 | Octavia (1581) |  |
[179]
THE SECOND SCENE.
Octauia Chorus.
Do
not, alas, thus sore lament,
But rather yet your mourning stay,
Sith that the city whole is bent
To celebrate this ioyful day:
Least your great loue and fauour both,
Which I do count to be most sure,
The more cause Nero me to loth,
And eake his bitter wrath procure:
And I fal out to be the ground
To you of many mischieues vyle,
This same is not the first deepe wounde,
That I haue felt now this good whyle:
Farre worse then this haue I abode:
But of these troublous cares this day
Shall make an end I trust in God,
Although with Death he do me pay,
No man to see shal me constrayne
His bended browes knit furrowyse,
Nor step within the Chamber ragyne
Of mayde drest vp in brydall guise
Augulius sister I wil bee,
And not his wyfe as wont I was:
But onely paynes remoue from mee,
And feare of death I wil not passe.
Yet canst thou piteous wreth once trust,
Thy cruell husbandes father law,
Or these few thinges to haue so iust
Whyle mischieues yet in mynd are rawe?
Now long reserud, vntil this day,
And these same maryage rytes be past,
Thou shalt poore wretch without delay,
A bloudy offring dye at last.
Why thus with teares disfigured sore
Thy wonted home dost thou behold?
Make hast to shunne this deadly shore
And leaue this straughtrous Princes fold.
Cho.
But rather yet your mourning stay,
Sith that the city whole is bent
To celebrate this ioyful day:
Least your great loue and fauour both,
Which I do count to be most sure,
The more cause Nero me to loth,
And eake his bitter wrath procure:
And I fal out to be the ground
To you of many mischieues vyle,
This same is not the first deepe wounde,
That I haue felt now this good whyle:
Farre worse then this haue I abode:
But of these troublous cares this day
Shall make an end I trust in God,
Although with Death he do me pay,
No man to see shal me constrayne
His bended browes knit furrowyse,
Nor step within the Chamber ragyne
Of mayde drest vp in brydall guise
Augulius sister I wil bee,
And not his wyfe as wont I was:
But onely paynes remoue from mee,
And feare of death I wil not passe.
Yet canst thou piteous wreth once trust,
Thy cruell husbandes father law,
Or these few thinges to haue so iust
180
Now long reserud, vntil this day,
And these same maryage rytes be past,
Thou shalt poore wretch without delay,
A bloudy offring dye at last.
Why thus with teares disfigured sore
Thy wonted home dost thou behold?
Make hast to shunne this deadly shore
And leaue this straughtrous Princes fold.
Lo see that day suspecttd long
And whispered Fame in all mens eares,
With glisteryng pompe of brydall throng,
To vs pore wretches now appeares.
And Claudius broode Octauias grace,
From Neroes wedlocke place expelde,
Departed is, whose spousall space,
Hath Poppie conquerour long tyme helde.
The whyle, our pyety couched lyes
Kept downe with heauy, combrous feare.
And slow reuenging grief likewyse:
Where doth the peoples power appeare,
That brake the force of Princes great,
That conquerous city lawes hath framde,
That worthy men to honours seat
Preferd, that warre and peace proclaymd,
That sauage people straunge did tame
That Kinges and Princes caught in fight
Shut surely vp in prison frame
To keepe them close from all mens sight
Loe, which wee cannot once abyde,
To see wher Poppies ymage trym,
Conioyned vnto Neroes syde
All glistring bright shynes very brim.
Let force of Armes pul downe that frame
And match with grounde that Ladyes face
[180]
And snatch her downe from hedddig place,
And let it forthwith flye with brandes
With Dartes and Iauelins fiercely flonge,
From pythy braunes and sturdy handes
Unto the princes courtly throng.
| Octavia (1581) | |