University of Virginia Library

Act. 3.

Scene 1.

Crœsus.
Adrastus.
What fancies strange with terrour strike my soule,
The tortur'd captive of distrustfull feares?
Huge cares (suggesting harme) my joyes controul,
Whose minde some comming crosse charactred beares;
And credulous suspition (too too wise)
To fortifie my feares doth meanes invent;
Whil'st sudden trouble doth my sprite surprise,
A presage sad which boasts some bad event;
“I thinke the soule (since an immortall brood)
“Hath by inheritance an heavenly power,
“Which some fore-knowledge gives of ill, and good,
“But not the meanes to scape a fatall houre;
“Though with this mortall vaile, when made halfe blinde,
“Not well fore-seeing what each time forth brings,
“Yet it communicates unto the minde
“In cloudy dreames true (though mysterious) things;
“Imagination wonderfull in force,
“The judgement oft foiles with confusion so,
“That (then they prove things presupposed worse)
“Ere time distress'd, man multiplies his woe:
“For as the shadow seemes more monstrous still,
“Then doth the substance whence the shape it takes;
“So the conjecture of a threatned ill,
“More then it selfe some to be troubled makes;
This alteration too seemes more then strange,
Which suddenly so moved hath my minde.
I see (more then I thought) all states may change,
“When heaven pursues, th'earth no defence can finde;
My soule all pleasure is already loathing,
This hath indeed so deep impression left,
A dreame, a fancy, froth, a shadow, nothing
Hath all my mirth even in a moment reft.

Adrast.
Whence (mighty Soveraigne) can this change proceed,
Which doth obscure the rayes of Princely grace?
Those who are school'd in woe, may clearly reade
A mighty passion written in your face;
And (if a stranger may presume so farre)
What friend is false, or who are fear'd as foes?
For I imagine in what state you are:
A secret sympathie imparting woes;
Two strings in divers Lutes set in accord,
(Some say) th'one onely touch'd both give a sound;
Even so souls tun'd to griefe, the like afford,
Whose airie motions mutually do wound.

“Crœ.
No doubt, it must disburden much the minde,
“A Secretary in distresse to have;
“Who by his owne, anothers griefe can finde,
“Where glad mindes scorne what they cannot conceive:
And I (Adrastus) would the cause declare,
With which I so torment my soule in vaine,
But yet I blush to tell my foolish care:
The fond illusion of a drowsie braine.

Adrast.
As bodies temper'd are, or souls inclin'd,
All dreames by night th'imagination makes,
Or else th'impression thoughts worke in the minde,
By which (when wakening) one most travell takes.

Crœ.
By sleepe arrested as o're-come by death,
In Natures bosome I imbrac'd true rest,
And in that Masse where nothing mov'd but breath,
Lifes faculties sleep for a time supprest;
Then whil'st the sprite most pow'rfull did remaine,
Since least distress'd by this terrestriall part.

Adrast.
Souls at such times their strength so strongly straine,
That oft their burdens as astonish'd start.

Crœ.
To rarifie the aire from vapours pow'rs,
When first Aurora rose from Tithons bed,
Ere Phœbus blushing stole from Thetis bowres,
This apprehension in my braine was bred:
I onely have two sonnes, and th'one (you see)
The signe of Natures indignation beares,
And from his birth-day dumbe is dead to me,
Since he can give no comfort to mine cares;
The other Atis (all my lifes delight)
In whom the treasures of my soule are kept,
I thought (vaine be my thought) in the twi-light,
(I know not whether yet I wak't or slep't)
Whil'st he was sporting, void of worldly cares,
And not in danger, which could threaten death,
A pointed toole of iron fell unawares;
And from his body banish did his breath;
Whil'st the pale carkase did upbraid mine eyes,
The horrour of the sight my sense re-call'd,
Which when I thinke of, yet my courage dyes,
Such an exceeding feare my sprite appall'd;
This touch'd my state so much, it hath me mov'd
To match my Sonne in marriage at this time
With vertuous Cœlia, whom he dearely lov'd,
That both might reape the pleasure of their prime;
And if the heavens his o're-throw have decreed
By destiny which cannot be revok'd,
So may we have behinde some of his seed,
Ere in his blossome all our hopes be choak'd;
Thus, ere his soule lodge in the lightlesse shade,
Some of his off-spring may content my minde,
“I cannot hold him altogether dead,
“Who leaves his Image in some one behinde;
And though we do what ever seemes the best
To disappoint those but surmiz'd annoyes,
Yet for all this my minde hath never rest,
Some secret terrour doth disturbe my joyes.

Adrast.
Ah (Sir) if such a dreamed ill as this,
Hath plung'd your soule even in the depths of griefe,
Unhappie I, who waile a thing that is,
Whil'st hope (though rack'd) dare promise no reliefe;
Though all those dreadfull fancies took effect,
(Which heavy chance th'almighty Iove with-hold)
None can compare them, no, in no respect
With those mis-fortunes which my state enfold:
For though your Sonne dye by anothers hand,
You shall but waile his death, and not your crime;
The heavens of me my brothers bloud demand,
His fate, my fault, mourne must I all my time.

Crœ.
In what strange forme could this disaster fall,
From which there flow salt flouds of just distresse?
Tell on at length the fatall cause of all,
“A greater griefe makes one forget the lesse.

Adrast.
My sorrows ground I smother'd still till now,
As too offensive food for dainty eares,
But since of such discourse you do allow,
Ile tell a tale that may move stones to teares;
Of Phrygian Princes my great Father come,
Had in my growing age a tender care,
That all my education might become
One whom he might for mighty hopes prepare;
As yet foure lustres scarcely had begun
To grace my witness'd sex with blooming cheeks,
When I (fond youth) that lab'rinth could not shunne,
Whence backe in vaine the straying Entrer seeks.
I lov'd, O fatall love, unlovely fate!
The vertuously faire, yet fairest Dame
That ever was enshrin'd in soules conceit,
Or ditties gave to grace the sounds of fame;
Straight were my fancies to her beauties ty'd,
“None can paint passions, but in feeling mindes,
I burn'd, freez'd, doubted, hop'd, despair'd, liv'd, dy'd,
With actions chang'd as oft as Autumnes windes;
Yet many conflicts past 'twixt hopes and feares,
To feast, at least to nurce my starv'd desires;
She granted had a truce unto my teares,
And temper did with equall flames my fires:
For as she was the most esteemed Saint,
Whose image Love erected in my minde,
So when her eares had harbour'd once my plaint,
It pitie first, and then did favour finde,
But ah triumphing in mine owne conceit
As one whose love his Lady did preferre,
I was corrivall'd (O disastrous fate!)
By one who lov'd, but was not lov'd by her,
He looking as I look'd, saw what I saw,
Saw Natures wonder, and the worlds delight,
And straight as that blinde god (blinde guide) did draw,
Still (like a Lizard) liv'd upon her sight.
Then labour'd he that Iewell straight to wonne,
Whose matchlesse worth he priz'd above his breath,
And loath'd all light which flow'd not from that Sunne,
As life without her had beene worse then death;
Yea, Fortune seem'd to favour his desire,
And where to build high hopes did give him ground.
The Nymph her parents daily did require,
That she might furnish physick for his wounds;
Of my distracted thoughts strange was the strife,
Who threatned thus with eminent mishap,
Was like to lose a thing more deare then life,
Whil'st others striv'd my treasure to entrap;
The man who sought my joyes to undermine,
I could not justly wish his state o're-throwne,
Nor blame the sprite that sympathiz'd with mine;
I envi'd not his lot, but wail'd mine owne.
Now in my breast a mighty rage did raigne,
Which forc'd my soule with inward wounds to bleed,
Some fancies fear'd what once his love might gaine,
Since it was possible that he might speed,
Then others call'd her constancy to minde,
Which would not yeeld by such assaults though prov'd,
Yet forc'd to feare the frailty of her kinde,
“A hearing woman may in time be mov'd;
Thus toss'd with doubts amidst a deep of woe,
Which with suspition did my joyes supplant,
I blam'd the thoughts that durst accuse her so,
As vertues patterne could one vertue want;
And, nor I hop'd, his toils no further wrought,
“(Affliction oft affection doth enflame)
She of her sex who was the wonder thought,
Would thus not wrong the glory of her name,
Though in my absence they had oft assai'd,
That from her minde they might have me remov'd,
(The Sunne burns hotest when his beames are stay'd)
The more they cross'd her love, the more she lov'd;
For finding that delay no end affords,
And how faire Generals onely flow'd from Art,
She did upbraid him with disdainefull words,
To raze those hopes that had abus'd his heart;
“Love is a joy which upon paine depends,
“A drop of sweet, drown'd in a sea of sowres;
“What folly doth begin, oft fury ends,
“They hate for ever, who have lov'd for houres:
When all his arguments prov'd of no force,
Straight with disdaine his soule in secret burn'd,
And what he thought was ill, to make farre worse,
That Apostate to furie favour turn'd;
Through love preposterous procreating hate,
His thoughts amongst themselves could not agree,
Whil'st what was best he deeply did debate,
To see her dead, or then enjoy'd by me:
What (said he) when he first had mus'd a space,
(So hard it is to quench affections fires)
Shall I disfigure that Angelike face,
And cloud those beauties which the world admires?
Shall she by me be to confusion brought,
To whom I vows, and prayers did impart?
To whom I sacrifiz'd each secret thought,
And on her beauties altar burn'd my heart?
Or shall I see her in anothers pow'r,
And in his bosome laid, upbraid my losse,
Whil'st both with scornfull smiles; then death more sowre,
To point me out for sport, report my crosse?
That sight which sometime did me sweetly charme,
Should it become a cause of griefe to me?
No, none who lives shall glory in my harme,
Since she will not be mine, she shall not be.
The hatefull lover having vow'd her death,
Did with a cup of poyson drowne my joyes;
The fairest body from the sweetest breath
Was parted thus (O ocean of annoyes!)
That Monster Fame, whose many mouthes and eares
Must know, but not conceale a rare thing long,
And prodigall of ill, most chiefly beares
The worst news first, inform'd me of this wrong:
For neighbouring neare the most unhappy part,
That had beene spoyl'd of such a noble guest,
As death had hers, the furies seiz'd my heart,
Whose paine did spring from that which bred her rest;
How huge a weight did first confound my soule
No tongue can tell; it still my minde torments,
Rage did of griefe the outward signes controll:
“When great windes blow the fire, the smoak worst vents;
Whil'st generous furie did disguise my griefe,
I ranne transported with a mighty rage,
Bent (by revenge, or death to get reliefe)
A tragicke actor for a bloudy stage:
For I was come no sooner to the place,
Whereas I thought the Murtherer to have found,
But I did meet (O ruine and disgrace!)
Too deare a friend to catch an enemies wound;
Ah! passions dimn'd mine eyes, wrath led my hand,
I was no more my selfe, Griefe had me kill'd;
The first by Night, who did before me stand,
(As one whose breast with rage Alecto fill'd)
By chance encount'ring, ere he spake a word,
I bath'd his bosome with a crimson floud,
And in his breast did drowne the cruell sword,
That in anothers body drank my bloud;
But when a Torch had partly rob'd the night,
Proud of suppos'd revenge (ah bitter gaine)
I saw, I knew, black knowledge, cruell sight,
My brother was the man, whom I had slaine;
O bitter losse, which nothing can repaire!
My soule with two such monstrous deeds annoy'd,
Griefe, rage, spite, shame, amazement, and despaire,
Gall'd, toss'd, burn'd, dash'd, astonish'd, and destroy'd;
The thought of my offence doth grieve me most,
Yet am I sometime by loves verdict cleans'd;
And straight my brothers violated ghost,
By dreadfull dreames doth bragge to be reveng'd.

Crœ.
Now whil'st this great disaster did occurre,
What had the author of your anguish done?

Adrast.
He having heard this lamentable stirre,
Whom self-accusing thoughts convicted soone,
Straight (wounded by a wonderfull remorse)
Led by mad love, or desp'rate feare to death,
He bent to follow her, or dreading worse,
(Stab'd by himselfe) dy'd to defraud my wrath.

Crœ.
Those strange mishaps your enemies eyes must weet,
And force compassion from your greatest foe,
Since many monstrous circumstances meet
To make a horrid harmony in woe;
“But what doth touch ones selfe, most force doth finde,
“For ills when felt, then heard, griefe more abounds;
This extasie hath so o're-whelm'd my minde,
A melancholy huge all mirth confounds;
“Yet such disasters past, we must omit,
“At least no more immoderately lament,
“And as for those which are but comming yet,
Use ordinary meanes them to prevent.

Adrast.
No wonder (Sir) though by all means you strive,
From dangerous actions Atis to restraine.

Crœ.
I will unto his youth attendance give,
Which in my age may guerdon'd be againe;
If it be possible for mortall states
To strive against the Starres, and be more strong;
I Fortune must unarme, and crosse the fates,
By barring both all meanes to do me wrong:
I have commanded under paine of death,
That no such weapon be within my walls,
As I suppos'd extinguish might his breath,
To scape a storme which oft by Fortune falls;
He to frequent the fields must oft deferre;
And without guards his lodging never leave;
Loe where with Countrey-men he doth conferre,
We will go try what they of him would have.

Scene 2.

Chorus of Countreymen,
Crœsus, Atis, Adrastus, Cœlia.
Lend (Sir) a willing eare to humble words,
Let not our basenesse barre us from your grace,
Which still it selfe alike to all affords,
Who blesse their sight with that Majesticke face;
“For simple subjects Monarchs must take care,
“Though this our state be thought but abject now,
“You are our head, and we your members are,
“And you must care for us, we care for you;
“Our poverty to us is no reproach,
“Which innocent integrity adornes,
“On others states we never do encroach,
“But live by labours, prickt with many thornes;
“And ever busied for the Countries good,
“We have no time to muse of vaine conceits,
“But (earning with continuall toile our food)
“Must entertaine the pompe of prouder states;
“And (Sir, though plaine) thinke not our meaning ill,
“Who thus dare speake so freely as we do,
“Whil'st Mediatours do dilate our will,
“They wrest it as they will, and spoile us too;
“To count'nance such as us, you need not shunne:
“A great man too well grac'd may do more harme;
“And it stains not the glory of the Sunne,
“Though oft his beams an abject object warme.

Crœ.
Be not discourag'd by your base estate,
Ye are my people, and Ile heare your plaint,
“A King must care for all, both small and great,
“And to do good (like God) should never faint;
“The Scepter such as those should chiefly shroud,
“Not Cotages, but Castles spoile the Land,
“To spare the humble, and to plague the proud,
“A vertue is that doth make Kings to stand.

Cho.
Sir, our estate some hastie help requires:
In Misia neare the celebrated rounds
Of great Olympus which the world admires,
There haunts a Boare the horrour of these bounds:
His body bigge, and hideous is his forme,
Whose foamie jaw with tusks like javelins strikes,
And in deformity all parts conforme,
His backe hath bristles like to iron pikes.
This Natures Monster, wondred at by men,
The forrests Tyrant, and the Countries terrour,
Doth murder all, and draws them to his denne,
Who chance to crosse his way by fatall errour;
In teares whil'st melting, tender mothers waile,
(The goared infants tumbling in their bloud;)
This beast to be abhorr'd doth them assaile,
And in his bowels buries both for food;
Then when we flie the field where he doth haunt,
To have his hunger, or his rage allay'd,
He all our labours quickly doth supplant,
And poore mens hopes are strangely thus betray'd;
Ere this, of true repose we were the types,
And pasturing on each plaine our fleecie flocks,
Did make a consort of our warbling pypes
With moving Crystals, playing on the rocks;
And oft to ease our toils (all rang'd in bands)
With garlands guarded from Apollo's beames,
We gaz'd upon Pactolus golden sands,
Glass'd, bath'd, and quench'd our thirst, with his pure streames;
Whil'st we preferr'd, the river seem'd amaz'd,
Even to his golden bed his grassie banke,
And lay and look'd whereas our cattell graz'd,
Farre from all envy of a greater ranke;
That to represse oppression you take care,
Though we were dumbe, the publick rest may speake:
Your Laws, like Spiders webs are not a snare
For little flyes, that them the bigge may breake;
Meane men by them from great mens pride are sav'd,
The heavens continue long your prosp'rous raigne,
And let us not by such a beast be brav'd,
Which by our ruine would your Scepter staine.

Crœ.
What would you then that should be done by me,
That may repay your losse, repaire this wrong?

Cho.
We crave none of your wealth, but wish to see
This Boare be-bloud the staffe of the most strong:
Let valorous Atis worthily your Sonne,
With Lydian youth incapable of feares,
Go to the fields before the rising Sunne,
To quench his thirst have drunk the mornings teares,
And we shall leade them crown'd with lawrell forth,
Where in strict bounds, yet a theatre large
For men to make a triall of their worth,
They with advantage may this Monster charge;
So shall we reape repose, and they delight,
Whil'st that prodigious body justly smarts,
Though fearfull once, then made a pleasant sight,
When like a wood it planted is with darts.

Crœ.
I may not spare my Sonne for a respect,
Which is not needfull now to be made knowne,
But others shall be sent for that effect,
That this out-ragious beast may be o're-thrown;
The stately gallants who attend our grace
(That by the world their valour may be view'd)
This enterprise will willingly embrace,
And not returne, till with his blood imbru'd;
I sweare, this monster shall when he is dead,
A memorable monument remaine;
In Phebes church men shall admire his head,
As Pythons spoiles, when by her brother slaine.

Atis.
Ah! wherein Father did I thus offend?
Or what vile signe of a degener'd minde
Have you but mark'd in me, whose course may tend
To the reproach of our imperiall kinde?
An abiect dastard, who for nought availes,
Whose worth the world must trust, but never trie!
As one whose strength, or then his Courage failes.
Must I in vile repose inglorious lie!
Lie like a wanton by vaine thoughts bewitch'd!
Who spoild of force, effeminately lives,
A Peacok poore, with painted pennes enrich'd?
Yet bare of every thing that glory gives;
What glory give those titles unto me,
Which by succession fall, not by desert?
Should but my fame with borrow'd feathers flie?
For, come of kings a kingdome is my part;
“Who honour as hereditary claimes,
“Like bastards base, doth but his birth-right blote,
I scorne to beg my worth from dead mens names,
Or to gaine credite onely by my Coate;
What comfort's this to have the highest seate,
And all the blisse that Majestie imparts,
If those whom onely we exceed in State,
Be our Superiours in farre better parts?
“More then a Crowne true worth should be esteem'd,
“Th'one fortunes gift, the other is our own,
“By which the minde from anguish is redeem'd,
When fortunes goods are by her selfe o'rethrown.

Crœ.
I see what brave desires boile in thy soule,
And make thee thus magnanimous to be,
This high-bent courage nothing can controule,
All Lydia is not large enough for thee:
Goe, seeke an Empire equall with thy minde,
Of which a Crowne is due to every thought;
But Glories love whilst courting in this kinde,
I feare by thine, our ruine may be wrought:
And pardon me (deare Sonne) great is the love
Which makes me watch so warily thy wayes;
A Fathers care what kind of thing can move,
Whom such a danger not in time dismayes?
The Heaven of late advertis'd me by dreames,
That some sad fortune threatned thee too soone,
Each day some ominous signe attendance claimes,
Which out of time are mark'd, when all is done:
This was the cause that hastned us so much,
To have thee bound to Hymens sacred law,
This was the cause that all our care was such,
Out of our sight all weapons to withdraw:
Scorne not those Comets which amazement notes,
“The starres to mortall states a bounds designe,
And doe not thinke t'is but my love that dotes,
For if thou fall, my fate depends on thine.

Atis.
Would God I had some meanes once ere my death,
To satisfie that infinite desert,
Which I shall hold, so long as I have breath,
Deepe registred with reverence in my heart;
“Yet (sir) we see this is a naturall thing,
“That too excessive loue engenders feares:
A sport like this can no great perill bring,
Where either all delights the eyes, or th'eares.
If from my former deedes I now should shrinke,
(As voide of vertue) to soft pleasure thrall,
Of your two Sonnes what might your Subjects thinke,
Th'one wanting but one sense, the other all?
What fancies might my late spous'd love possesse,
To see her husband hatefull in mens sights,
And honours bounds thus basely to transgresse,
As womaniz'd still wallowing in delights?
“Though women would have men at their devotion,
“They hate base mindes that hatch no noble notion.

Crœ.
Well, well, my Sonne, I see thou must prevaile:
Goe, follow forth the chase, use thine owne for me,
Yet stay, or let my words this much availe,
Walke with more care to scape this threatned storme;
Thy hawtie sprite to tempt all hazards bent,
I feare transports thee to a fatall strife,
I wish to erre, yet the event prevent,
Lest that thy courage but betray thy life;
And (deare Adrastus) I must let him know,
What benefits I have bestow'd on thee,
Not to upbraid thee, no, but so to show
How I may trust thee best thus bound to mee;
When thou from Phrygia cam'st defil'd with blood,
And a fraternall violated love,
When desp'rate quite thou as distracted stood,
Fled from thy Fathers face; curst from above,
Thou foundst me friendly, and my Court thy rest,
A Sanctuary which thy life did save;
And dangers scap't (when one hath beene distress'd)
A wary wisdome by experience leave;
Yet all that favour past, was but a signe
Of generous greatenesse, which would gratious prove;
But in thy hands my soule I'le now consigne,
And give the greatest pledge that can binde love.
Behold how Atis of our age the shield,
Whose harme as you have heard, I fear'd ere now,
Is for his pastime to goe range the field,
And with his custodie I will trust you;
I must (my friend) even fervently exhort,
Waite on my Sonne, remember of my dreame.
This dangerously delectable sport,
Doth make mee feare the griefe exceeds the game.

Adrast.
I never shall those courtesies neglect:
It grieves me not to thinke, nor heare the same,
For whilst this sprite those members doth direct,
All shall concurre to celebrate your fame;
Yet were you pleas'd, I would not hence depart,
Who doe all things that mirth may move abhorre,
But with my passions here (retir'd a part)
Woe past would waile, and shunne all cause of more;
If to converse where not one crosse annoies,
I feare my fellowship infect with woe,
Those who themselves would recreate with Ioyes:
Still strange mishaps attend me where I goe,
But since you will commit this charge to mee,
Your Majestie I'le studie to content,
At least my faith shall from defects be free,
And all my paines shall as you please be spent.

Atis.
Now bent to see this monsters ougly shape,
With an inflam'd desire my thoughts doe burne,
And Father feare not, dreame of no mishap,
I hope with speed victorious to returne.

Cœlia.
Returne? from whence deare love? O deadly word.
That doth import thy parting from my sight,
I heard the name mishap, Ah! (my deare Lord)
Should such strict limites bound so large delight?
O cruell to thy selfe, unkinde to me!
And can'st thou condescend to leave me soe?
If (ere in doubt) abandon'd thus I be,
It may deferre, but not defraud my woe;
This might indeed to thee yeeld some reliefe,
To have thy eares not wounded by my mone,
But would wound me with a continuall griefe,
To feare all things, where I should feare but one;
Desist in time from this intended strife,
A course too rash, and not approv'd by me,
Remember I have int'rest in thy life,
Which thus to venter I doe not agree;
Hast thou not given a proofe in thy greene prime,
That may content the most ambitious heapes?
Whilst Atis was his own, then was it time
To follow fancies unconfined Scopes;
Thy selfe then onely camp'd in fortunes bounds,
Thou do'st endanger Cœlia likewise now;
You sigh her breath, she suffers in your wounds,
You live in her, and she must die in you.

Atis.
Life of my soule, how doe such broken speaches,
From troubled passions thus abruptly rise?
I know (my love) thy love my minde o're-reaches:
“Affection (Schoold with feares) is too too wise;
I goe alongst the fields, for sport to range;
Thy sighes doe but my soule with sorrow fill;
And pardon (deare) I finde this wond'rous strange,
That thou beginst now to resist my will;
If I trespasse in ought against my dutie,
Which makes thee thus my constancy mistrust;
Mistrust not yet the Chains of thine own beauty,
Which binde all my desires, and so they must;
Are wee not now made one? such feares o'recome,
Though I would flie, my selfe my selfe doe fetter,
And if that I would flie, from whom? to whom?
I can love none so well, none loves me better;
Have pitty of those pearles, (sweet eyes, soules pleasures)
Least they presage what thou would'st not have done;
The Heavens had not given me those pretious treasures,
Of such perfections to be spoil'd so soone.

Chorus.