University of Virginia Library

Chorus.

Let th'ayre complayne, and eke the parent great
Of haughty Sky, and fertile land throughout,
And wandring waue of euer mouing freat.
And thou before them all, which lands about
And trayn of Sea thy beames abroade dost throe
With glittring face, and mak'st the night to flee,
O feruent Titan: bothe thy settinges loe
And rysing, hath Alcides seene wyth thee:
And knowne lykewise hee hath thy howsen twayne.
From so great ills release yee nowe hys brest,
O Gods release: to better turne agayne
His ryghter mynde, and thou O tamer best
O sleepe of toyles, the quietnesse of mynde,
Of all the lyfe of man the better parte,
O of thy mother Astrey wynged kynde,
Of hard and pyning death that brother arte,
With truth mingling the false, of after state
The sure, but eke the worste foreteller yet:
O Father of all thynges, of Lyfe the gate,
Of lyght the rest, of nyght and fellowe fyt,
That com'st to Kyng, and seruaunt equally,
And gently cherysshest who weary bee,
All mankynde loe that dreadfull is to dye,
Thou doost constrayne long death to learne by thee.
Keepe him fast bounde wyth heauy sleepe opprest,
Let slomber deepe his Limmes vntamed bynde,
Nor soner leaue his vnright raginge breaste
Then former mynd his course agayne may fynd,
Loe layd on ground with full fierce hart yet still
His cruel sleepes he turnes: and not yet is
The plague subdude of so great raging yll
And on great club the weary head of his
He wont to laye, doth secke the staffe to fynde
VVith empty handes his armes out casting yet
VVith mouing vayne: nor yet all rage of minde
He hath layd downe, but as with Sowthwind greate
The waue once vext yet after kepeth still
His raging long, and though the wind now bee
Asswaged swelles, shake of theis madde and yll
Tossinges of mynde, returne let piety,
And vertue to the man, els let be so
His mynde with mouing mad toste euery waye:
Let errour blynd, where it begun hath, go,
For naught els now but only madnes maye
Thee gyltles make in next estate it standes
To hurtles handes thy mischiefe not to know.
Now stroken let with Hercules his handes
Thy bosome sounde: thyne armes the worlde allow
VVere wonte to beare, let greuous strypes now smyte
VVith conquering hande, and lowde complayning cryes,
Let th'ayre now heare, let of darke pole and nighte
The Queene them hear, and who ful fyercely lyes
That beares his neckes in mighty chaynes fast bounde,
Low lurking Cerberus in deepest caue.
Let Chaos all with clamour sad resound,
And of broad sea wide open wafting waue.
And th'ayre that felt thy weapons beter yet, but felt them though.
The breastes with so great yls as these beset,
VVith litle stroake they must not beaten bee.
Let kingdomes three sound with one playnt and crye,
And thou neckes honour and defence to see,
His arrowe strong longe hanged vp on hye,
And quiuers light the cruell stripes now smyte
On his fierce backe his shouldars strong and stout
Let oken club now strike and poast of might
VVith knots ful hard his brestee load all aboute.
Let euen his weapons so great woes complayne
Not you pore babes mates of your fathers praise,
VVith cruell wound reuenging kinges agayne:
Not you your lims in Argos barriars playes,
Are taught to turne with weapons strong to smite
And strong of hand yet euen now daring loe
The weapons of the Scithian quiuer light
VVith stedy hand to paise set out from bow.
And stags to perce that saue them selues by flight
And backes not yet ful maend of cruel beast.
To Stigian hauens goe ye of shade and night
Goe hurtles soules, whom mischiefe hath opprest
Euen in fyrst porch of lyfe but lately had,
And fathers fury goe vnhappy kind
O litle children, by the way ful sad
Of iourney knowen.
Goe see the angry kynges.