University of Virginia Library

[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.