University of Virginia Library

Scena. ij.

NVNTIVS.
CREON. CHORVS.
Alas , alas, what shall I doe? alas,
What shriching voyce may serue my wofull wordes?
O wretched I, ten thousande times a wretche,
The messanger of dread and cruell death.

Cre.
Yet more mishappe? and what vnhappie newes?

Nun.
My Lord, your nephues both haue lost their liues.

Cre.
Out and alas, to me and to this towne
Thou doest accompt great ruine and decay:
You royall familie of Oedipus,
And heare you this? your liege and soueraigne Lordes
The brethren bothe are slayne and done to death.

Cho.
O cruell newes, most cruell that can come,
O newes that might these stony walles prouoke
For tender ruthe to burst in bitter teares,
And so they would, had they the sense of man.

Cre.
O worthy yong Lordes, that vnworthy were
Of suche vnworthy death, O me moste wretche.

Nun.
More wretched shall ye deeme your selfe, my lord,
When you shall heare of further miserie.

Cre.
And can there be more miserie than this?

Nun.
With hir deare sonnes the queene hir self is slaine,

Cho.
Bewayle ladies, alas good ladies waile
This harde mischaunce, this cruell common euill,
Ne hencefoorth hope for euer to reioyce.

Cre.
O Iocasta, miserable mother,
What haplesse ende thy life alas hath hent?
Percase the heauens purueyed had the same,
Moued therto by the wicked wedlocke
Of Oedipus thy sonne, yet might thy scuse
Be iustly made, that knewe not of the crime.
But tell me messanger, oh tell me yet
The death of these two brethren, driuen therto,
Not thus all onely by their drearie fate,
But by the banning and the bitter cursse
Of their cruell sire, borne for our annoy,
And here on earth the onely soursse of euil.

Nun.
Then know my Lorde, the battell that begonne
Under the walles, was brought to luckie ende,
Eteocles had made his foemen flee
Within their trenches, to their foule reproche:
But herewithall the bretheren streightway
Eche other chalenge foorth into the fielde,
By combate so to stinte their cruell strife,
Who armed thus amid the field appeard.
First Pollinices turning towarde Greece
His louely lookes, gan Iuno thus beseeche:
O heauenly queene, thou seest, that since the day
I first did wedde Adrastus daughter deare,
And stayde in Greece, thy seruaunt haue I bene:
Then (be it not for mine vnworthinesse)
Graunt me this grace, the victorie to winne,
Graunt me, that I with high triumphant hande,
May bathe this blade within my brothers brest:
I know I craue vnworthy victorie,
Unworthy triumphes, and vnworthy spoyles,
Lo he the cause, my cruell enimie.
The people wept to heare the wofull wordes
Of Pollinice, foreseeing eke the ende
Of this outrage and cruell combate tane,
Eche man gan looke vpon his drouping mate,
With mindes amazde, and trembling hearts for dread,
Whom pitie perced f or these youthfull knightes.
Eteocles with eyes vp cast to heauen,
Thus sayde:
O mightie Ioue his daughter graunt to me,
That this right hande with this sharpe armed launce
Passing amid my brothers cankred brest,
It may eke pierce that cowarde harte of his,
And so him slea that thus vnworthily
Disturbes the quiet of our common weale.
So sayde Eteocles, and trumpets blowne,
To sende the summons of their bloudy fighte,
That one the other fiercely did encounter,
Like Lions two yfraught with boyling wrath,
Bothe coucht their launces full agaynst the face,
But heauen it nolde that there they should them teinte:
Upon the battred shields the mightie speares
Are bothe ybroke, and in a thousande shiuers
Amid the ayre flowne vp into the heauens:
Beholde agayne, with naked sworde in hande,
Eche one the other furiously assaultes.
Here they of Thebes, there stoode the Greekes in doubt,
Of whom doth eche man feele more chilling dread,
Least any of the twayne should lose his life,
Than any of the twayne did feele in fight.
Their angry lookes, their deadly daunting blowes,
Might witnesse well, that in their heartes remaynde
As cankred hate, disdayne, and furious moode,
As euer bred in beare or tygers brest.
The first that hapt to hurt was Polinice.
Who smote the righte thighe of Eteocles:
But as we deeme, the blow was nothing deepe,
Then cryed the Greekes, and lepte with lightned harts,
But streight agayne they helde their peace, for he
Eteocles gan thrust his wicked sworde
In the lefte arme of vnarmed Pollinice,
And let the bloud from thinne vnfenced fleshe
With falling drops distill vpon the ground,
Ne long he stayes, but with an other thrust
His brothers belly boweld with his blade,
Then wretched he, with bridle left at large,
From of his horsse fell pale vpon the ground,
Ne long it was, but downe our duke dismountes
From of his startling steede, and runnes in hast,
His brothers haplesse helme for to vnlace,
And with such hungry minde desired spoyle,
As one that thought the fielde already woonne:
That at vnwares, his brothers dagger drawne,
And griped fast within the dying hand,
Under his side he recklesse doth receiue,
That made the way to his wyde open hart:
Thus falles Eteocles his brother by,
From both whose breasts the bloud fast bubling, gaue
A sory shewe to Greekes and Thebanes both.

Cho.
Oh wretched ende of our vnhappie Lordes.

Cre.
Oh Oedipus, I must bewaile the death
Of thy deare sonnes, that were my nephewes both,
But of these blowes thou oughtest feele the smarte,
That with thy wonted prayers, thus hast brought
Such noble blouds to this vnnoble end.
But now tell on, what followed of the Queene?

Nun.
Whē thus with pierced harts, by there owne hands
The brothers fell had wallowed in their bloud,
Th'one tumbling on the others gore,
Came their afflicted mother, then to late,
And eke with hir, hir chast childe Antygone,
Who saw no sooner how their fates had falne,
But with the doubled echo of alas,
Sore dymmde the ayre with loude complaints and cryes:
Oh sonnes (quod she) too late came all my helpe,
And all to late haue I my succour sent:
And with these wordes, vpon their carcas colde
She shriched so, as might haue stayed the Sunne
To mourne with hir, the wofull sister eke,
That both hir chekes did bathe in flowing teares,
Out from the depth of hir tormented brest,
With scalding sighes gan draw these weary words:
O my deare brethren, why abandon ye
Our mother deare, when these hir aged yeares,
That of themselues are weake and growne with griefe,
Stoode most in neede of your sustaining helpe?
Why doe you leaue hir thus disconsolate?
At sounde of such hir weeping long lament,
Eteocles our king helde vp his hand,
And sent from bottome of his wofull brest
A doubled sighe, deuided with his griefe,
In faithfull token of his feeble will
To recomfort his mother and sister both:
And in the steade of sweete contenting words,
The trickling teares raynde downe his paled chekes:
Then claspt his handes, and shut his dying eyes.
But Pollinice, that turned his rolling eyen
Unto his mother and his sister deare,
With hollow voyce and fumbling toung, thus spake:
Mother, you see how I am now arryued
Unto the hauen of myne vnhappie ende,
Now nothing doth remaine to me, but this,
That I lament my sisters life and yours
Left thus in euerlasting woe and griefe:
So am I sory for Eteocles,
Who though he were my cruell enimy,
He was your sonne, and brother yet to me:
But since these ghosts of ours must needes go downe
With staggering steppes into the Stigian reigne,
I you beseche, mother and sister bothe,
Of pitie yet, that you will me procure
A royall tombe within my natiue realme,
And now shut vp with those your tender handes,
These grieffull eyes of mine, whose daseled sight
Shadowes of dreadfull death be come to close,
Now rest in peace, this sayde, he yeelded vp
His fainting ghost, that ready was to part.
The mother thus beholding both hir sonnes
Ydone to death, and ouercome with dole,
Drewe out the dagger of hir Pollinices,
From brothers brest, and gorde hir mothers throte
Falling betweene hir sonnes,
Then with hir feebled armes, she doth enfolde
Their bodies both, as if for company
Hir vncontented corps were yet content
To passe with them in Charons ferrie boate.
When cruell fate had thus with force bereft
The wofull mother and hir two deare sonnes,
All sodenly allarme allarme they crye,
And hote conflict began for to aryse
Betwene our armie and our enemyes:
For either part would haue the victorye.
A while they did with equall force maintaine
The bloudy fight, at last the Greekes do flie,
Of whom could hardly any one escape,
For in such hugie heapes our men them slew,
The ground was couerde all with carcases:
And of our souldiers, some gan spoyle the dead,
Some other were that parted out the pray,
And some pursuing Antigone toke vp
The Queene Iocasta and the brethren both,
Whom in a chariot hither they will bring
Ere long: and thus, although we gotten haue
The victory ouer our enemies,
Yet haue we lost much more than we haue wonne.

Creon exit.
Cho.
O hard mishap, we doe not onely heare
The wearie newes of their vntimely death,
But eke we must with wayling eyes beholde
Their bodies deade, for loke where they be brought.