University of Virginia Library

The first Epistle.

Penelope to Vlysses.

To thee that lingrest all to long,
thy wyfe (Vlysses) sendes:
Gayne write not but by quick returne
for absence make amendes.
To Greekish Nymphes that hatefull Troie,
is now to ruine brought:
Scarce mought the King and all his welth
requite the wrong they wrought.
O that the surging Seas had drencht
that lustfull Lecher tho:
When he to Lacedemon came
imbarckt, and wrought our wo.
Then should I not haue layde my lymmes
in desert coutch alone:
Ne made complaint that Phœbus steades
to slowe to glade had gone.
Then should no Beldames distaffe made,
my Wydowish hande to faint:
Whilst I to waste the wearie night,
with spinning was attaint.
When stoode I not in worser awe
in deede than was befell?
Aye loue is passing full of feare,
though euery thing be well.
Mee thought I sawe a swarming troupe
of Troians thee aboute:
No sooner Hectors name I heard,
but Hector made me doute.
I brute had blazde Amphimachus
of Hector to beene slaine:
Amphimachus by such report
procurde my dread againe.
Or when Menetius sonne was sayde
in forged armes to die:
I sorrowed that the Troians did
Patroclus craft espie.
When Tlepolemus lost by force
of Lycian launce his life:
By Tlepolemus death were made
my slacked sorrowes rife.
In fine what so they were of Greece,
that dyde amid their foes,
A feare within my breast more colde
Than Mountaine yse arose.
But righteous God that Hymen hight,
and true loue hath in care:
Hath kept Vlysses free from scath,
and Troians caught in snare.
The Greekish Chieftaines are returnde,
the sacred Altars flame:
Of barbarous spoyle the Gods haue part,
that well deserude the same.
The Matrones for their salued Feeres
most gratefull giftes prepare:
And they, how Troie by their toyle
atchieued was, declare.
The sage with siluer haires doe muse,
and daintie Damsels eake:
The wiues about their husbandes hang
when they begin to speake.
And lo, when Tables once are laide,
one ginneth straight to showe
The wreakefull warre, and drawes with wine
the Troian Tentes arowe.
Here Simois (saith he) did flowe,
here is Sigeian lande:
And here the aged Priams Hawle
and Princely house did stande.
There fierce Achylles pight his Tentes,
there wise Vlysses lay:
Here Hector rent in dolefull wise,
the horsses did affray.
Thus auncient Nèstor made report,
who tolde thy sonne the same:
And he (as was his part to doe)
declarde it to his Dame.
How Rhesus thou didst make to rue,
and Dolon yeelde to death:
Th' one sleeping, th' other by thy guile
did lose his vitall breath.
And didst thou dare (thou retchlesse man
and ouerbolded wight)
To Thracian Tents to shape thy course
in vgly shade of night?
And onely by the ayde of one,
so many men to slaye
That wonted were to be so ware
and minde thy wedlock aye?
With quaking feare my heart was colde,
and visage passing pale:
When thou didst passe along the Host,
and Thracian horses stale:
But what to me (vnhappie Feme)
auailes the Troian wracke:
And walles which you by breach haue brought,
to vtter spoyle and sacke:
If I in Widowes state remaine,
as I to fore haue donne:
And must for aye Vlysses lacke,
as when the broyle begonne?
To me that Troie sole doth stande
though Souldiers had the spoyle:
And they that Victors were with plough
for lucre turne the soyle:
Where stately buildings were to see,
and Troian towne did stande:
There sprouteth corne with Phrygian bloud,
so fatted is the lande.
Halfe buried bones of wordlike wightes
the crooked Culters teare:
Both grasse and graine with hearbes doe grow,
where hawtie houses were.
Thou Victor euer art alack,
ne once wilt make me showe
By louing lines, or message meanes,
what cause of stay doth growe.
No straunger stumbles on our stronde,
or brings his Bacrk to bay,
But I enquire him of thy health
or ere he passe away.
And so his fortune fauour, that
on thee he chaunce to light,
I praye him yeelde those louing lines,
which I to thee indight.
I sent to Pylos to enquire,
(where aged Nèstor dwelt)
No certaine rumor of a truth
from Pylos haue I felt.
From thence I sparde not for expence
to Sparta me to hie:
But Sparta cannot make account,
where thou doe liue or die.
More better twere for me (in fayth)
if Troie stoode againe,
(But I vnconstant wight am wroth
with these my wishes vaine.)
Then should I certaine be and sure
where thou didst leade thy lyfe:
Then onely should I dreade the warres,
and stormes of stirred strife.
Then should my drearie dolefull plaint
conioyned be with mo:
That in the absence of their makes
should take some taste of wo.
I fraughted am with feare, but what
I dreade I know not well:
My cares encrease, the way is wide
that leades me to this hell.
No perill on the tossing Sea,
or on the lande is seene,
But I surmise that they forthwith
thy cause of stay hath beene.
Whilst fondly thus amazde I stande,
(such is thy pleasures plight)
Thou mayst bestow thy loue a freshe
vpon some other wight.
To whome thou makste a shew perhaps,
how homely is thy wife:
And how at Distaffe she delights
to leade a Rusticks life.
But (Gods) O let me be beguilde,
let whisking windes transport
Such thoughts, & thou that mayst retyre,
dislodge not in such sort.
Icarius my grutching Syre
would force me breake my Heast,
And blaming this thy slack returne,
would make newe mariage feast.
But as I am, I will be thine,
let rancor feede his fill,
Penelope will be the wife
of hir Vlysses still.
Yet naythelesse my endlesse sute
at length hath mooude my Syre:
Who rules his rage with reasons brake,
and Masters wrathfull yre.
From Ilandes round about doe flock
of suters many one:
Zacinthus, Samus, with the reast,
by sute encrease my mone.
Those roysting rufflers beare the sway
within thy Pallace gate:
With catching clawes they waste thy wealth,
and seeke t'impaire thy state.
Pyzander, Medon, Polybus,
Eurimachus yfere:
With Antinous t'is no neede,
for to receite as here.
What should I these, with others name,
who seeke to spend thy good,
Which thou by manly Marte hast got
in daunger of thy blood?
The raskall eke doth rule the rost,
Melanthius, and Ire,
(Which soundes to thy disworship most)
togither doe conspire.
Wee are by tale but three, God wote,
thy weake and wretched wife:
Telemachus thy little sonne,
Laërtes lothing life.
Thy sonne not long ago was like
by craft to beene consumde:
Whilst he, to passe against their willes
to Pylos had presumde.
But Gods I grate this onely boone,
that he by course of kinde,
His fathers eies and mine may close,
and liue himselfe behinde.
This is the crooked Nurces worke
and clownishe cowardes care:
And he that daylie serues the swine,
a lyke is woont to fare.
Laërtes ouerlode with yeares,
vnable to the warre,
Amidde these states can strike no stroke
when they begin to iarre.
Thy Sonne (so Gods doe lende him life)
to mans estate will growe:
But thou in these his childish yeares,
shouldst garde him from the foe.
I Miser wight am not of force
to banishe them the place:
Wherefore, see thou who art our ayde,
that thou returne apace.
Thou hast (long mayest thou haue) a Son,
that in his tender age.
Should follow on his fathers steps,
and life for worship gage,
Liue not ay retchlesse of thy Syre,
whose eies thou oughtes to shut:
His dying date drawes on apace,
the twine of life is cut:
And I that at thy parture was,
a Gyrle to beholde:
Of truth am waxte a Matrone now,
thy selfe will iudge mee olde.