University of Virginia Library

Nutrix. Philoctetes.
PH.
In such a chearefull sorte
As no man liues.

NV.
And could he with so sweete and merry looke,
The scorching panges and torments of his ending fier brooke?

PH.
That there was any heate at all his face did not bewray,
Who prou'de that power might force al things to stoupe and to obay,
That vnder sonne vntamed be.

NV.
Where did the noble knight,
Among the wrastling waues of sea display his matchlesse might:

PH.
That mischiefe witch all only yet the worlde knew not before,
Euen fier hath bin conquered as beastes and monsters more.
Among the toyles of Hercules the fier is crept in.

NV.
Declare vs how the flaming force of fier coulde hee win.

PH.
As soone as hee with smarting hand the Oeta hill had grypte,
And forthwith from ye braunched Beeche ye shrinking shade was wipte:
And felled from the stump it lyes, a Pyne tree hard hee bendes,
That crakes the clowdes, & down from skyes his hawty head he sendes
The Rocke did totter ready for to reele, and with the sway
It tumbleth downe, a little groue withall it beares away.
A spreading Oake of Chaon big, whose leaues did euer rush,
And dimde the sunne, and did beyonde the woode his braunches push.
It being hewde doth crack, and eake in twayne the wedges knappes:
The steele startes back and thus the toole of Iron bides the rappes,
And flyes out of the Logge, at length at roore it shogde and shooke,
And falling downe full lythtly the ouerthrow it tooke.
Forthwith the place lost all his light, the byrds scaard fro their nest
Doe soare about the cropped wood, and holes wherein to rest,
And chirping with their weary winges about the plot they flicker
In euery tree the ringing strokes were multiplied thicker.
The holy Oakes in hugy hand the Iron Axe did feele.
No timber on the stallen stocks might scape the hewing steele,
Thus all the wood vpon a pile is heapt, and one by one
The Logges are layde as hygh as heauen that Hercules thereon
Might haue a narrow roome: his burning bones for to bestow.
On Pynetree top, and towghest Oake the fier begins to glowe.
And on the stumped willowe flamth, and thus the forrest wyde
Doth make the Kill: the Popler wood all Hercles blocks doth hyde.
But as the puissaunt Lyon when his fits doe vexe him sore,
Lies wallowing on his back, and through the forrest lowde doth rore.
So fareth hee, who woulde haue thought hee had to burning gon?
As one that climbs to heauen, not fier, he was to looke vpon
When vp he stept on Oeta mount and gazed on his Kill.
Being layde aloft he brake the blocke, so heauy was hee still.
The shyues yet coulde not beare his wayght he calling for his bow
Did say to mee, haue Philocktet, on thee I it bestow,
This same is it that Hydra with his swarming heads did know.
This did fetch downe the stimphall foules, and all that wee haue daunt,
Goe thou with this let victory, and happinesse thee haunt,
For neuer shall thou shute agaynst thy foes with these but speede.
If at a byrde amid the clowdes thou aame shee dies indeede.
These certayne shaftes shall bring thy marke down from the azur sky,
Thys bow shall not deceaue thy hand, full oft I did it try,
And made it meete to beare a shaft, and cast his leauell dew.
Thyne arrowes shall not fayle thyne aame if that thou nock them trew,
I aske but only this of thee, put fier to the Stack,
Bestow on mee my funerall flame to bryng me to my wrack.
This knarry Club (quoth hee) the which no hand shall euer losse
Shall onely with his Hercules in fier goe to losse,
This also (quoth hee) shouldst thou haue if thou could weild the same,
Beside his maister let it lye to help towarde the flame,
And then beside him down hee layes the Lyons hayry skin
To burne with him: the shaggy case hid all the pyle within.
The people sobde, and none there was but sorrow straynde his teares.
The mother mad for egar griefe her breast all bare shee beares,
And naked downe toth Nauill steade displayes her tender teates.
And languishing with wringed hands her naked dugges shee beates
And cryeth out vpon the Gods on Ioue himselfe shee calles,
Her shriking rang through all the place so womanlike shee yalles.
Be still (quoth hee) good mother: force your showres of teares to cease.
Your dreary dole disgraceth much the death of Hercules.
Wayle secretly vnto your selfe: why make ye Iuno glad,
To se that you a weeping day with store of teares haue had?
(It doth her good to see her bawdes, to stand with weeping eyes.)
Forbeare, forbeare your malady, tis deadly sinne for yee,
To teare the teates, and rent the wombe, that first did foster me.
And as he blustred giuing gruntes when earst he led in chayne
The hownd aboute the townes of Grece what tyme he came agayne
Tryumphing ouer conquerd hel defying Plutoës might,
And dreadful desteny: so on the fyre he lay vpright.
What conquerour euer sat in coatch with such a chereful grace?
What tyrant did controll his folke by law with such a face?
How husht was al thing at his death? himselfe he could not weepe
And also we had cleane forgot the wound of sorrowes deepe
None doth lament him at his death now were it shame to wayle:
Alcmen (whom nature ought to moue) her teares now do her fayle.
And thus as yll as was the sonne the mother stoode almost.

N.
But at his burning did hee not call on the heauenly host,
Remembring Ioue to heare his suite.

Ph.
As on in depe dispayre
He lay, and staryng vp so rould his eyes into the ayre
To spye if Ioue lookt downe to him from any turret hye.
Then with his handes displayd to heauen (quoth he) where so thou lye,
And lokest downe to se thy sonne, this same, this same is hee,
Whom one day eeked with a night engendred hath to thee
If East and West if Scithia, and euery burning plot,
That parched is with glowing glede of Phœbus fier hot
Doth sing my prayse? and if the earth ful satisfyde with peace
If languishing and wayling woords in euery towne doe cease
If none their alters do imbrew with any guiltles gore,
Then Ioue let my vncaged spirite haue heauen for euermore.
As for thinfernall dennes of death they do not me detarre?
Nor scouling Plutoes dungeon darck, but Ioue I do abhorre.
Unto those gastly Goblins as a silly shade to goe,
Sith I am he whose conquering hand gaue them their ouerthrowe.
Withdraw these foggy clowdes of night, display the glimsyng light
That Hercles broyld with flying flames the Gods may haue in sight:
And if thou do denye (O syre) the starres and heauen to mee
To geue me them agaynst thy will thou shalt constrayned bee,
If glutting griefe do stop thy speach, the Stygian goulphes set oape,
And let mee dye, but first declare within the heauenly coape,
That thou accepst me as thy soone: this day it shal be wrought,
That to bee raysd aloft to starres, I may be worthy thought.
Thou hast doone litle for me yet: it may be doubted well
Whether Ioue did first beget his sonne, or damnd him first to hell.
And (quoth he) let my stepdame see, how wel I can abyde
The scorching heate of burning brandes: for fyer then he cride,
And sayth to me O Philoctet in hast vppon me throw
The burning logges, why quakest thou? dost dastard thow forslow,
For feare to this wicked deede? O coward, peasant slaue,
Thou art to weake to bende my bow, vnmeete my shaftes to haue
What aylest thou to loke so pale? and as thou seest mee lye
With cherefull looke couragiously do thou the fier plye.
Behold me wretch that broyle and burne my father opes the Skyes
And vnto me sonne Hercules come, come away he cryes.
O father Ioue (quoth he) I come: with that I waxed pale
And toward him a burning beame with might and mayne I hale:
But backe from him the billets flye and tumbling out they leape,
And from the limmes of Hercules downe falleth all the heape.
But he encrocheth on the fyre as it from him doth shrinke.
That many mountaynes whole were set on fyer a man would thinke
No noyse was hard, and all was husht, but that the fyer did hisse
In Hercles glowing paunch when as his liuer burning is.
If boysteous gyant Typhus had amid this fire bene throwne,
These torments would haue straind his teares & forst him sigh & grone.
Or tough Euccladus that tost a mountayne on his backe.
But Hercles lifted vp himselfe amid his fyres all blacke,
With smoake besmeard his corps halfe burnt in shiuers, gubs & flawes,
And downe the throate his gasping breath & flames at once he drawes
Then to Alcmen he turnd himselfe: O mother myne (quoth hee)
Should ye so stand at Hercles death? should you thus wayle for me?
And thus betwene the fire and smoke, vpright and stiffe he standes.
And neyther stoupes nor leanes awrye, but moues and stirs his hands,
With al his liuely gestures still, and thus he doth perswade.
His mother leaue the langusihing, and mourning that she made.
And did encourage all his men t'encrease the fyre than
As though he were not burning, but would burne some other man.
The people stoode astonished, and scant they would beleeue
That fire had any force on him, or that it did him greeue.
Because his chereful looke had such a maiesty and grace.
And neuer wilde vs meue the fyre that he might burne apace,
(And now when as he thought, he had endured pangues ynough,)
And stoutly bode the brunt of death, the blocks hee doth remoue,
That smothering lay, to make thē burne: then downward doth he shoue
And where the stewing heate did chiefely scorch, and burne most hot,
That way he thrusts his frying lims, and thether hath hee got.
(With steaming countnaunce vnapaulde his mouth now doth he fill)
With burning coales, his comely Bearde thē blazde about his cheekes:
And now when as the sparkling fier vnto his visage seekes,
The flame lickt vp his singed hayre, and yet he did not winke:
But open kept his staring eyes But what is this? my thinke
Alcmene cometh yonder as a woefull wight forlorne,
With sighes and sobs, and all her hayre befrounced rent, and torne.
And beares the remnaunt in her Lap, of Hercules the great.