 | The Tragedy of Orestes |  |
Act. III.
Scen. I.
Enter Tyndarus: Misander.Tynd.
Ovr daughter send for vs? how fares she? well?
She mournes I'm sure for her husbands death.
Mis.
My Lord, shee tooke it sadly at the first:
But time hath lessen'd it.
Tynd.
I, griefe soone ends
That flowes in teares; they still are womens friends:
But how is't rumord now in Argos, though,
That Agamemnon dyde.
Mys.
Why, hee was old,
And death thought best to seise on him at home,
Tynd.
'Twas a long home, hee got by comming home,
Well, well, Misander, I like not the course,
The peoples murmure makes my cheekes to blush.
Mis.
My gracious Lord, who trusts their idle murmure,
Must neuer let the blush goe from his cheeke,
They are like flagges growing on muddy banks,
Whose weake thin heads blowne, with one blast of winde,
They all will shake, and bend themselues one way;
Great mindes must not esteeme what small tongues say.
All things in state must euer haue this end,
The vulgar should both suffer, and commend,
If not for loue, for feare; great maiesty
Should doe those things the vulgar dare not see.
Tynd.
O, Sir, but those that doe commend for feare,
Doe in their hearts a secret hatred beare.
Euer learne this; the truest praise indeed,
Must from the heart, and not from words proceed.
I feare some foule play: doth Ægystheus meane,
Then totally for to inuest himselfe
In Agamemnons seat? Where's young Orestes?
Mis.
Why my Lord? hee for the great griefe conceiu'd,
Being young, not knowing well to rule himselfe
With sway of reason, ranne vpon his death,
And threw himselfe with my Lord Strophius sonne,
Into the midst of Alpheus, so was drown'd.
Tynd.
How took my daughter that?
Mis.
Why, wisely too,
And like her selfe; not being in despaire:
Shall be as deare as e'r Orestes was.
Tynd.
I feare heauen cannot looke with equall eyes
Vpon so many deaths, but meanes to send
Plague after plague; for in a wretched state,
One ill begets another dismall Fate:
But goe and tell my daughter I will come,
And helpe to solemnize her nuptiall night:
Her hasty wedding, and the old Kings neglect,
Makes my coniecturall soule some ill suspect.
Exeunt.
Scen. II.
Enter Orestes, and Pylades.Orest.
If euer God lent any thing to earth,
Whereby it seem'd to sympathize with heauen,
It is this sacred friendship: Gordian knot
Which Kings, nor Gods, nor Fortune can vndoe.
O what Horoscopus, what constellation,
Held in our birth so great an influence,
Which one affection in two mindes vnites?
How hath my wo beene thine, my fatall ill
Hath still beene parted, and one share beene thine!
Pyl.
Why, dearest friend, suppose my case were thine,
And I had lost a father, wouldst not thou
In the like sort participate my griefe?
Orest.
Yes, witnesse heauen I would.
Pyl.
So, now thou hast lost a father,
Orest.
True, Pylades, thou putst me well in mind,
I haue lost a father, a deare, deare father,
A King, a braue old King, a noble souldier,
And yet he was murdered: O my forgetfull soule;
Why should not I now drawe my vengefull sword,
And strait-way sheath it in the murderers heart?
Minos should neuer haue vacation,
Whilst any of our progeny remain'd.
Well, I will goe, and so massacre him,
I'll teach him how to murder an old man,
A King, my Father, and so dastardly
To kill him in his bed.
Pyl.
Alas, Orestes!
Orest.
Why, he, or she, or they that kill'd my father.
Pyl.
I, who are they?
Orest.
Nay, I know not yet,
But I will know.
Pyl.
Stay thy vengefull thoughts,
And since thus long we haue estrang'd our selues
From friends and parents, lets thinke why it is,
And why we had it noysed in the Court,
We both were dead; the cause was thy reuenge,
That if by any secret priuate meanes,
We might but learne who 'twas, that drench'd their swords
In thy deare fathers blood, wee then would rouze
Blacke Nemesis in flames from out her caue,
And shee should be the vmpire in this cause.
Mans soule is like a boystrous working sea,
Swelling in billowes for disdaine of wrongs,
And tumbling vp and downe from day to day,
Growes greater still in indignation,
Turnes malecontent, in pleaselesse melancholly,
Spending her humours in dull passion, still
Locking her senses in vnclosed gins,
Till by reuenge shee sets at liberty.
Orest.
O, now my thirsty soule expects full draughts
Of Ate's boyling cup: O, how two'ld ease
My heart, to see a channell of his blood,
Streaming from hence to hell, that killd my father.
Pyl.
I, but deare friend, thou must not let rage loose,
And like a furious Lyon, from whose denne
The forrester hath stolne away his young,
Hee missing it, strait runnes with open iawes
On all he meets, and neuer hurting him
That did the wrong; wise men must mix reuenge
With reason, which by prouidence will prompt,
And tell vs where's the marke, whereat we ayme.
Till then in Cinders wee'll rake vp our griefe,
Fire thus kept, still liues, but opened dies,
From smallest sparks great flames may one day rise.
Orest.
True, friend, but, O, who euer will reueale
This hideous act! what power shall wee inuoke?
Pyl.
Yes, harken friend, I haue bethought a meanes;
Not distant farre from this place where we liue,
In a low valley where no Sun appeares,
No musique euer was there heard to sound;
But the harsh voyce of croking ominous rauens,
And sad Nyctimine the bird of night,
There's now a shed vnder whose ancient roofe,
There sometimes stood an Altar for the Gods,
But now slow creeping time, with windy blasts
Hath beaten downe that stately Temples walls,
Defac't his rich built windows, and vntil'd
His battlemented roofe, and made it now
A habitation, nor for God, nor men:
Yet an old woman, who doth seem to striue
With the vast building for antiquity,
In whose rough face time now hath made such holes,
As in those vncouth stones she there hath made
Her selfe a cell, where in to spend her age;
Her name's Canidia; great in Magique spells,
At whose dire voyce, the gods themselues would quake,
To heare her charme the second time pronounc't.
One that can know the secrets of Heauen,
And in the ayre hath flying ministers,
To bring her news from earth, from sea, from hell:
Which, when thick night hath compas't in the world,
Then doth she goe to dead mens graues and tombs,
And sucks the poysonous marrow from their bones,
Then makes her charme, which she nere spent in vaine,
Nor doth she come as suppliant to the Gods,
But making Erebus, and Heauen to quake,
She sends a spell drowning infernall thunder,
By which all secrets that were euer don,
In faire white parchment writ in lines of blood,
Lockt in the inmost roome of hell it selfe
Is brought vnto her: and by her we may
Haue leaue to looke in Pluto's register,
And read the names of those most loathed Furies,
Which rent thy Fathers soule from out his truncke,
But she must see thy Fathers dead bones first,
Them we must bring her, for by them she works:
This if thou dar'st assay, I'll goe along.
If I dare assay? yes, yes, deare friend,
Were it to burst my Fathers sepulchre,
And wake his Manes, shew them Radamanth,
Their iterated sight will burne my soule
With such a sparkling flame of dire reuenge,
As Nessus shirt did burn great Hercules,
If that the scrowle which did containe their names,
Were in a lake of flaming brimstone drencht,
I'd take it out, or fetch't from Pluto's armes:
But come; If earth haue such a creature as can tell,
Twill saue a iourney for this once from hell.
Scen. III.
Enter Ægyst. Clytem. Tynd. Msiander Strophius, Electra, cum cæt. with a crown. Ægyst ascends the throne, Miander crownes him: Clytem. great with child.Mys.
All yeares of happy dayes, all hour es of Ioy
So circle in thy state, as doth this crown
Wreath and combine thy princely temples in,
All speak! Ioue still protect Ægystheus.
Ægyst.
Thanks to my Fathers subiects:
Now Argos swell vp to the brim with ioy,
And streams of gladnes flow on Tyndarus,
Now made our Father; see old King, see here's
My Queene doth meane to make thee a grandfather,
See how thy royall blood shall propagate,
Whose Kingly drops like heauen distilling dew
Shall adde fresh life vnto thy withered roote.
Tyn.
Yes, but Ægystheus, there were armes before
Grew on this tree; but the Fates enuious axe
Hath cut them off before th'ad time to sproute:
Clyt.
O Sir, the Fates needs must haue leaue to make
Wayes for themselues to mannage what they doe:
Had Agamemnon and Orestes liu'd,
They could not then haue blest me with these gifts:
Still when the heauens and Fates doe worke their will,
They intend good, though sometimes there come ill.
Tynd.
O but pray Ioue the Fates now were not forc't,
But deedslike words no man can e're recall,
Bee't good or ill; once don, we must beare all.
They set to the feast.
To glad our hearts; Heauen still doth for the best.
Stroph.
O let my latter age not liue to see
Ægisteus weare great Argus diademe:
Elect.
Feare not good vncle, there wil be a time
To pull him downe, although he yet doth climbe:
Tynd.
Who euer trusted much on fortunes gifts,
On wife, on state, on health, on friends, on lands,
May looke on Agamemnons comming home:
Fortune me thinks ne're shew'd her power more,
How quickly could she turn her Fatall sword
Vpon his brest, that thought himselfe past harme,
She that had vs'd death like an angry dogge,
Holding him vp, when that he should haue bit,
When al the game was past, and's fury laid,
The King being past all danger, safe at home,
Then he slip's coller, neuer vntill then;
And fortune she stood hissing of him on,
Till he had torne the good Kings soule away.
Ægyst.
Nay but good Father let passe elegies,
Clyt. seems to weep
You draw fresh tears now from your daughters eies,
Who shed enough before at's funerall,
Let's talke who are to liue, not who are dead;
And thinke what progeny shall spring from vs
May beare your Image stampt vpon the face,
This we must talke of now, not what griefs past
But of the ioy to come:
Ægyst.
My Queen not well?
Now good Electra looke vnto your mother,
Clyt. riseth from the table.
Lucina be propitious to the birth;
Why, will not now a young Ægystheus be,
As gratefull as an old Orestes was?
Thou times good lengthener, age, posterity,
Spread thy selfe still vpon Ægistheus line,
Helpe me to treasure vp antiquity,
And from Thyestes loyns let spring an heire,
Shall euer sit in great Thyestes chaire.
Exeunt.
Scen. IV.
Enter Pylades & Orestes, with his arme full of a dead mans bones and a Scull.Pylad.
Neare to this shady groue, where neuer light
Appeares, but when 'tis forced with som charm,
Canidia dwells, in such a dusky place,
That the night goblins feare to come too neare it,
Here let vs knocke.
Orest.
Nay, Pylades, see here,
O giue me leaue to descant on these bones:
This was my Fathers scull; but who can know
Whether it were some subiects scull, or no:
Where be these Princely eyes, commanding face,
The braue Maiesticke looke, the Kingly grace,
Wher's the imperious frowne, the Godlike smile,
The gracefull tongue, that spoke a souldiers stile?
Ha, ha, worms eate them: could no princely looke,
No line of eloquence writ in this booke,
Command, nor yet perswade the worms away!
Rebellious worms! could a King beare no sway?
Iniurious worms! what could no flesh serue,
But Kings for you? By heauen you all shall sterue:
Had I but known't; what must my father make
A feast for you? O ye deuouring creatures!
Pyla.
Now some Archilocus to helpe him make
Vengefull Iambiques, that would make these worms
To burst themselues; Passion must please
It selfe by words, griefe told it selfe doth ease.
Orest.
You cowardly bones, would you be thus vncloth'd
By little crawling wormes! by Ioue I neuer thought
My Fathers bones could e're haue beene such cowards:
O you vngratefull wormes how haue you vs'd him;
See their ingratitude: O ambitious creatures,
How they still domineere, or'e a Kings carcasse,
Pyla.
How could they thinke Orestes, when thou cam'st to the crown
That thou shouldst beare, that these should eate thy father,
Orest.
True? Pylades, should not I rend their maws,
Deuise some new tortures? O most horrible treason,
That worms should come vnto a great Kings face,
But at one stampe to kill a thousand of 'em,
And I will kill these:
Stamps vpon them.
Goe you Kings-eating creatures: I will marre
All your digestion.
Pylad.
Alas, where be his wits?
He stands declaming against senselesse worms,
And turnes more senslesse then the worms themselues;
Wher's now the oracle you should consult,
The great Magician, now the Centaurs thought
Shall be example to all future yeers,
And now transcend Proserpina's inuention,
Ha, hast thou found them out, ha, were they worms?
Orest.
O prethe laugh not at me me, call her, call her;
Pyl. knocks.
Whilst I stand gathering vp my Fathers bones,
His deare disiected bones; O, I remember, here
Ran the strong sinews, twixt his knitting ioynts,
Here to this bone was ioyn'd his Princely arme,
Here stood the hand that bare this warlike shield,
And on this little ioynt was place't the head,
That Atlas-like bare vp the weight of Greece,
Here, here betwixt these hollow yawning iaws
Stood once a tongue, which with one little word
Could haue commanded thousand souls to death:
Good hands indure this your weighty taske,
And good eyes striue not to make moyst his bones
With weeping teares:
What sin's our Procustes euer could
Haue hackt a King into such things as these;
Alas her's euery part now so deform'd,
I know not which was his, yet all was his.
Sound infernall Musique.
Scen. V.
Enter Canidia, like an Enchauntresse.Orest.
Protect vs O ye Ministers of Heauen,
Stand neare me my good Genius, my soule hath lost
His humane function, at this hellish sight.
Can.
Who is't disturbs our caue, what messenger
Hath Pluto sent, that would know ought from vs,
Pylad.
Prompt vs some Ghost,
Great feare of earth, and gouernesse of nature,
In whose deepe closet of that sacred heart
Are written the characters of future Fate;
And what is done, or what must be thou knowst:
Whose words make burning Acheron grow cold,
And Ioue leaue thundring, when he heares thy name,
To thee we come: O turne thy secret booke,
And looke whose names thou there shalt see inscrib'd
For murderers, reade or'e all the catalogue,
Vntill thou findest there, engrauen those
Which kild the King of Greece, great Agamemnon.
Orest.
Yes, he that did owe these bones which worms haue eate;
It is not now one of the meaner sort
That craues this boone, but 'tis the heire of Greece,
Heire onely now but to my Fathers graue;
I not command, but my astonisht soule
Entreats to know.
If in thy booke it be not yet put downe,
Command the Gods to vnlocke the gates of Heauen;
And fetch forth death, command him to relate
Who 'twas put Agamemnon in his hands,
This is our businesse, this, great prophetesse,
Made vs approach to thy most hallowed cell.
Can.
Ho, ho, ho, I tell thee fond young Prince!
A lesser power thou mightst haue implor'd,
Which might haue vrg'd th'vnwilling fiends to this:
Our dire enchantments carry such a force,
That when the stars, and influence of heauen,
Haue suckt the liuely bloud from out mens veyns,
I at my pleasure bring it backe againe;
I knew each houre in the Troian fight,
What Grecian, or what Phrygian should die,
And fierce Achilles had no sooner pierc't
Great Hectors side, but fate did send me word:
Earth, Sea, deepe Chaos, all the stony hills,
Will ope themselues to shew me prodigies;
Night will vnmaske her brow, to let me see
What blacke conceptions teeme within her wombe.
O then relate great Mistresse of thy Art,
The things we craue:
Can.
What time of night is't?
Pyl.
Vpon the stroke of twelue.
Can.
Straite when a cloudy Euen clappeth the Ayre,
And all light's drench't in misty Acheron,
When the blacke palpherys of the full cheekt moone,
Haue got behinde this parta'th Hemispheare,
And darke Aldebor, and is mounted high
Into the sable Cassiopeias chaire,
And night ful mounted in her seat of iet,
Sits wrapt within a cabinet of clouds,
When serpents leaue to hisse, no dragons yell,
No birds doe sing, no harsh tun'd toads doe croake,
The Armenian Tyger, and the rauenous woolfe,
Shall yeeld vp all their tyranny to sleepe,
And then none walke but hells disturbed spirits,
Children of night, such as belong to me,
I'll shew thee thy desire; giue me these bones.
Orest.
Here, take them Mother, vse them gently,
They were a Kings bones once; O not so hard.
Can,
Why senslesse boy, dost thinke that I respect
A Kings dead bones, more then an other mans;
O they smell rankly; I, this sent doth please,
Smels to them.
But I must now to worke: why Sagana.
Pylad.
Looke here thou King of Greece fond Menelaus,
Thou which didst bring so many goodly shapes
Taks vp the scull.
Into such things as these, and all for Helen,
Which when the worms bred of her dainty flesh,
Shall haue knaw'd off her tender rubie lips,
And left her gumlesse, looke vpon her then;
And thou wouldst euen disgorge thy selfe to see,
Such putride vermin to lye kissing her.
Orest.
This head had once a royall diademe,
Now knock it, beate it, and 'twill ne're cry treason.
Can.
Why Sagana.
Orest.
There was a player once vpon a stage,
Who striuing to present a dreery passion,
Brought out the vrne of his late buried sonne,
It might the more affect him, and draw teares:
But I, as if I had no passion left,
In a true cause hauing my Fathers bones,
His hollow scull, yet crawling full of worms,
I cannot weepe, no not a teare will com.
Can.
Why Sagana, Veia, Erictho, know you not your time?
Scen. VI.
Enter Sagana, Veia, Erictho, 3. witches.Sag.
What would you Beldame?
Can.
Hath not triform'd Hecate put on
Her Styx-died mantle, is't not now fit time
To worke our charmes in?
Veia.
We here are ready 'gainst thy sacred charme.
Can.
You two, sit by, and beare in minde this charge,
Who e're you see, who euer I present;
Let your tongues be percullist in your iaws,
Stir not, nor speake not, till the charme be done.
Pyl.
Feare not, it shall be chain'd with silence.
Can.
Night, and Diana sacred Queene,
Which euer hast spectator beene
Vnto our balefull hideous rights,
Ne're acted but in darkest nights,
Now in this fatall hers-bred houre,
Shew to my rites thy greatest power.
Erictho when my torch shall twinkle,
Auernall water thou shalt sprinckle
About the roome, now let vs kneele,
Our heauy burthen Hell shall feele:
Lets all coyn words, now we may see
Who 'twas did worke this prodigie.
Omnes.
Pluto, great Pluto, we command,
Thou send vnto vs out of hand,
The shapes of those that kild the King,
Great Agamemnon.
Infernall Musique.
Enter in a dumbe shew Ægystheus, and Clytem. with their bloody daggers, looke vpon the bed, goe to it, and stab, and then make a shew of gladnes and depart.
Or.
O 'tis aboue my bearing, were I linkt here with chains,
Stay, stay, by heauens, reuenge shall take you here;
Nay, I will follow you, should they take their caue,
Where Ætna vomits fire, I would in:
My mother, Clytemnestra, Ægystheus, was it they?
Nay, I will o'rtake them.
Can.
O sonne, remember what I told you sonne,
Many a rockie hill and stony mount,
Many a sea, and vast Charybdis gulfe,
Stands betwixt them and thee, though they seeme neere.
Ore.
O piety! O most prodigious nature!
What creatures hast thou made to liue on earth?
How hast thou cloath'd blacke darknesse with a scarfe
Of vnstain'd purity, and put a godly face
Vpon portentuous diuells? Oh, how my mother wept!
How Clitemnestra! how that Hiena wept!
No more my mother, I abiure the name,
She did not bring me forth, I know she did not:
But I'll o'rtake 'em; shew mee Canidia where,
Which way they went, where haue they hid themselues.
Should they mount vp to the chariot of the Sunne,
And in his Carre fly to the Antipodes,
Or in the farthest nooke of yonder spheare:
Get vp and place themselues betwixt Taurus homes,
The fire-breathing bull, nor Lerna's Hydra,
Were there no entrance but ten Lyons iawes,
I'd runne through all, and make my way my selfe:
I'd fix them to the Axell tree of heauen,
Where their infectious Carcasses shauld hang,
Abait for flying spirits in the Ayre.
Canidia, I thanke thee for thy paines;
Still may thy sacred Act reueale such deeds,
Still keepe the gates of Orcus yawning ope,
Make the darke powers ready at command.
Pyl.
But let vs haste deare friend, this vast worlds roome:
Allowes vs none, but thy dead fathers Tombe:
Here's naught but ayres of death, no bed but stones
Our pillow's a dead scull, companions bones,
Thi's all our comfort, if wee needs must die,
We haue a graue prepar'd wherein to lie.
Now pale Tisiphone, O for thy Snakes!
O that renonwned spirit, that more then man,
Whom all the Troian host could not o'rwhelme,
Murdred; but what braue warrier wore a crown,
By guilding a dire sword in his deare blood?
Hector, nor Priam, no, nor Mars himselfe,
Onely his wife was his Bellona now.
O miserable valour, to scape foes,
And come for to be murdred of his friends:
O shamefull conquest! O most coward Fate,
That a weake woman was competitor
In Agamemnons death: had it beene any, yet
It should haue beene a Goddesse at the least,
And yet shee's but a Queene, a mortall woman.
Were she a Goddesse, I would make he mortall;
Dull coward that I am, and, worse then all,
After so many wrongs, yet vnreueng'd,
Their Palace now should fire o'r their heads,
And the huge beams dash out their guilty brains:
The roofe, should fall on me, so't fell on them.
Begin reuenge, and now performe an act,
May giue a theame to all posterity,
Euer to talke of, fraught so full of horrour,
Ægystheus and my mother, may wish their's,
Yet none was euer greater, yes, my deed.
Reuenge is lost, vnlesse we doe exceed.
Pyl.
But a bad mother, friend, thou shouldst not hurt,
The law of nature doth forbid such thoughts.
Orest.
Nor Gods, nor nature shall keepe mee inawe,
Why towards my mother, by heauens Parliament,
Who is most guilty, is most innocent.
Can.
Shall I thus by some magique Art, my sonne,
Take both their pictures in pure virgin waxe?
And wound the place where that the hurt should stand,
And so wound them?
Orest.
Tush, this is too little.
Can.
Shall I breed them hate?
Orest.
Too little too.
Can.
Shall I consume their children?
Ore.
All this too little:
Hell and the furies shall stand all amaz'd,
Alecto shall come there for to behold
New kindes of murthers which she knew not yet:
I'll instantly to th'Court, and what I doe,
My selfe will see done, yes, and act it too.
Thanks great Canidia, this blacke night being done,
Reuenge now knowes her game whereat to runne.
Exeunt omnes.
| The Tragedy of Orestes | |