University of Virginia Library

Chorus.

O DEIANIRE deare daughter of our King
OENEVS late, to see thy frowning fates
Woe after woe thus downe on thee to fling,
It irks our heartes, that were thy foster mates.
O woefull wight it pitieth vs to see,
Thy wedlock in this tickle state to bee.
Wee Lady, wee, that with thee wonted were
With flapping oare on Acheloe to rowe,
When hauing past the spryng tyme of the yere,
With Channell smoth hee newely wexeth lowe,
And makes agayne his swelling surges calme,
And boobling runnes at Ebbe withouten walme.
Through weale and woe wee still with thee remayne,
And now what griefe so euer thou feare in mynde,
Account thou vs as partners of thy payne,
For commonly when Fortune turnes the wynde,
And makes thee beare thy beaten Sayle but low,
Then friendship ebbes, where it before did flow.
And who so guydes the sway of golden mace,
Though people thicke doe haunte his stately courte,
And in at hundred gates doe preace a pace,
Yea though that thou mayntaine so great a porte,
To garde thee with this garrison, yet shall
Thou scarcely finde one faithfull hearte of all.
In paynted porche, and gates of guilded bowers
The lurcking hagge Eryn her tuskes doth whet:
And sturring strife with quarreling face shee lowers.
The portly doar es no sooner oape are set,
But treason black, pale enuy, deepe deceight,
With priuy knyfe of murther step in streight.
And when the Prynce appeares in open place,
To shew him selfe before his subiects sight,
Swelling despight attendeth on his grace:
As oft as dawning day remoues the nyght,
And euery time the sunne at West goes downe,
They looke another man should clayme the Crowne.
Fewe heartes loue kinges, not few their kingly might:
The glorious shew of courtly countenaunce
Bewitcheth many: where one sets his delight
How next the king hee may him selfe aduaunce,
That through high streetes hee may as lorde of rule
With lofty lookes, ryde mounted on his Mule.
Ambitious heate enflames his hawty breast.
Another would his greedy hunger staunch
With gubbes of goulde, (and though hee it possest)
Rich Arabie serues not his pyning paunch,
Nor western India (a worlde for to behoulde)
Where Tagus flowes with streames of glittring goulde.
The couetous charle, the greedy gnoffe in deede,
In whom from cradell nature so it plantes,
No hourded heapes his endlesse hunger feede,
In plenty pines the wreatch, in wealth hee wantes.
Some other fondlings fansy thus doth guyde,
To fawne on kings, and still in courte to byde.
As one disdayning lyke a Country mome
And crooked clowne, the plowe to follow still:
Although the dingthryfte dayly keepe at home
A thousand drudges, that his lande doe Tyll:
Yet wantes his will and wissheth wealth therefore,
Onely to waste on other men the more.
Another claweth and flattreth fast the King,
By clymbing vp to treade downe euery wyght:
And some at least to blockam Feaste to bryng
And thus hee striues to arme him selfe with myght
In bloude: but of their ship doth Fortune fayle,
When safe they thinke to floate with highest sayle,
Whom Moone at morne on top of Fortunes wheele
High swayed hath seene, at fulnesse of renowne,
The glading sunne hath seene his Scepter reele,
And him from high fall topsey turuey downe.
At morne full merry, blith, in happy plight,
But whelmde in woes and brought to bale ere nyght.
These sildome meete hoare hayres and happy dayes:
The Lord that lyes on stately crimsen bed
Sleepes more in feare, then snoring drudge, that layes
Vpon the countrey clod his drowsy head.
In goulden roofes, and hauty courtes they keepe,
Whose dreadfull dreames doe make them starte in sleepe.
The purple roabes lyeth waking many a night,
And slombers not, when homely ragges doe rest.
O if as at a Grate espy wee might
The sorrowes, shrined in a Prynces breast.
What pangues, what stormes, what terrour, O what hell
In sighing heartes or prowde estates doth dwell?
The Iryshe Seas doe nener roare so ruffe,
When wrastling waues, and swelling surges ryse,
That hoysted are with sturdy northern puffe,
As fearefull Fansyes doe theyr myndes aggryse.
But hee sighes not, nor combred is with care,
Whom Fortune hath bequeath'de a slender share.
In woodden dishe and blacke beche Bole hee swills,
And heaues it not to mouth with quaking hand.
With homely fare his hungry Mawe hee fills,
And leares not backe for feare of those that stand
With naked swerdes: but Kings in goulden cup
Wyne blent with bloude (most dreadfull draughts) do sup.
In dainty dishe the poyson bayte is layde,
And treason lurkes amid the sugred wyne
At euery bit they quake, and are a frayde,
The swerde will fall, that hanges but by a twyne,
And euer as hee liftes his head, and drynkes,
The rebelles Knyfe is at his throate hee thinkes.
Such flattring ioyes these happy worldlinges haue.
Their outwarde pomp pretendeth lusty liues.
When inwardely they drowpe, as doth the slaue
That pines in pangues fast clogde in goulden giues.
Striue not in hast, to climbe the whirling wheele,
For hasty climers oft in haste doe reele.
Meane dames defy both peareles and glittring spanges,
And goulden chaynes with rubies ryche beset,
Nor at theyr eares doe massy Iewelles hange
With turky stones: nor pranked prowde they iet
In murrey gownes: nor doth the wooll they weare
Of Crymsen dye the costly colour beare
Neyther in Tissew, nor silken garments wrought
With needle, nor embroadred Roabes they goe:
And yet this state is free from Iealous thought,
Theyr wedding is not vnto them theyr woe.
When thousand stormes in Ladyes hearts doe dwell
By wedlocke breach, that breedes their noysom hell.
VVho so he is that shunnes the middle waye,
Shall neuer fynd fast footing any where.
The wilful lad that needes would haue a day,
And wayghty charge of Fathers charyot beare:
VVhile he from wonted wayes his Iades doth iaunce,
Amonge straunge starres they pricking forward praunce,
Enforcing them with Phœbus flames to frye,
Whose roaming wheeles refuse the beaten rutt:
Thus both himselfe, and all the Cristall skye
In peril of the soulthring fyre he put.
So hawty myndes that clymbe aboue their skill,
Do worke their owne decay, and others yll.
While Dædalus in flying through the ayre
Did keepe the midst betweene the skie and grounde
He could in safe to Italy repayre,
And gaue no gulph his name by beyng dround.
But Icarus presumes to mount on hie,
And stryues aboue the fethered foules to flye.
And scornes the guyding of his fathers trayne.
And in his flight wil coape to lofty sonne:
Which molt his winges so downe he droppes agayne
Into the seas, whereby his name they woone
Thus proud attemptes of hauty clyming hier
Receiue shrewde falles to quit their fond desyre.
Let other mount aloft let other sore,
As happy men in great estate to sitte.
By flattring name of Lord I set no store:
For vnder shore my little keele shall flitt:
And from rough wyndes my sayles fayne would I kepe,
Least I be driuen into the daungerous deepe.
Prowde Fortunes rage doth neuer stoupe so low
As litle roades, but them shee ouerflyes
And seekes amid mayne seas her force to shew
On argosies, whose toppes, do reach the skyes
But lo, here comes our Lady Deianire,
Straught of her wits, and ful of furious yre.