 | Oedipvs. The Fifth Tragedy of Seneca |  |
THE FIRST ACTE.
OEDIPVS the King.IOCASTA the Queene.
The Night is gon: and dredfull day begins at length t'appeere:
And Phœbus all bedim'de with Clowdes, himselfe aloft doth reere.
And glyding forth with deadly hue, a dolefull blase in Skies
Doth beare: Great terror & dismay to the beholders Eyes.
Now shall the houses voyde bee seene, with Plague deuoured quight?
And slaughter that the night hath made, shall day bring forth to light.
Doth any man in Princely throne reioyce? O brittle Ioy,
How many ills? how fayre a Face? and yet how much annoy
In thee doth lurke, and hidden lies? what heapes of endles strife?
They iudge amisse, that deeme the Prince to haue the happy life.
For as the Mountaynes huge and hie, the blustring windes withstand.
And craggy Rocks, the belching fluds do dash, and driue fro land:
Though that the Seas in quiet are, and calme on euery side:
So kingdoms great all Windes and Waues of Fortune must abide.
How well shund I my Father deare Polybius Scepters late?
Exil'de, bereft of carefull feare, in Pilgrims happy state:
I call the Gods to witnes this, and Stars that glyde in Skyes.
A Kingdome is befauln to mee, I feare least thereof ryse
A mischiefe, (mighty Ioue,) to great I feare, alas I feare
Least these my handes haue reft the life, of thee my Father deare.
Apollo byds mee this beware, and yet a mischiefe more
Foretels.
IOC.
Can any greater bee than that you tolde before?
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OE.
(O thrice vnhappy state.)
With horror all dismaide I stand in dred of threatned fate.
I am ashamed my destnies fowle (O Queene) to thunder out,
And openly to blase my feare my trembling minde doth dout:
Yet out it goes. Phœbus me bids my Mothers Bed to fly,
As though that I her Sonne, with her incestuously should ly.
This feare, and onely this me causde my fathers kingdome great
For to forsake. I fled not thence when feare the minde doth beat.
The restlesse thought still dreds the thing, it knows can neuer chaunce.
Such fansies now torment my heart, my safety to aduaunce,
And eke thyne euer sacred lawes (O Nature) for to keepe
A stately Scepter I forsooke, yet secret feare doth creepe
Within my breast: and frets it still with doubt and discontent,
And inward pangues which secretly my thoughts a sunder rent.
So though no cause of dred I see, yet feare and dred I all,
And scant in credit with my selfe, my thoughts my minde appall
That I cannot perswaded be though reason tell mee no,
But that the Web is weauing still of my decreed wo.
For what should I suppose the cause? a Plague that is so generall,
And Cadmus country wholy spoyles, and spreds it selfe through all?
Should mee, amongest so huge a heape of plagued Bodies spare?
And we alone amongst the rest reserude to mischiefes are?
O heauy hap. And bide I stil alone the spoyle to see?
Of Cities great, of men, of beasts, by plague that wasted bee?
And thou amongst so many ils, a happy lyfe to lead,
Couldst once perswade thy selfe (O wretch) without all feare or dread.
Of Phœbus secret Iudgements to, and that in Kinges estate?
Thou, thou, infected hast the ayre, in such a filthy rate.
Thou art the onely cause of woe: by thee these euils rise,
By thee to graue on such a sorte, this wretched people plies.
The firy flaming frying heate, afflicted hearts that wasts,
Is not relieude as wont it was by cold and pleasaunt blasts.
The gentle western windes haue left with healthfull puffes to blow,
And now the fiery Dog with blase of boyling heate doth glow.
The Sunne in Leo burns so hoate, and so the earth doth broyle,
That fluds and hearbes are dryed vp, and nought remaynes but soyle,
So throughly schorcht and stued with heate, that moisture all is gone,
And now amongst so many fluds, remaynes alas not one.
The places dry are onely seene the streames are drunken vp.
And water that doth yet remayne: the soaking Earth doth sup.
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And dolefull darksom shades of night, the whole worlde ouerhides.
No Star on high at all doth shine, but black and hellike hue
Hath ouershaded all the Skyes, whence deadly mists ensue.
The corne that wonted was to growe and fruitfully to spring,
Now to the voyded Barnes nought els, but empty stalkes doth bring.
No part of all our kingdoms is free from destruction:
But all together run and rush, to vtter confusion.
The old men with the yong (alas:) the Father with the chylde
The plague consumes. Both man & wife, all beasts both tame & wylde
Are spoyled by the Pestilence. No pompe at all remaynes,
That wonted was in Funeralles, to ease the mourners paynes.
Alas this spoile of people made, by plague hath dryde myne eyes:
And secretly within my breast, the griefe it boyling fryes.
And that, that wonted is to hap, in most extremest ills:
My tearees are dry and glutting griefe my wretched breast it fills.
The crased father beares the sons, vnto theyr dampish graues:
And after him with burden like, the Mother comes and raues:
And euen lamenting as they stand, starck dead downe both they fall,
And mourners new in like estate, for them and theirs they call.
Who likewise in the midst of all their toyle and paynfull payne
Do drop into the graue they digd, and so the place doe gayne
That was prepar'de for others erst. A hell it were to heere
The horror, and the miseries that euery where appeere.
A Tombe is made for noble men, fast on the people hie,
And in, their burdens fling. Great Pieres all vnregarded lye.
For lack of Graues, to Ashes cleane their bodyes some doe wast:
And some halfe burnt doe leaue them there, and home away for hast
They run, & more they fetch, and then wood, fier, graue, and all
Doth want. And downe for very griefe the wretched mysers fall.
No prayers auaile. No Arte can help this raging Plague t'appease:
For none almost is left aliue each others woe to ease.
Before thine aulters heere O God my feeble hands I hold,
Requiring all my destinies, at once with courage bold.
And that by death I may preuent, my Countrey prest to fall.
For this, and only this (O God) vpon thy name I call.
Let mee not be the last that dies: The last that goes to Graue.
Graunt this, and then (O mighty Ioue) my full request I haue.
O cruell Gods vnkinde: O more than thrise vnhappy Fates:
That onely mee denied is, that lyghtes on all Estates.
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And deadly woes that doe my heart with restlesse rage torment,
Leaue of thy blubbering teares (O fooole,) & fly these kingdomes foylde
With rotten plagues & Botches vile, and graues ech where dispoylde.
All which diseases thou vnhappy guest didst bring with thee
Dispatch. Away. Goe hence. At least, vnto thy parents flee.
IO.
What bootes it Sir these mischiefs, great wt piteous plaints to aggreuate.
Stodily to beare aduersity, is firste for Kings estate.
When dred and daunger most assayle: when cruell Cares doe crush
Thy princely breast, Thē oughtst thou most to beare and bide the push.
It is no poinct of courage stout to yeelde to fortunes frown.
OED.
Nay. Feare could neuer cause mee stoupe nor Fortune cast mee down.
My manly minde was neuer thraule to vaine and peauish feares,
But euermore in each assault, it pryncely courage beares.
No not a thousand glistering swords, nor Mars himselfe in fielde,
Can once dismay my Countenaunce, or cause my heart to yeelde.
The very Graunts fierce and huge in fight withstand I dare.
That Monster Sphinx whose riddels through the world renowmed are,
Could not dismay my dredles heart, nor cause my courage slide
For all the terrors I beheld, I did that Fury byde.
I saw him belching Gobs of bloud, I viewde full well the fielde
That all to spatterd lay with bloud, and bones quight ouerheelde.
And when yt he on Mountaynes top with mouth full huge to see.
Stoode gaping all with greedy Iawes to feede and pray on mee,
Oft fluttering with his fearefull wynges and shaking oft his tayle,
Began full like a Lyon fierce with threates mee to assayle.
Of whom straight way the Riddell I, it rusht into myne eares
With roring sound His winges he claps, the Rock for hast hee teares.
Desiring with my Bowels still his greedy Iawes to glut:
But I full soone assoyled had the question that he put.
And all the subtile poincts thereof, and twisted knots vntwinde.
IO.
What makes you wish for death to late, and waste your wordes in wind.
You might haue died than (you know) for Sphinx so nobly slain.
This kingdom vnto you, and yours for euer shall remain.
OED.
The ashes of that Monster vile, agaynst vs doth rebell.
That vile mishapen lothsome Beast, that raging Feend of Hell.
Is cause of all the plague that doth this mournfull City smight.
Now only this remaynes alone, if Phœbus heauenly might,
Can any meanes inuent for vs, or way of mercy make:
Whereby these burning Plagues at length may haply chaūce to slake.
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O more then thrise renowmed Stock of auncient Cadmus Race.
O mighty Thebes City great, O heauy ruthfull Case.
Loe now you lye all desolate, with Plague deuoured quight.
Both you and all your Husbandmen. (Oh miserable sight.)
O fowle and fearefull Fate (alas) what causeth all this wo?
O God whence springs this Pestylence that vs tormenteth so?
No age, no shape, no forme is sparde, but all confounded lye.
Thus happiest now ye man I count, whose chaunce was first to dye.
For hee hath shund a thousand ills, which wretched Eyes haue seene:
And mischiefes great that vs doe presse from him are taken cleane.
O God withhold thy fury great, thy Plagues from vs remoue.
Ceasse of afflicted Soules to scourge, who thee both serve and loue.
Powre downe on them diseases fowle, that them deserued haue.
A Guerdon iust for sinne (Oh God) this this of thee wee craue,
And onely this. We aske no more, the cause and all is thyne,
A thing not vsde of Gods it is, from pity to declyne.
My heart doth pant, and trembling cold through all my lims doth run,
As oft as I remembring, count the noble Stockes vndun,
By death and dolfull destenies that ouerwhelmed lye,
And yet alas the people stil to Graue doe faster hye.
In long Aray all in a rancke by thousandes on a roe,
On euery side, in euery streate to buriall fast they goe.
The seuen broade wyde open Gates, are not enough for way,
But throngd the people pestred stand still in a fearefull stay,
And in the mydst of all theyr toyle with corses on their backes,
The number that before doth peast the hinder number slackes.
The corses in the streates doe lye and Graue on Graue is made,
But all in vayne. For nought it boots the plague cannot bestayde.
The sacrifices don to Gods haue to to ill successe,
And such straunge sights & signes doe rise that nought els I can gesse,
But that at hand with gastly pawes, is vtter destruction,
With thousand ills accompayned and extreme confusion.
The sheepe of rot by heapes as thick, as dogges doe fall and dye,
And belching out their wasted lunges, on grounde doe sprawling lye.
And I my selfe of late did see: (a sight vnseene before,)
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And strake with grieuous bloudy wound the golden horned Bull
When downe with liueles lump he drops and members made full dull.
And all the woūde wide bleeding gapes & black goard bloud out spues.
And yet the blade vnsprinckled was. The bloud it boyling stues
And bubbles on the ground. Alas what do these things portend?
Oh mighty Ioue at length vouchsafe some good and happy end.
At length withhold thy hand (O God) and health vnto vs send.
Nothing (alas) remaynes at all, in wonted old estate,
But all are turned topset downe, quight voyd and desolate
The fainting horse for sodayne paine from back his burden tats,
And after on his maisters brest his liueles lyms he squats:
Who cries for help: but all in vain the beastes in fleid that bide
Unkept: vnknowen wayes and paths do raunge and ouerstride.
The Bull for lacke of foode and meate in field all faintyng lyes,
And all his flocke dispersed quight, the sely Shephard dyes.
The herdman eke amongst his beasts his fatal breath expiers
And to the heuens with piteous cries, commends his last desiers.
The warts without all feare of wolues do lyue in wretched peace.
The rage, and wrathful roring sounds of ramping Lions cease.
The vengeaunce wyld outragious Beares are now as tame as sheepe
The vgly Serpent that was wont, the Rocky Dennes to keepe.
Oft quaffing poisoned Uenom sups in inward heat shee boyles,
And all inflamd and schorcht, in vayne for lenger lyfe she toyles.
The woods are not adourned now, with fresh and lyuely hue,
The wonted shades are gon. All things are quight out of their Que:
No greenish grasse on ground doth grow, the earth no moisture soupes,
The Uine withouten any sap, his drowsy head down drowpes.
What shal I say? all things (alas) are writhen out of course,
And as they seeme to me, are lyke, to fare still worse and worse.
O mighty God aboue? when ende these euerduryng yls?
When cease these plages? that giltles bloud thus fierce and raging spils?
I thinck but we almost alyue, there do no men remayne:
Whom dolful Darts of Destenies, on earth haue left vnslayne.
I thinke the darcksome shades of hell where filthy fluds do flow,
Where plages and vile diseases too, where dredfull horrors grow,
And all the furies brasten loose do mischiefes on vs throw,
With Botch & blane of sundry kindes which sothern blasts do blow,
And wrekful vexed hagges of hell do breath and on vs bringe:
The angry fendes of hell I thinke their vengeaunce on vs flinge
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Lo see how greedy death on vs with scowling eyes doth leare.
See, see. Oh Ioue how fast hee throwes his Dartes. Not one he spares
But all confounds. His thretning force, withstand no Creature dares.
No doubt the lothsom Feryman the sinfull soules that traynes
Through stincking fluds, his labour loths that he for vs sustaynes.
Such presse by plūps to him is made which still renews his paynes.
But harke yet mōsters more thē these, the Fame abroade doth fly
That hellishe Dogges wt bawling sound were heard to howle and cry,
And yt the ground with trembling shooke, and vnder feete did moue.
And dreadfull blasing Comets bright were seene in Skies aboue.
And gastly shapes of men besides, to wander on the ground.
And wood, and trees on euery syde, did fearefully resound.
Besides all this straūg Ghosts were seene in places where they stoode,
And Ryuers more then one or two, that ran all blacke goord bloode.
O cruell plague, O vile disease, farre worse then speedy death.
O wee vnhappy thrise and more, who doe prolonge our breath.
In these accursed dayes and tymes. But harke to mee a while.
When first this lothsome plague begins these Mysers to defile,
It takes them thus. A feareful Cold through al their bones doth run,
And Cold and Heate togeather mixt, their sences all benome.
Than litle lothsome markes appeare, and all their bodies spot.
And all their members flaming glow, and burning fast doe rot.
The Lights, the Lungs, the heart, the Guts, and all that inwarde lies.
And all the secret partes iscorcht, with deadly fier fries.
The bloud all clotterd in their Cheekes, in cluster lies by lumps.
And it and heate together makes, great, straung, and ruddy bumps.
And bloud and flesh congeled stands, in Face as stiffe as stake.
And Eyes in head fast fixed set, and often trickling make.
And downe apace whole fluds they steame, and clots & drops doe trill,
And all the skin from of their Face, by flakes and scales doth pill.
A thousand fearefull sounds at once, into their eares doe rush.
And lothsome bloud out of their Nose, by stilling streames doth gush.
The very anguish of their heart doth cause them for to shake.
And what with payne & heale, and feare, their weried lims doe quake.
Then some the rūning Ryuers haunt, and some on ground bee wallow.
And some agayne their thirst to slake, cold water gulping swallow.
Thus all our country tost with plague in Griefe it waltering dries.
And still desiring for to dye, a thousand deathes it dyes.
But God to heare them then is prest: and death to none denyes.
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But onely for to glut the Gods, with that that they do say.
But who is this that comes to Court in hast with poasting pace?
What? ist Creon that noble Prince (for deedes and stately race?)
Or doth my mynd opprest with care thinges false for true contriue?
Creon it is long looked for, his sight doth me reuyue.
| Oedipvs. The Fifth Tragedy of Seneca | |