 | The Tragedy of Orestes |  |
Scen. VIII.
Enter in haste Tyndarus, Lords, with others.Tynd.
VVent they this way? my Lords, you moue mee much,
Could I find him now, I would seat him new,
In his right Kingdome, which doth weigh downe mee.
1 Lord.
I see my Lord Orestes, and his friend,
Without your leaue haue made themselues an end.
Tynd.
Then now is Argos Court like to some stage.
And none are left aliue but onely one,
To aske the kinde spectators (plaudite)
All else haue bid (valete) to the world,
The man reseru'd for that, is Tyndarus,
Who thus hath seen his childrens childrens end,
His Grandchild, a bad sonne, a most deare friend;
The Scene must now be ouerflow'd with grones,
Each man sits downe to waile his priuate mones:
One for the Queen doth weep, one for the King,
All taste the bitter waters of this Spring:
The Nurse bewails the child, that part she beares,
All haue their subiects to bedew with teares;
Each one yet haue but one; but all of mee,
Challenge a part in griefes sad sympathy.
Orestes, Clytemnestra, I must call,
These all for mine, thus must I weepe for all:
Let none belieue this deed, or if they doe.
Let them belieue this punishment then too.
'Tis vile to hate a Father, but such loue,
As breeds a hate to'th mother, worse doth proue:
Our life consists of ayre, our state of winde,
All things we leaue behind vs which wee find,
Sauing our faults; witnesse Orestes here,
Who was his owne tormentor, his owne feare.
Who flying all, yet could not fly himselfe,
But needs must shipwrack vpon murders shelfe:
And so his brest made hard with miserie,
He grew himselfe to be his enemy.
Thus griefe and gladnesse still by turnes do come,
But pleasure leastwhile doth possesse the roome.
Long nights of griefe may last, but lo, one day
Of shining comfort slideth soone away.
He, whom all feare on earth, must feare a fate,
For all our powers are subordinate:
Three howres space thus well can represent,
Vices contriu'd and murders punishment.
A Monarchs life can in this little space
Shew all the pompe that all the time doth grace
His risings and his falls, and in one span
For none of vs can so command the powers
That we may say, to morrow shall be ours.
Now Fortunes wheele is turn'd, and time doth call,
To solemnize this friendly funerall.
No force so great, no so disaster wrong,
As can vnknit the bands which holdeth strong
Vnited hearts: who since they thus are dead,
One roome, one tombe shall hold them buried:
And as these friends ioyn'd hands to beare their Fate;
So we desire you to imitate.
Who since they all are dead, we needs must craue
Your gentle hands to bring them to their graue.
| The Tragedy of Orestes | |