University of Virginia Library

Hercules, Chorus.
Ch.
O sonne of thunder thumping Ioue no shadowes do thee fray,
Now Ossa mount of Thessalie shal Pelion hill downe crush
And Athos pilde on Pindus toppe his bushy hed shall push
Among the starry skes therby aboue the craggy rockes.
Typhoëus vp shal clyme, and thumpe with store of battryng knockes
Iuarmen stone in Tyrren sea from thence eake shall be beat
The smoaky forge of Ætna mount, that glowes with stewing heate
Enceladus not ouerthrowne yet with the thundercracke
Shal hew the mountayne syde in twayne, and trusse it on his backe
The signes of heauen shal follow thee and goe with thee to wracke

Her.
I that returnde from dennes of death, and Stigian streame defyed
And ferryed ouer Lethes lake, and dragd vp, chaind, and tyde
The tryple headded mastiffe hownd, when Tytans teeme did start
So at the ougly sight that he fel almost from his cart.
Euen I whose pith the kingdomes three of Gods ful wel haue knowne
Lo yet myne end I daunted am by death and ouerthrowne
But yet no bloudy blade agaynst my riued rybbes doth crash
It is no rock that vnto death my brused bones doth pash
Nor as it were with Osir hill that clouen were in twayne,
Nor with the sway of all the mountayne falling am I slayne.
The glaring eyed giant grym doth not now squeaze my coarse
With paise of Pindus roch and thus not feling enmyes force
I conquerd am and yet alas this coarsie frets me more
O feeble force of man: he whom no might could match before
Withouten any conquest made doth end his latter day,
Without exployt or feat of armes my selfe I passe away.
O mighty vmpier of the world and all ye Ghostes aboue
That witnes how in quarell good my right hand euer stroue
O all ye landes, O earth alas, may it your mercy please
To spoyle the spiteful sting of death that dauntes your Hercules
Fy, fye, what shame is it to vs what filthy fate we haue?
A woman prowde shall boast her bane brought Hercles to his graue
Then what are they whose mortall mayme Alcides weapon gaue
If thus with sway inuincible my fatal wheele do run
And neede must on this shameful rocke my fatall twist be spunne:
As by a womans cursed hand my bloud should thus be shed
Yet Iunoes mallice migh haue powrd this vengeance on my head,
So might a womans deadly hand haue brought me to my beere:
But yet a woman weilding sway amid the welkin cleare
But this seemde ouerprowde attempt for Gods to take in hand
The paples dame in Scithia borne where pight on hie doth stand
The Apeltree whereon the vnderpropped poales do sway.
It might as wel haue bene her hap to take my breath away,
What womans might may maister me Queene Iunoes hatefull foe
Fye stepdame fye the fowler shame by this to thee doth grow.
Why dost thou triumph in this day? why did dame Tellus breede
Such parlous bugges thy humour ranck of colour hoate to feede?
A mortall womans peauishe spight doth passe thy rancour rough,
Thou sayst thou cannot haue reuenge on Hercules inough
Then are wee twayne yt passe thy power the Gods may blushe for shame
To see their mallice ouermacht by such a mortall dame.
Would God the ramping Lyons pawe that noyed Neme woode,
Had fillde his greedy mounching Iawes with plenty of my bloude:
Or while the twining snakes had hembde mee in by hundreds thick,
Why might not Hydra swallow vp my wrinched body quick?
Why was it not the centaures hap my silly flesh to gnawe?
Or that I bounde on Tantalls rocke shoulde gape with greedy Iawe?
In vayne to catch the fleeting foode when deepe from Tartar soyle,
Where at the Gods aggrized were, I did purloyne the spoyle.
And from the darck infernall Styx I gat agayne to light,
Of Ditis dungeon all the stops and slayes I conquerde quight.
Death shranke from mee in euery place that I a noble knight
At length might ende my dayes in shame, and in dishonour spoylde
Oh Ioue the creatures terrible thou knowst that I haue foylde
The threefoldeshapen mastiffe curre whom vp I draggde in chayne,
Hee starring from the sunnewarde coulde not hale mee back agayne.
The sheepherdes churlishe rabble that aloofe in Iber bee
Under the Spanishe feruent clyme coulde neuer maister mee.
Nor serpents twayne that vnto mee in tender cradell creapt.
Aye woe is mee that valiant death so oft I ouerleapt:
What honour shall I dye withall?

CH.
Beholde how death and hell
Cannot appaule the verteous mynde that of deseruing well.
By guiltlesse conscience warrant hath the death that doth him spoyle,
Irkes not as thus of such an one to take this filthy foyle.
If with this torment life were lost, his mynde should much be easde,
As with vnweildy Gyauntes sway hee had his body squeasde.
Or Titans burden with his monsters all he woulde abyde.
Or wishe of raging Gyants rent in pieces to haue dyde,
And if thy dolefull death because that monster none is left.
Who may be worthy thought by whom Alcides life bee reft?
But thine owne hand to doe the deede.

HE.
Aye me and wellaway,
What Scorpion scrapes within my Mawe? what cralling Crab I say
With crooking cleaze to comber mee, from scorching zone returnes,
And hoat within my boyling bones the seathing Marowe burnes.
My Riuer whilom ranke of bloude my rotting Lunges it tawes,
And teareth them in shattered gubs, and filthy withered flawes.
And now my Gall is dryed vp my burning Lyuer glowes.
The stewing heate hath stilde away the bloude, and Ioue hee knowes
My vpper skin is scorcht away and thus the Cankar stronge
Doth eate an hole that get it may my wretched Limmes amonge,
And from my frying Ribs (alas) my Lyuer quite is rent.
It gnawes my flesh, deuowers all, my Carkas quite is spent,
It soakes into the empty bones, and out the iuyce it suckes
The bones by lumps drop of while it the ioyntes a sunder pluckes
My corpulent Carkas is consumde of Hercules euery lim
Yet stauncheth not the festring rot that feedeth fast on him
O what a tingling ache it is that makes mee thus to smart,
O bitter plague, O pestilence that gripeth to the heart.
Loe Cittes, loe what now remaynes of Hercules the great.
Are these the armes that did with stripes the roaring Lyon beate?
And in Nemea wood did teare him from his hary case
Might this hand bend ye bow from cloudes the Stimphall foule to chase?
Are these the shankes that coapt the heart who shifting pace full oft?
Did beare his braunched head ypranckt with garlond gay aloft?
Was Calpe craggy cliue of these my feeble clowches broake?
To rayse a dam in feas that did their foamy channell choake.
Had these armes pith the breath of Kings, of Beastes, and bugs to stop?
Or might these shoulders tough the payse of heauen vnderprop?
Are these the lusty Lims and Neck that shrank not at the payse?
Are these the hands that I agaynst the weltring heauens did rayse?
Alas whose handes shall now perforce from hence hell Iaylour leade?
Alas the noble courage earst that now in mee is deade.
Why call I Ioue my Father great of whom my stock should ryse?
Why by the Thunderer make I my challenge to the skyes?
Now, now Ampitrio is my sier all men may it auouch.
Come out thou murreyn fowle that dost within my bowells couch.
Why dost thou thus with priuy wound my carefull Carkas foyle?
What gulph vnder the frozen Clyme in saluage Scithian soyle
Engendred thee? what water Hag did spawne thee on the shore?
Or stony Colpe Rock in Spayne that borders on the Moare:
O yrksome ill, and art thou not the Serpent that doth sting
With crest on ougly head, or els some other lothly thing,
Or spronge of Hydraës bloude, or left heere by the hellick hound.
Art thou no plague? and yet a plague in whom all plagues abound?
What gastly countnaunce cariest thou (alas) yet let me know?
What kinde of mischiefe may thou be that dost torment mee so?
What saluage sore, or murreyn straunge, or vncouth plague thou bee?
With open combat face to face thou should encounter mee.
And not thus ranckle in my flesh, nor soake into the sap,
By sowltring heate within my bones thy boyling bane to wrap,
And in the mid thereof to fry the Maroe that doth melt.
My iagged skin is ript, and out my smoaky Bowells swelt.
From bursten Paunch my selfe doe flea the skin with grasping pawse,
And from the naked boanes doe teare the mangled flesh by flawes,
I searched for thee through my Mawe, yet further dost thou creepe,
And festring farther in my flesh hast gnawne an hole more deepe.
O mischiefe match to Hercules, what griefe coulde make mee greete?
Whēce flow these streames of trillīg teares ye down my cheekes do fleete
The time hath bin no plunging pangues could cause our courage quaile,
That neuer vse with cristall teares our anguish to bewayle.
Ah, fy, I am ashamde that I should learne these teares to shed:
That Hercules in weeping wise his griefe hath languished:
Who euer saw at any day in any time or place?
All bitter brunts I bare with dry, and eake vnreky face
The manhoode that so many ills hath maistred heretofore,
Hath yeelded onely vnto thee, to thee thou Cankar sore,
Thou first of all hast straynde the teares out of my weeping eyes
Thy gargle face thy visage wan that doth mee sore aggrise.
More towgh then mossy Rockes, more hard then Gads of sturdy steeke,
Or roaming streame of Simplegade, whereby this smart I feele
Hath crusht my cracking Iawes, & wronge the streaming teares frō me.
O wielder of the Welkin swifte, loe, loe the Earth doth see
How Hercules doth weepe and wayle, and to my greater payne
My Stepdame Iuno sees the same, beholde, beholde agayne
My Lunges doe fry, the scorching heate preuayleth more, and more.
Whence fell this thunder Boult on mee that burnes in mee so sore?

C.
Who stoupeth not whē griefe doth gal? more tough thē Aem of Thrace
Whas whilom hawty Hercules, and did no more giue place
Then doth the marble axelltree, his Lims hee now doth yeelde
To paynefull pangues: and on his Neck his aking heade doth wielde,
And tossing still from side to side, hee bendes with hugy sway,
And oft his noble heart doth force his trilling teares to stay.