 | The Tragedy of Orestes |  |
Scæna prima.
Enter as from warre, Agamemnon: Clytemnestra: Orestes: Pylades: Ægysteus: cum cæteris.Agam.
Now a faire blessing blesse my dearest earth,
And like a Bride adorne thy royall brow,
With fruits rich Garland; a new married Bride
Vnto thy King and Husband, who too long
Hath left thee widdowed: O, me thinks I see
How all my Grecians with vnsatiate lookes
Turnes to the spectators.
And greedy eyes doe bid mee welcome home:
Each eare that heares the clamour seemes to grieue
It cannot speake, and giue a (welcome King:)
Come Clytemnestra, let not anger make
His wrinkled seat vpon my loues faire brow,
I haue too long beene absent from thy bed,
Chide me for that anon, when arme in arme
I shall relate those proiects in loue termes,
Which when they first were acted, made Mars feare
To see each man turn'd to a God of warre.
Clyt.
O my deare Lord, absence of things wee loue,
Thus intermixt, makes them the sweeter proue:
That your departure pierc'd my tender soule,
Witnesse those Christall floods which in my eyes
Did make a sea, when you should goe to sea,
Those streames which then flow'd from the veines of griefe
At your returne doe ouerflow the banks.
Agam.
Now these eares indeed
Haue chang'd their place: they which were wont to heare
No musique but the summoning of warre
Blowne thorow discords brazen instrument,
Are blessed now with accents that doe fill
My age-dry'd veynes with youthfull blood againe.
These eyes which had no other obiect once,
But Hector twixt the armes of Greece and Troy,
Hewing downe men, and making euery field
Flow with a sea of blood, now see's blood flow
In my Orestes cheeke: heauen blesse this plant
Orestes kneeles.
Sprung from the sap of this now iuicelesse oake,
Now be thy branches greene, vnder whose shade
I may be shaddowed from the heat of warre.
Rise young Orestes, Oh how it glads my soule,
To see my Queene and Sonne, my Sonne and Queene.
Clyt.
But come my Lord, true loue still hates delayes,
Let no eares first be blessed with your breath,
Till on my brest resting your wearied head,
You tell your warre, where that the field's your bed.
Aga.
My Queen shal haue her wil, see how times change,
I that last night thought all the world a sea,
As if our common mother earth, had now
Shot herselfe wholly into Neptunes armes,
And the strong hindges of the world had crackt,
Letting the moone fall into th'swelling waues,
Such watry mountaines oft did seeme to rise,
And quite o'rwhelme vs, all the winds at warre,
Banded the sea one to the others coasts,
Ioue thinking Neptune gan to striue for heauen,
Sent a new sea from thence, and with his thunder,
Bad silence to the waues, they vncontrold,
Kept on their noyse, and let their fury swell,
Turning heauen, earth, sea, clouds, and all to hell,
Each Troian that was saued then 'gan to cry,
Happy were they that did with Priam die.
It glads mee now to thinke, that that night was
No starre, no, not Orion there appear'd,
But this night's turnd to day, and heere doth shine,
For a good Omen my imbraced Queene.
Till age and death shall beare him quite away.
Exeunt Agamemnon: Clytemnestra: cum cateris.
| The Tragedy of Orestes | |