are witnes of the same, and eake the sacrifyes,
That in his kingdome holden was, that flat on ground now lies.
The father of so many Kings Pryam of aunient name,
Untombed lieth and wants in blase of Troy: his funerall flame.
Ne yet the Gods are wreakt, but loe his Sonnes and daughters all,
Such Lordes they serue as doth by chance of lot to them befall.
Whom shall I follow now for pray? or where shall I be led
There is perhaps amonge the Greekes that Hectors wyfe will wed.
Some man desyres Helenus spouse some would Antenors haue,
And in the Greekes their wantes not some, that would Cassandra craue
But I (alas) most woeful wight whom no man seekes to chuse,
I am the only refuge left, and me they cleane refuse
Ye careful captiue company, why stints your woful crye?
Beate on your breastes and piteously complayne with voyce so hye,
As meete may be for Troyes estate, let your complayntes rebound
In toppes of Trees: and cause the hills to ring with terible sounde.

THE SECOND SCENE.

The VVoman, Hecuba.
HEC.
Ye faythful fellowes of your casualty,
Vntie thattyre, that on your heads ye weare,
And as behoueth state of misery,
Let fall aboute your woeful neckes your hayre.
In dust of Troy rub all your armes about,
In slacker weede and let your breastes be tyed
Downe to your bellies let your limmes lye out,
For what wedlocke should you your bosomes hyde?
Your garmentes loose, and haue in readines
Your furious handes vppon your breast to knocke
This habite well beseemeth our distresse,
It pleaseth me, I know the Troyan flocke
Renew agayne your longe accustomde cryes,
And more then earst lament your miseryes.
We bewayle Hector.

WO.
Our hayre we haue vntide, now euerychone,
All rent for sorrow of our cursed cace,
Our lockes out spreads, the knottes we haue vndone
And in these ashes stayned is our face.

HEC.
Fill vp your handes and make therof no spare,
For this yet lawful is from Troy to take
Let dovvne your garmentes from your shoulders bare.
And suffer not your clamour so to slake.
Your naked breastes wayte for your handes to smight
Now dolor deepe now sorrow shevv thy might:
Make all the coastes that compas Troy about
Witnes the souude of all your careful crye
Cause from the Caues the eccho to cast out:
Rebounding voyce of all your misery:
Not as she wontes, the latter word to sound
But all your woe from farre let it rebound
Let al the Seas it heare, and eke the land
Spare not your breastes vvith heauy stroake to strike
Beate ye your selues, ech one vvith cruell hand
For yet your vvonted crie doth me not like
VVe bevvayle Hector.

VVO.
Our naked armes, thus here vve rent for thee,
And bloudy shoulders, (Hector) thus vve teare:
Thus vvith our fistes, our heades lo beaten bee
And all for thee, behold vve hale our heare.
Our dugges alas, vvith mothers hands be torne
And vvhere the flesh is vvounded round about
VVhich for thy sake, vve rent thy death to morne
The flovving streames of bloud, they spring thereout.
Thy countres shore, and destinies delay.
And thou to vvearied Troians vvast an ayde,
A vvall thou vvast, and on thy shoulders Troy
Ten yeres it stode, on thee alone it staide,
VVith thee it fell: and fatall day alas
Of Hector both, and Troy but one there vvas.

HEC.
Enough hath Hector: turne your plaint and mone
And shed your teares for Pryame euery chone.

VVO.
Receiue our plaintes, O lord of Phrigian land
And old tvvise captiue king, receiue our feare,
VVhile thou vvert king. Troy hurtles then could stand
Though shaken tvvise, with Grecian sword it weare,
And twise did shot of Hercles quiuer beare,
At latter losse of Hecubes sonnes all
And roges for kings, that hgih on piles we reare:
Thou father shutst our latest funerall.
And beaten downe, to Ioue for sacrifies.
Like liueles blocke, in Troy thy carkas lies.

HEC.
Yet turne ye once your teares, another way,
My pryams death, should not lamented be.
O Troyans all, ful happy is Pryame say,
For free from bondage, downe descended hee,
To the lowest Ghoste: and neuer shall sustayne
His Captiue necke with Greekes to yoked bee.
Hee neuer shal behold the Atrids twayne
Nor false Vlisses euer shal he see,
Not hee a pray for Greekes to triumph at
His necke shall subiect to their conquestes beare
Ne geue his handes to tye behynde his backe,
That to the rule of Scepters wonted weare,
Nor following Agamemnons chare, in bande
Shall he bee pompe, to proude Mycenas land.

WO.
Ful happy Pryame is, each one wee say
That toke vvith him his Kingdome then that stoode
Now safe in shade, he seekes the wandring way,
And treads the pathes of all Elizius wood,
And in the blessed Sprightes, ful happy hee,
Agayne there seekes to meete with Hectors Ghost.
Happy Pryam, happy who so may see,
His Kingdome all, at once with him be lost.

Chorus added to the Tragedy by the Translator.

O ye to whom the Lord of Lande and Seas,
Of Life and Death hath graunted here the powre
Lay dovvne your lofty lookes, your pride appeas
The crovvned King fleeth not his fatall howre.
Who so thou be that leadst thy land alone,
Thy life vvas limite from thy mothers vvombe,
Not purple robe, not Glorious glittering throne,
Ne crovvne of Gold redeemes thee from the tombe:
A King he was that wayting for the vayle,
Of him that slew the Minotaure in fight:
Begilde with blacknes of the wonted saile
In seas him sonke, and of his name they hight.
So he that wild, to vvin the golden spoyle
And first vvith ship, by seas to seeke renovvne,
In lesser vvaue, at length to death gan boyle,
And thus the daughters, brought their father dovvne:
Whose songes, the vvoodes hath dravven, and riuers held,
And birdes to heare his notes, did theirs forsake,
In peece meale throvvne, amid the Thracian field,
Without returne hath sought the Stigian lake.
They sit aboue, that holde our life in line,
And vvhat vve suffer dovvne they fling from hie,
No carke, no care, that euer may vntwine
The thrids, that vvouen are aboue the skie,
As vvitnes he that sometyme King of Greece,
Had Iason thought, in drenching seas to drovvne
Who scapt both death and gaind the Golden fleece,
Whom fates aduaunce, there may no povvre plucke dovvne
The highest God sometyme that Saturne hight
His fall him taught to credite their decrees
The rule of heauens: he lost it by their might,
And Ioue his sonne novv turnes the rolling Skies.
Who vveneth here to vvin eternall vvelth,
Let him behold this present perfite proofe.
And learne the secrete stoppe of chaunces stelth,
Most nere alas, vvhen most it seemes aloofe.
In slipper ioy let no man put his trust:
Let none dispayre that heauy haps hath past
The svvete vvith sovvre she mingleth as she lust
Whose doubtful web pretendeth nought to last.
Frailtie is the thride, that Clothoes rocke hath sponne,
Novv from the Distaffe dravvne novv knapt in tvvaine
With all the world at length his end he wonne,
Whose works haue wrought, his name should great remaine
And he whose trauels twelue, his name display,
That feared nought the force of worldly hurt,
In fine (alas) hath found his fatall daye,
And died with smart of Dianyraes shurt,
If prowes might eternity procure,
Then Priam yet should liue in lyking lust,
Ay portly pompe of pryde thou art vnsure,
Lo learne by him O Kinges yee are but dust.
And Hecuba that wayleth now in care,
That was so late of high estate a Queene,
A mirrour is to teach you what you are
Your wauering wealth, O Princes here is seene.
Whom dawne of day hath seene in high estate
Before Sunnes set, (alas) hath had his fall
The Cradels rocke, appoyntes the life his date
From setled ioy, to sodayne funerall.

THE SECOND ACTE.

The Spright of Achilles added to the tragedy by the Translator.

The first Scene.

THE SECOND SCENE.

Talthibius, Chorus.
Ch.
Why, shew what cause doth hold your ships? and Grecian nauy stayes,
Declare if any of the Gods haue stopt your homeward wayes.

Tal.
My mynd is mas'd, my trembling sinnewes quake and are affeard,
For straunger newes of truth then these I thinke were neuer heard.
Lo I my selfe haue playnly seene in dawning of the day,
When Phœbus first gan to approch and driue the starres away,
The earth all shaken sodaynly and from the hollow grownde:
My thought I hard with roaryng crye a deepe and dreadful sound:
That shoke the woods, and al the trees rong out with thunder stroke,
From Ida hils downe fel the stones, the mountayne toppes were broke.
And not the earth hath onely quakt, but all the Sea likewyse,
Achilles presence felt and knew, and high the surges ryse.
The clouen ground Erebus pittes then shewd and deepest dennes,
That downe to Gods that guyde beneath, the way appeard from hence.
Then shoke the tombe from whence anone in flame of fiery light,
Appeareth from the hollow caues Achilles noble spright.
As wonted he his Thracian armes and bannars to disploy
And weild his weighty weapons wel agaynst thassaultes of Troy,
The same Achilles seemde he than that he was wont to bee
Amid the hostes and easly could I know that this was hee.
With carkasse slayne in furious fight, that stopt and fild each floude.
And who with slaughter of his hand made Xanthus runne with bloud.
As when in Chariot high he sate with lofty stomacke stoute.
Whyle Hector both and Troy at once he drew the walles aboute.
Alowd he cride, and euery coast rang with Achilles sound,
And thus with hollow voyce he spake, from bottom of the ground.
The Greekes shal not with litle pryce redeeme Achilles yre,
A princely raunsome must they geue, for so the fates require
Unto my ashes Polyxene spoused shal here be slayne
By Pyrrhus hand, and al my tombe her bloud shal ouerstayne.
This sayd, he strayght sanke downe agayne to Plutoes deepe region,
The earth then cloasd, the hollow caues were vanished and gon
Therwith the wether waxed clere, the raging wyndes did slake,
The tombling seas began to rest and al the tempest brake.

THE THIRD SCENE.

Pyrrhus, Agamemnon, Calchas.
Ag.
The onely fault of youth it is not to refraine his rage
The Fathers bloud already sturres in Pryams wanton age:
Somtime Achilles grieuous checkes I bare with pacient hart,
The more thou mayst, the more thou oughtst to suffer in good part
Wherto would yee with slaughtred bloud a noble spirit stayne?
Thinke what is meete the Greekes to do, and Troyans to sustayne.
The proude estate of tyranny may neuer long endure.
The King that rules with modest meane of safety may be sure.
The higher step of princely state that fortune hath vs signd
The more behou'th a happy man humility of mynd
And dread the chaunge that chaūce may bring, whose gifts so sone be lost
And chiefly then to feare the Gods, whyle they the fauour most.
In beating downe that warre hath wonne, by proofe I haue ben taught,
What pompe and pride in twinke of eye, may fall and come to naught.
Troy made me fierce & proude of mynde, Troy makes me frayd withal:
The Grekes now stand wher Troy late fel, ech thing may haue his fal,
Sometyme I graunt I did my selfe, and Sceptors proudly beare,
The thing that might aduaunce my hart makes me the more to feare
Thou Priam perfit proofe presentst thou art to mee eftsones:
A cause of pride, a glasse of feare a mirrour for the nones,
Should I accoumpt the sceptors ought, but glorious vanity
Much like the borowed brayded hayre, the face to beautify.
One sodayne chaunce may turne to naught, and mayme the might of men
With fewer then a thousand shippes, and yeares in lesse then ten.
Not she that guydes the slipper wheele of fate, doth so delay:
That she to al possession grauntes, of ten yeares setled stay.
With leaue of Greece I wil confesse, I would haue wonne the towne
But not with ruine thus extreme to see it beaten downe.
But loe the battel made by night and rage of feruent mynd,
Could not abyde the brydling bitte that reason had assignd.
The happy sword once staind with blood vnsatiable is,
And in the darke the feruent rage doth strike thee more amis.
Now are we wreakt on Troy so much let all that may remayne.
A Uirgin borne of Princes bloud for offring to be slayne
And geuen be to slayne the tombe and ashes of the ded,
And vnder name of wedlocke see the guiltles bloud be shed,
I wil not graunt for myne should bee thereof both fault and blame.
Who when he may, forbiddeth not offence: doth wil the same.

Pyr.
And shall his sprights haue no reward their angers to appeyse?

Aga.
Yes very great, for all the world shall celebrate his prayse,
And landes vnknowen that neuer saw. the man so preysd by fame,
Shall heate and kepe for many yeares the glory of his name.
If bloudshed vayle his ashes ought strike of an Oxes hed,
And let no bloud that may be cause of mothers teares, be shed.
What furious fransy may this be that doth your will so leade,
This earnest carefull sutte to make in trauayle for the dead?
Let not such enuy towarde your father in your heart remayne,
That for his sacrifice yee would procure an others payne,

Pyr.
Proude tirant, while prosperity thy stomacke doth aduaunce,
And cowardly wretch that shrinks for feare in case of fearefull chaunce.
Is yet agayne thy breast enflamde, with brand of Venus might?
Wilt thou alone so oft depriue Achilles of his right?
This hand shall giue the sacrifice, the which if thou withstand.
A greater slaughter shall I make, and worthy Pyrrhus hand.
And now to long from Princes slaughter doth my hand abide,
And meete it were that Polyxene were layde by Priams side.

Aga.
I not deny, but Pyrrhus chiefe renowne, in warre is this,
That Pryam slaine with cruell sworde, to your father humbled is.

Pyr.
My fathers foes we haue them known, submit themselues humbly,
And Pryam presently yee wot, was glad to craue mercy.
But thou for feare not stout to rule, liest close from foes vp shit:
While thou to Aiax, and Vlysses, dost thy will commit.

Aga.
But needes I must, and will confesse, your father did not feare:
When burnt our fleete with Hectors brands, & Greeks they slaughtred weare.
While loytring then a loofe he lay, vnmindfull of the fight.
In steede of armes with scratch of quill, his sounding harp to smight.

Pyr.
Great Hector then despising thee, Achilles songes did feare:
And Thessale ships in greatest dread, in quiet peace yet weare.

Aga.
For why aloofe the Thessale fleete, they lay from Troyans handes,
And well your father might haue rest, he felt not Hectors brandes.

Pir.
Well seemes a noble king to giue an other king reliefe.

Aga.
Why hast thou then a worthy king berieued of his life?

Pyr.
A poinct of mercy sometime is, what liues in care to kill.

Aga.
But now your mercy mooueth you a virgins death to will.

Pyr.
Account yee cruell now her death whose sacrifice I craue.
Your own deere daughter once yee knowe, your selfe to th'aulters gaue.

Aga.
Naught els could saue the Greekes frō seas, but th'only bloud of her:
A king before his children ought, his countrey to prefer.

Pyr.
The law doth spare no captiues bloud nor wil'th their death to stay

Aga.
That which the law doth not forbid, yet shame doth oft say nay.

Pyr.
The conquerour what thing he list, may lawfully fulfill.

Aga.
So much the lesse he ought to list, that may do what he will.

PYR.
Thus boast ye these as though in all ye onely bare the stroke:
When Pyrrhus loosed hath the greekes, from bond of ten yeres yoke.

A.
Hath Scyros yle such stomaks bred?

P.
No bretherns wrath it knoes.

AG.
Beset about it is with waue.

PYR.
The seas it do enclose.
Thyestes noble stocke I know and Atreus eke full well,
And of the bretherns dire debate, perpetuall fame doth tell.

AG.
And thou a bastard of a mayde, defloured priuely.
Whom (then a boy) Achilles gat, in filthy lechery.

Pyr.
The same Achill that doth possesse, the raigne of Gods aboue,
With Thetys seas: with Æacus sprights, the starred heauen with Ioue

Aga.
The same Achilles that was slaine, by stroke of Paris hande.

Pyr.
The same Achilles, whom no god, durst euer yet withstand.

Aga.
The stoutest man I rather would his checkes he should refraine
I could them tame but all your bragges, I can full well sustaine.
For euen the captiues spares my sword: let Calchas called be.
If destynies require her bloud, I will thereto agree
Calchas whose counsel rulde our ships, and nauy hither brought,
Unlookst the poale and hast by arte the secretes thereof sought,
To whome the bowelles of the beast, to whom the thunder clap,
And blasyng starre with flaming traine, betokeneth what shall hap.
Whose words with dearest price I bought, now tell vs by what meane
The will of Gods agreeth that we returne to Greece againe.

Cal.
The fates apoint the Grekes to buy their waies with wonted price.
And with what cost ye came to Troy, ye shal repayre to Greece
With bloud ye came, with bloud ye must from hence returne againe,
And where Achilles ashes lieth, the virgin shal be slaine,
In seemely sort of habite, such as maydens wont ye see,
Of Thessalie, or Mycenas els, what time they wedded be.
With Pyrrhus hand she shal be slaine, of right it shalbe so
And meete it is that he the sonne, his fathers right should do.
But not this onely stayeth our shippes, our sayles may not be spred,
Before a worthier bloud then thine, (Polixena) be shed,
Which thirst thirst the fates, for Priames nephew, Hectors litle boy:
The Grekes shal tumble hedlonge down, from highest towre in Troy.
Let him there die, this onely way ye shal the gods appeas,
Then spread your thousand sayles with ioy ye neede not feare the seas.

Chorus.

These three staues following are added by the translatour.

THE THIRD ACTE.

[THE FIRST SCENE.]

Andromacha. Senex. Vlisses.
Sen.
What sodayne feare thus moues your mynd, & vexeth you so sore?

And.
Stil stil (alas) of one mishap there ryseth more and more,
Nor yet the doleful destenies of Troy be come to end.

Sen.
And what more grieuous chaunces yet prepare the Gods to send?

Andr.
The caues and dennes of hel be rent for Troyans greater feare
And from the bottoms of their tombes the hidden sprightes appeare.
May none but Greekes alone from hel returne to life agayne?
Would God the fates would finish soone the sorrowes I sustayne.
Death thankful were, a common care the Troyans all oppresse,
But me (alas) amaseth most the feareful heauines.
That all astonied am for dreade, and horrour of the sight:
That in my sleepe appeard to mee by dreame this latter night.

Sen.
Declare what sightes your dream hath shewd, & tell what doth you feare

And.
Two parts of al the silent night almost then passed were.
And then the cleare seuen clustered beams of starres: were fallen to rest
And first the sleepe so long vnknowne my wearyed eyes opprest.
If this be sleepe the astonied mase of mynd in heauy moode,
When sodaynly before myne eyes the spright of Hector stoode.
Not like as he the Greekes was wont to battail to require:
Or when amid the Grecians shippes, he threw the brandes of fyre.
Nor such as raging on the Grees, with slaughtring stroake had slayne
And bare indeede the spoyles of him that did Achilles fayne.
His countenaunce not now so bright, nor of so liuely cheere,
But sad and heauy like to owres and clad with vgly hayre
It did me good to see him though when shaking then his head:
Shake of thy sleepe in hast he sayd, and quickly leaue thy bed:
Conuay into some secrete place our sonne (O faythful wife)
This onely hope there is to helpe find meane to saue his life.
Leaue of thy piteous tears he sayd, dost thou yet wayle for Troy?
Would God it lay on Ground ful flat so ye might saue the boy.
Up stirre he sayd thy selfe in hast conuay him priuily.
Saue if ye may the tender bloud of Hectors progeny
Then strayght in trembling feare I wakt and rold myne eyes aboute
Forgettyng long my child pore wretch, and after Hector sought.
But strayght (alas) I wist not how the Spright away did passe,
And mee forsooke before I could my husband once embrasse.
O childe, O noble fathers broode and Troians only ioy,
O worthy seede of thauncient bloud, and beaten house of Troy.
O ymage of thy father loe, thou liuely bearst his face,
This countnaunce to my Hector had, and euen such was his pace.
The pitch of all his body such, his handes thus would he beare.
His shoulders high his threatning browes, euen such as thine they were
O sonne: begot to late for Troy, but borne to soone for mee,
Shal euer tyme yet come agayne, and happy daye may be,
That thou mayst once reuenge and build agayne the towres of Troy,
And to the towne and Troyans both restore their name with ioy?
But why do I (forgettyng state of present destenye),
So great thinges wish? enough for captiues is to liue only:
Alas what priuy place is left my litle childe to hide?
What seate so secret may be found where thou maist safely bide?
The towre that with the walles of gods so valiaunt was of might,
Through all the world so notable, so flourishing to sight,
Is turnde to dust: and fire hath al consumd'e that was in Troy,
Of all the towne not so much now is left to hide the boy.
What place were best to choose for guile, the holy tombe is heere,
That thenemies sword will spare to spoile wher sythe my husband deere.
Which costly worke his father builte, king Pryame liberall:
And it vp raisde with charges great, fo Hectors funerall.
Herein the bones and ashes both of Hector (loe) they lie,
Best is that I commit the sonne to his fathers custodie.
A colde and fearefull sweat doth runne, through out my members all,
Alas I carefull wretch do feare, what chaunce may thee befall,

Sen.
Hide him away: this onely way hath saued many more,
To make the enmies to beleue, that they were dead before.
He wil be sought: scant any hope remaineth of safenes,
The paise of his nobility doth him so sore oppres:

Andr.
What way wer best to worke: that none our doings might bewray

Sen.
Let none beare witnes what ye do remoue them all away.

Andr.
What if the enmies aske me: where Astianax doth remaine?

Sen.
Then shall ye boldelie answere make that he in Troy was slaine.

Andr.
What shal it helpe to haue him hid? at length they will him finde.

Sen
At first the enmies rage is fierce, delay doth slake his minde.

Andr.
But what preuailes, since free from feare we may him neuer hide?

Sen.
Let yet the wretch take his defence, me carelesse there to bide.

And.
What land vnknowne out of the way what vnfrequented place
May keepe thee safe? who ayds our feare? who shall defend our case?
Hector, Hector that euermore thy friendes didst wel defend
Now chiefly ayde thy wyfe and child and vs some succour send.
Take charge to keepe and couer close the treasures of thy wyfe,
And in thy Ashes hyde thy sonne preserue in tombe his life.
Draw neare my Childe vnto the Tombe, why fliest thou backward so?
Thou takst great scorne to lurke in dens thy noble hart I know.
I see thou art asham'd to feare shake of thy princely mynd,
And beare thy breast as thee behoues as chaunce hath thee assynd.
Behold our case: and se what flocke remayneth now of Troy
The tombe: I woeful captiue wretch and thou a seely boy,
But yeeld we must to sory fates thy chaunce must breake thy breast,
Go to, creepe vnderneath thy fathers holy seats to rest.
If ought the fates may wretches helpe thou hast thy sauegard there.
If not: already then pore foole thou hast thy sepulchere.

Sen.
The tombe him closely hides: but least your feare should him betray
Let him here lie and farre from hence goe ye some other way.

Andr.
The lesse he feares that feares at hand, and yet if neede be so,
If ye thinke meete a litle hence for safety let vs goe.

Sen.
A litle whyle keepe silence now refrayne your plaint and crie,
His cursed foote now hether moues the Lord of Cephalie.

And,
Now open earth, and thou my spouse frō Stix rend vp ye ground,
Deepe in thy bosome hyde thy sonne that he may not be found.
Vlysses comes with doubtful pace and chaunged countenaunce
He knittes in hart deceiptful craft for some more grieuous chaunce.

Vl.
Though I be made the messenger of heauy newes to you,
This one thing first I shal desyre that ye take this for true.
That though the wordes come from my mouth, and I my messuage tell
Of truth yet are they none of myne ye may beleue me wel.
It is the word of al the Greekes, and they the authors be,
Whom Hectors bloud doth yet forbid their countries for to see.
Our careful trust of peace vnsure doth stil the Greekes detayne,
And euermore our doubtful feare yet drawth vs backe agayne.
And suffreth not our wearyed handes, our weapons to forsake,
In child yet of Andromacha, while Troyans comfort take.

An.
And sayth your Augure Calchas so?

Vli.
Though Calchas nothing sayde
Yet Hector telles it vs himselfe, of whose seede are we frayde.
The worthy bloud of noble men oft tymes we se it playne,
Doth after in their heires succede and quickly springes agayne.
For so the hornles youngling yet, of high and sturdy brste,
With lofty necke and braunched brow, doth shortly rule the rest.
The tender twig that of the lopped stocke doth yet remayne,
To match the tree that bare the bough, in time startes vp again
With equall top to former wood the roume it doth supply,
And spreads on soyle alow the shade, to heauen his braunches hye.
Thus of one sparke by chaunce yet left it hapneth so ful oft.
The fyre hath quickly caught his force and flamth agayn aloft.
So feare we yet least Hectors bloud might rise er it be long,
Feare castes in all thextremity and oft interprets wrong.
If ye respect our case ye may not blame these old soldiars
Though after years and monthes twice fiue, they feare again the wars.
And other trauails dreadyng Troy, not yet to be wel wonne,
A great thing doth the Grecyans moue, the feare of Hectors son.
Rid vs of feare, this slayeth our fleete, and pluckes vs backe agayne,
And in the hauen our nauy stickes, til Hectors bloud be slayne.
Count me not feerce for that by fates I Hectors sonne require,
For I as wel if chaunce it would Orestes should desyre.
But since that needes it must be so, beare it with pacient hart:
And Suffer that which Agamemnon suffred in good part.

And.
Alas my child would God thou wert yet in thy mothers hand.
And that I knew what destenies thee held or in what land.
For neuer should the mothers fayth her tender child forsake:
Though through my breast the enmies al, their cruell weapons strake.
Nor though the Greekes with pinching bandes of yron my handes had bound,
Or els in feruent flame of fyre beset my body rounde.
But now my litle Child (pore wretch alas) where might he bee?
Alas, what cruel desteny what chaunce hath hapt to thee?
Art thou yet ranging in the fieldes and wandrest ther abroad?
Or smothred else in dusty smoake of Troy: or ouertroad?
Or haue the Greekes thee slayne (alas) and saught to see thy bloud?
Or torne art thou with iawes of beastes? or cast to foules for foode?

Vl.
Dissemble not, hard is for thee Vlisses to deceaue,
I can ful wel the mothers craftes and subtilty perceaue.
The pollecy of Goddesses Vlisses hath vndone,
Set al these fayned wordes assyde, tel mee where is thy sonne?

An.
Wher is Hector? where al the rest that had with Troy their fall
Where Priamus? you aske for one but I require of all.

Vl.
Thou shalt constrayned be to tell the thing thou dost deny.

And.
A happy chaunce were Death to her that doth desyre to dye.

Vli.
Who most desires to die, would faynest liue when death drawth on,
These noble wordes with present feare of death woulde soone be gone.

And.
Vlisses if ye wil constrayne Andromacha with feare,
Threaten my life for now to dye my cheefe desyre it were.

Vl.
With stripes with fyre tormenting death we wil the truth out wrest
And dolour shal thee force to tel the secrets of thy brest.
And what thy hart hath depest hid for payne thou shalt expresse,
Oft tymes thextremity preuayles much more then gentlenesse,

And.
Set me in midst of burning flame with woundes my body rent,
Use al the meanes of cruelty that ye may al inuent.
Proue me with thirst and hunger both, and euery torment trye,
Pearce through my sides with burning yrons in prison let me lie.
Spare not the worst ye can deuyse (if ought be worse then this)
Yet neuer get ye more of me. I wot not where he is.

Vli.
It is but vayne to hyde the thinge that strayght ye wil deteckt
No feares may moue the mothers hart, she doth them al neglect.
This tender loue ye beare your child, wherin ye stand so stoute,
So much more circumspectly warnth, the Greekes to looke about.
Least after ten yeares tract of tyme and battell borne so farre,
Some one should liue that on our children might renew the warre,
As for my selfe, what Calchas sayth, I would not feare at all
But on Telemachus I dread, the smart of warres would fall

And.
Now will I make Vlisses glad and all the Greekes also,
Needes must thou woeful wretch confesse declare thy hidden woe.
Reioyce ye sonnes of Atreus there is no cause of dread.
Be glad Vlisses tell the Greekes that Hectors sonne is dead.

Vl.
By what assurance proues thou that? how shal we credite thee:

And.
What euer thing the enmies hand may threaten hap to me
Let speedy fates me slay forthwith, and earth me hyde at ones
And after death from tombe agayne, remoue yet Hectors bones,
Except my sonne already now, do rest among the dead.
And that except Astianax into his tomb be led.

Vliss.
Then fully are the fates fulfild with Hectors childes disceace.
Now shal I beare the Grecians word, of sure and certayne peace.
Vlisses why what dost thou now: the Greekes wil euery chone,
Beleeue thy wordes, whom creditst thou? the mothers tale alone.
Thinkst thou for sauegard of her child the mother wil not lye?
And dread the more the worse mischaunce to geue her sonne to die?
Her fayth she byndes with bond of oth, the truth to verify,
What thing is more of weight to feare, then so to sweare and lye?
Now call thy craftes togeather al, bestirre thy wittes and mynd,
And shew thy selfe Vlisses now, the truth herein to find.
Search wel thy mothers mynd: behold shee weepes and wayleth out,
And here and ther with doubtful pace, she raungeth al aboute,
Her careful ears she doth apply to harken what I say,
More frayd shee seemes then sorrowful. Now worke some wily way.
For now most neede of wit there is and crafty pollecy,
Yet once agayne by other meanes I wil the mother trye.
Thou wretched woman maist reioyce, that dead he is: (alas)
More doleful death by destenie for him decreed ther was.
From Turrets top to haue bene cast and cruelly bene slayne.
Which onely towre of all the rest doth yet in Troy remayne.

And.
My spright failth me, my limmes do quake, fear doth my wits cōfounde
And as the Ise congeals with frost, my bloud with could is bound.

Vl.
She trēbleth loe: this way, this way I wil the truth out wreaste,
The mothers fear detecteth all the secrets of her breast:
I wil renew her feare goe sirs bestir ye spedely
To seeke this enmye of the Greekes where euer that he lie.
Wel done he wil be found at length, goe to stil seke him out,
Now shal he dye. what dost thou feare why dost thou looke about?

And
Would God that any cause there were yet left that might me fray,
My hart at last now all is lost hath layd all feare away.

Vliss.
Sins that your child now hath ye say already suffred death,
And with his bloud we may not purge the hostes as Calchas sayth.
Our fleete passe not (as wel inspired doth Calchas prophecy)
Till Hectors ashes cast abroad the waues may pacify,
And tombe be rent now sins the boy hath skapt his desteny.
Needes must we breake this holy tombe wher Hectors ashes lie.

An.
What shal I do? my mynd distracted is with double feare.
On thone my sonne, on thother syde my husbandes ashes deare,
Alas which part should moue me most, the cruel Goddes I call
To witnes with me in the truth, and Ghostes that guide thee all
Hector that nothing in my sonne is else that pleaseth me.
But thou alone God graunt him life he might resemble thee:
Shal Hectors ashes drowned bee? hide I such cruelty,
To see his bones cast in the Seas? yet let Astyanax die,
And canst thou wretched mother bide, thyne owne childes death to see?
And suffer from the hie towres top that headlong throwne he be?
I can and wil take in goad part, his death and cruel payne,
So that my Hector after death be not remou'd agayne.
The boy that life and sences hath may feele his payne and dye,
But Hector lo his death hath plast at rest in tombe to lie
What dost thou stay? determine which thou wilt preserue of twayne.
Art thou in doubt? saue this: loe here thy Hector doth remayne,
Both Hectors be, thone quicke of spright & drawing toward his strēgth
And one that may perhaps reuenge his fathers death at length.
Alas I cannot saue them both: I thinke that best it were,
That of the twayne I saued him that doth the Grecians feare.

Vl.
It shalbe done that Calchas words to vs doth prophecye,
And now shal all the sumptuous worke be throwne downe vtterly

An
That once ye sold?

Vl.
I wil it all from toppe to bottome rend.

An.
The fayth of Goddes I call vppon Achilles vs defend,
And Pyrrhus ayd thy fathers right.

Vl.
This tombe abroad shall lye:

An.
O mischiefe, neuer durst the Greekes show yet such cruelty.
Ye straine the temples and the Gods that most haue fauourd you,
The dead ye spare not, on their tombes your fury rageth now.
I wil their weapons all resist my selfe with naked hand,
Theyre of hart shal geue me strength their armour to withstand.
As fierce as did the Amazones beate down the Greekes in fight,
And Menas once enspierd with God, in sacrifyce doth smyght,
With speare in hand, and while with furyous pace she treads the groūd
And wood as one in rage she strykes, and feeleth not the wound:
So wil I runne on midst of them and on theyr weapons dye,
And in defence of Hectors tombe among his ashes lie.

Vl.
Cease ye: doth rage and fury vayne of women moue ye ought?
Dispatch with speede what I commaund, & plucke downe al to naught.

An.
O slay me rather here with sword rid me out the way,
Breake vp the deepe Auern, and rid my destenies delay.
Rise Hector and beset thy foes, breake thou Vlisses yre,
A spright art good enough for him, behold he casteth fire,
And weapon shakes with mighty hand do ye not Greekes him see?
Or els doth Hectors spright appear but onely vnto me

Vl.
Downe quight with al.

An.
What wilt thou suffer both thy sonnes be slayne,
And after death thy husbandes bones to be remou'd agayne?
Perhaps thou mayst with prayer yet appease the Grecians all.
Els downe to ground the holy tombe of Hector, streight shall fal.
Let rather die the childe pore wretch and let the Greekes him kil,
Then father and the sonne should cause the tone the others yll.
Ulisses, at thy knees I fal, and hmmbly aske mercie,
These handes that no mans feete els knew, first at thy feete they lye.
Take pitty on the mothers case and sorrowes of my breast,
Uouchsafe my prayers to receiue and graunt me my request.
And by how much the more the Goddes haue thee aduaunced hie,
More easely stryke the pore estate of wretched misery.
God graunt the chast bed of thy godly wyfe Penelope,
May thee receiue and so agayne Laerta may thee see,
And that thy sonne Telemachus may meete thee ioyfully,
His graundsires yeares, and fathers witte, to passe ful happely.
Take pity on the mothers teares, her litle child to saue,
He is my onely comfort left, and th'onely ioy I haue.

Vl.
Bryng forth thy sonne and aske.

THE SECOND SCENE.

Andromacha,
Come hither child out of the dennes to mee,
Thy wretched mothers lamentable store,
This Babe Vlisses (loe) this Babe is hee,
That stayeth your ships and feareth you so sore.
Submit thy selfe my sonne with humble hand,
And worship flat on ground thy maysters feete,
Thinke it no shame as now the case doth stand:
The thing that Fortune wilth a wretche is meete,
Forget thy worthy stocke of Kingly kynd,
Thinke not on Priams great nobility,
And put thy father Hector from thy mynde,
Such as thy Fortune let thy stomacke bee,
Behaue thy selfe as captiue bend thy Knee,
And though thy griefe pearce not thy tender yeares,
Yet learne to wayle thy wretched state by mee,
And take ensample at thy mothers teares.
Once Troy hath seene the weeping of a child,
When litle Priam turnde Alcides threats,
And he to whom all beastes in strength did yelde,
That made his way from hel, and brake their gates
His litle enmies teares yet ouercame,
Priam he sayd receiue thy liberty,
In seat of honor kepe thy Kingly name,
But yet thy Sceptors rule more faythfully.
Lo such the conquest was of Hercules.
Of him yet learne your hartes to mollify,
Do onely Hercles cruel weapons please,
And may no end be of your cruelty?
No lesse then Pryam, kneeles to thee this boy,
That lieth and asketh onely life of thee.
As for the rule and gouernaunce of Troy
Where euer Fortune wil ther let it bee.
Take mercy on the mothers ruthful teares
That with their streames my cheekes do ouerflow,
And spare this guiltles infantes tender yeares
That humbly falleth at thy feete so lowe.

THE THIRD SCENE.

Vlisses, Andromacha, Astianax,
Andr.
May euer he the burnt ruines of Troy reedifie?
And shall these handes in time to come, ereckt the towne againe?
If this be th onely helpe we haue, there doth no hope remain
For Troy, we stand not now in case to cause your feare of mynde,
Doth ought auayle his fathers force, or stocke of noble kinde?
His fathers heart abated was, he drawen the walles abought.
Thus euil haps, the haughtiest heart at lengh they bring to nought,
If ye wil needes oppresse a wretch what thing more grieuous were
Then on his noble neck he should the yoke of bondage bere?
To serue in life doth any man this to a King denye?

Vl.
Not Vlisses with his death, but Calchas prophecy.

An.
O false inuentor of deceipt and hainous cruelty,
By manhode of whose hand in warre no man did euer dye.
But by disceipt and crafty trayne of mynd that mischiefe seekes,
Before this tyme ful many one dead is, yea of the Greekes,
The Prophets wordes and guiltles Gods saist thou my sonne require,
Nay: mischiefe of thy breast it is, thou dost his death desyre.
Thou night souldier, and stout of hart a litle child to slay.
This enterprise thou takste alone and that by open day.

Vl.
Vlisses manhood wel to Greekes to much to you is knowne,
I may not spend the tyme in wordes, our Nauy wil be gone

And.
A little stay, while I my last farewel geue to my child,
And haue with oft embracing him my greedy sorrowes fild.

Vli.
Thy grieuous sorrowes to redresse, would God it lay in mee,
But at thy wil to take delay of tyme I graunt it thee.
Now take thy last leaue of thy Sonne, and fil thy selfe with teares.
Oft tymes the weeping of the eyes, the inward griefe out weares.

An.
O deere, O sweete, thy mothers pledge, farewel my onely ioy,
Farewel the flowre of honor left of beaten howse of Troy.
O Troyans last calamity and feare to Grecians part
Farewel thy mothers onely hope, and vayne comfort of hart.
Oft wisht I thee thy fathers strength and halfe thy graundsires yeares
But all for naught the Gods haue all dispoynted our desires.
Thou neuer shalt in regal court thy sceptors take in hand,
Nor to thy people geue decrees nor leade with law thy land.
Nor yet thine enmies ouercome by might of handy stroke,
Nor sende the conquerde nations all vnder thy seruile yoke.
Thou neuer shalt beat downe in fight, and Greekes with sword pursew,
Nor at thy Charyot Pyrrhus plucke, as Achill Hector drew
And neuer shal these tender handes thy weapons weild and wrest,
Thou neuer shalt in woods pursue the wyld and mighty beast.
Nor as accustom'd is by guyse and sacrifice in Troy,
With measure swift: betweene the aulters shalt thou daunce with ioy.
O grieuous kind of cruel death that doth remayne for thee,
More woeful thinges then Hectors death the walles of Troy shall see.

Vliss
Now breake of al thy mothers tears I may no more tyme spende.
The grieuous sorrowes of thy hart wil neuer make an end.

An.
Vlisses spare as yet my teares and graunt awhyle delay,
To close his eyes yet with my handes er he depart away.
Thou diest but young: yet feard thou art thy Troy doth wayte for thee,
Goe noble hart thou shalt agayne the noble Troyans see.

Asti.
Helpe me mother?

An.
Alas my child why tak'st thou holde by me?
In vayne thou calst where helpe none is I can not succour thee.
As when the litle tender beast that heares the Lyon crye,
Straight for defence he seekes his damme, & crouching downe doth lye,
The cruel beast when once remoued is the damme away,
In greedy iaw with rauening bit doth snatch the tender pray
So strayght the enmies wil thee take, and from my side thee beare.
Receiue my kisse and teares pore childe, receiue my rented hayre.
Depart thou hence now ful of mee, and to thy father goe,
Salute my Hector in my name and tel him of my woe
Complayne thy mothers griefe to him if former cares may moue,
The sprightes: and that in funerall flame they leese not all their loue.
O cruel Hector suffrest thou thy wyfe to be opprest?
With bond of Grecians heauy yoke and liest thou still at rest?
Achilles rose: take here agayne my teares and rented heare,
And (al that I haue left to send) this kisse thy father beare.
Thy coat yet for my comfort leaue, the tomb hath touched it
If of his ashes ought here lye Ile seeke it euery whit.

Vl.
There is no measure of thy teares I may no lenger stay,
Deferre no further our returne breake of our shippes delay.

Chorus altered by the translatour.

O Ioue that leadst the lampes of fire, and deckst vvith flaming starres the skye,
VVhy is it euer thy desyre to care their course so orderly?
That novve the frost the leaues hath vvorne & novv the sprīg doth close the tree.
Novv fiery Leo rypes the corne, and stil the soyle should chaunged be?
But vvhy art thou that all dost guide, betvvene vvhose hands the poale doth svvay,
And at vvhose vvil the Orbs do slyde, careles of mans estate alvvay?
Regarding not the goodmans case, nor caryng hovv to hurt the yll.
Chaunce beareth rule in euery place and turneth mans estate at vvill.
She geues the vvronge the vpper hand the better part she doth oppresse,
She makes the highest lovv to stand, her Kingdome all is orderlesse.
O parfite profe of her frailty, the princely tovvres of Troybeat dovvne,
The flovvre of Asia here ye see vvith turne of hand quight ouerthrovvne.
The ruthful ende of Hectors son, vvhō to his death the Greekes haue led,
His fatall hovvre is come and gone, and by this tyme the Child is ded:
Yet still (alas) more cares encrease, O Troyans doleful destenie,
Fast doth approach the maydes decease, and novv Polixena shall die.

THE FOVRTH ACTE.

Helena, Andromacha, Hecuba
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.
But if the Goddesse wild it so that I their pray should be,
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.
A slayer of my sory state and shall I now leese thee?
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,
To aske your mercy what auayles? our prayers do no good.
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.

THE FIFTH ACTE.

Nuncius, Andromacha. Hecuba.
Hec.
What euer mans calamityes ye wayle for myne it is.
I beare the smart of al their woes each other feeles but his
Who euer he, I am the wretch all happes to me at last.

Nun
Slayne is the mayd, and from the walles of Troy the child is cast.
But both (as them became) they toke their death with stomacke stout.

And
Declare the double slaughters then, & tell the whole throughout.

Nun.
One towre of all the rest ye know doth yet in Troy remayne,
Where Pryam wonted was to sit, and view the armies twayne.
His litle Nephew eke with him to lead, and from a farre,
His fathers fightes with fire and sword to show on feats of war.
This towre, sometyme wel knowne by fame, and Troyans honor most.
Is now with captaynes of the Greeekes, beset on euery coast.
With swift recourse and from the shippes, in clustred heaps anone.
Both tagge and ragge they runne to gase what thing should ther be done
Some clime the hilles to seeke a place where they might see it best,
Some one the rockes a tiptoe stande to ouerloke the rest.
Some on their tēples weare the pine, some beech, some crownes of bay,
For garlandes torne is euery tree, that standeth in they'r way,
Some from the highest mountaynes top aloofe beholdeth all.
Some scale the buildinges halfe thurnt, and some the ruinous wall.
Yea some there were (O mischief loe) that for the more despyghte.
The tombe of Hector sits vppon beholders of the sight.
With princely pace Vlisses then past through the preased band
Of Greekes, King Priams litle nephew leading by the hand.
The Child with vnrepyning gate past through his enmies handes,
Up toward the walles, and as anone in turrets top he standes,
From thence adowne his lofty lookes he cast on euery part,
The neerer death more free from care he seemd, and feare of hart.
Amid his foes his stomacke swelles, and fierce he was to sight,
Like Tygers whelpe, that thrais in vayne wt tothles chap to bight.
Alas, for pitty then each one, rew on his tender yeares,
And al the route that present were, for him they shed their teares,
Yea not Vlisses them restraynd, but trickling downe they fal,
And onely he, wept not (poore foole) whom they bewayled al.
But whyle on Gods Vlisses cald, and Calchas wordes expound,
In midst of Pryams land (alas) the child leapt downe to ground.

And.
What cruel Calchas could or scith such slaughter take in hand?
Or by the shore of Caspyan Sea, what barbarous lawles land.
Busyridis to th'aulters yet no infantes bloud hath shed
Nor neuer yet were children slayne fortrast of Diomed.
Who shal alas in tombe thee lay, or hyde thy limmes agayne?

Nu.
What limmes from such a headlong fall could in a child remayne,
His bodies payse throwne downe to ground, hath batred al his bones.
His face, his noble fathers markes are spoyld agaynst the stones.
His necke vnioynted is: his head so dasht with flint stoane stroake,
That scattered is the brayne about, the scul is al to breake.
Thus lieth he now dismembred corpes, deformd and all to rent.

An.
Loe herein doth he yet likewyse, his father represent.

Nun
What time the Child hath headlong falne thus from the walls of Troy,
And al the Greekes thēselues bewaild ye slaughter of the Boy,
Yet strayght returne they backe, and at Achilles tombe agayne
The second mischiefe goe to worke the death of Polixeine.
This tombe the waues of surging seas, beset the vtter side,
The other part the fields encloase aboute, and pastors wyde.
In vale enuyroned with hils, that round aboute do ryse,
A sloape on height erected are the bankes in Theatre wyse.
By al the shore then swarme the Greekes, & thicke on heaps they prease
Some hope that by her death they shall theyr shippes delay release.
Some other ioy their enmies stocke thus beaten downe to bee:
A greate part of the people, both the slaughter hate, and see.
The Troyans eke no lesse frequent their owne calamityes
And all affrayd, beheld the last of all their miseryes.
When first proceeded torches bright as guise of wedlocke is.
And author therof led the way the Lady Tindaris.
Such wedlocke pray the Troyans then, God send Hermiona
And would God to her husband so, restoard were Helena.
Feare masd each part, but Polixeine her bashful looke downe cast:
And more then earst her glittring eyes and beauty shyn'd at last.
As sweetest seems then Phœbus light, when downe his beams do sway,
When starres agayne with night at hand opprest the doubtful day.
Astonnied much the people were, and all they her commende,
And now much more then euer earst, they prays'd her at her end.
Some with her beauty moued were, some with her tender yeares:
Some to behold the turnes of chaunce, and how each thing thus wears.
But most them moues her valiant minde, and lofty stomacke hie,
So strong, so stout, so ready of hart and wel prepard to dye.
Thus passe they forth and bold before King Pirrhus goeth the mayde,
They pitty her, they maruel her, their hartes were all affrayde.
As sone as then the hard hil top (where die she should) they trode,
And hie vppon his fathers tombe the youthful Pyrrhus stoode.
The manly mayd she neuer shronke one foote, nor backward drew,
But boldely turnes to meete the stroke, with stoute vnchanged hew,
Her corage moues eche one, and loe a strange thing monstrous like.
That Pyrhus euen himselfe stoode stil, or dread and durst not strike.
But as he had, his glittring sword in her to hilts vp doon,
The purple bloud, at mortall wound, then gushing out spoon.
Ne yet her corage her forsooke, when dieng in that stounde,
She fell as the'rth should her reuenge with ireful rage to groūd.
Each people wept the Troyans first with priuy fearful crye,
The Grecians eake, each one bewayld her death apparantly.
This order had the sacrifyce, her bloud the tombe vp dronke,
No drop remaynth aboue the ground, but downe forthwith it sonke.

Hec.
Now go, now goe ye Greekes, and now repayre ye safely home.
With careles shippes and hoised sailes now cut the salt sea fome.
The Child and Uirgin both be slaine, your battels finisht are.
Alas where shal I end my age? or whether beare my care?
Shal I my daughter, or my nephew, or my husband mone?
My countrey els, or all at once? or else my selfe alone?
My wish is death that children both and virgins fiercely takes
Where euer cruel death doth hast to strike, it me forsakes,
Amid the enmies weapons all, amid both sword and fyre,
All night sought for, thou fleest from me, that do thee most desyre.
Not flame of fyre, not fall of towre, not cruel enmies hand
Hath rid my life, how neere (alas) could death to Priam stand?

Nun.
Now captiues all with swift recourse repayre ye to the saies,
Now spread the ships their sayls abroad, & forth they seeke theyr waies.