 | The Tragedy of Orestes |  |
Scen. II.
manet Egysteus.Ægyst.
And that shall be ere long, tush (shall be's) slow,
My vengefull thoughts tell mee thou now art dead.
Fie faint Apollo, weakling infant-God,
Why wouldst thou let lame Vulcan's hammers beat
Downe those braue Turrets which thou help'dst to build?
Venus, I see thou art a woman now,
Which here are like to take a double foyle,
For me, that whilome reueld in thy campe
In the sweet pleasures of incestuous sheets
Must leaue our lou'd vnsatiate desires:
But now begin, thou blacke Eumenides,
You hand-mayds of great Dis, let such a flame
Of anger burne mee, as doth Etna's forge,
On fury, on, our hate shall not die thus:
I'll draw my poysonous arrow to the length,
That it may hit the marke and fly with strength.
Exit.
| The Tragedy of Orestes | |