 | The First Tragedye of Seneca, called Hercules Furens |  |
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THE FIFTHE ACTE.
Hercules, Amphitryon,Theseus.
What place is this? what region? or of the world what coast?
Where am I? vnder ryse of sunne or bond els vttermost
Of th'ycy beare or els doth here of sea of Hespery
The fardest ground appoynt a bond for th'ocean sea to lye?
What ayre draw we? to weary wight what ground is vnderset?
Of truth we are returnd from hell whence in my house downe bet
See I these bloudy bodyes? hath not yet my mynd of cast
Th'infernall shapes? but after yet returnd from hel at last
Yet wander doth that helly heape before myne eys to see?
I am asham'de to graunt, I quake, I know not what to me,
I cannot tell what greeuous yll my mynde before doth know.
Where is my parent? where is shee with goodly childrens show
My noble harty stomackt spouse why doth my left syde lacke
The lyons spoyle? which way is gone the couer of my backe?
And selfe same bedde ful soft for slepe of Hercules also?
Where are my shaftes? where is my bow? then from my liuing who
Could plucke away? who taken hath, the spoyles so great as these
And who was he that feared not euen sleepe of Hercules?
To see my conquerour me lykes, yt lykes me hym to know
Ryse victor vp, what new sonne hath my father gotten now
Heauen beynge left? at byrth of whom myght euer stayd bee
A longer night then, was in myne? what mischiefe do I see?
My children loe do lye on ground with bloudy slaughter slayne:
My wyfe is kild: what Lycus doth the kingdome yet obtayne?
Who durst so haynous giltes as these at Thebes take in hand
When Hercles is returnd? who so Ismenus waters land,
Who so Acteons fieldes or who with double seas beset
The shaken Pelops kingdomes dost of Dardan dwell on yet
Helpe me: of cruel slaughter show who may the author bee.
Let rage my yre and all: my foe he is who so to me
Shewes not my foe dost thou yet hyde Alcides victor ly?
Come forth, euen whether thou reuenge the cruel charyots hye
Of Bloudy Thracian king or yf thou Gerions catell quight
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Beholde I naked stande, although euen with my weapons soe
Thou me vnarmed sette vppon. Wherfore fleeth Theseus foe,
And eke my father from my sight? theyr faces why hyde they?
Deferre your weepings, and who did my wyfe and children sley
Thus all at once, me tell. Wherfore O father dost thou whusht?
But tell thou Theseu, but Theseu with thy accustom'd truste.
Ech of them sylent hydes away their bashefull count'naunces,
And priuily they shed their teares in so great ils as these,
Of what ought wee asham'de to be? doth ruler yet of might
Of Argos towne, or hateful band of sowldiars apt to fight
Of Lycus dying, vs oppresse with such calamity?
By prayse of all my noble actes I do desyre of thee
O father, and of thy great name approu'de to me alway
The prosperous powre declare to mee, who did my houshold slay?
Whose pray lay I?
A.
Let thus thyne ylles in sylens ouerpas.
He.
That I should vnreuenged bee?
Am,
Reuenge oft hurtful was.
He
Did euer man so greeuous yls without reuenge sustayne?
A
Whos'euer greater fearde.
H.
Then these O father yet agayne
May any greater thing, or els more greuous feared be?
Am.
How great apart is it thou wotst of thy calamity?
Her.
Take mercy father, lo I lift to thee my humble hands.
What meaneth this? my hand fleeth backe, some priuy gylt their standes
Whence comes this bloud? or what doth mean flowing wt death of child
The shaft imbrewd with slaughter once of Lerney monster kilde?
I see my weapons now, the hand I seeke no more to witte.
Whose hand could bend this bow but myne? or what right arme but it,
Could string the bow that vnto mee euen scantly doth obay?
To you I turne: O father deare, is this my gylt I pray?
They held their peace: it is myne own.
Am.
Thy greuous woe is there,
The cryme thy stepdames: this mischaunce no falt of thyne hath here.
Her.
From euery part now father throw in wrath thy thunders mighte,
And of thy sonne forgetful now with cruel hand requighte
At least thy nephewes, let the world that beares the starrs sounde out.
And let both th'one and th'other poale, flyng downe thy flames aboute:
And let the bankes of Caspyan sea my bounden body teare,
And gredy foule. Wherfore do of Prometheus lacke heare
The rockes? with huge and haughty top let now prepared be,
Both feeding beastes and foules, the syde of Caucas turne to see,
And bare of woods, the yle that bridge of Scithe that therby standes
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Stretch out abroade: and when with course return'de accustomd'ly
They shall togeather dryue, and shall the rockes tosse vp to skye
With bankes togeather beyng thrust, and eke the middle seay,
Let me betweene the mountaynes lye vnquiet restlesse stay
But building vp with wood throwne on a heaped plie on hie
My body thus with wicked bloud besprinct, why burne not I?
So, so yt must be done: to hell I Hercles will restore.
Am.
Not yet his hart astonied lackes his ragyng tumult sore,
But wrath hath turnd: and which of rage is property and yre
Agaynst himselfe he rageth now
Her.
The furies places dire
And dungeon depe of sprites in hell and place of tormentry
To gylty ghostes and banishment yf any yet do lye
Beyond Erebus, yet vnknowen to Cerberus and mee,
There hyde me ground to farthest bond of Tartarus to see,
To tary there Ile goe. O brest of myne to fierce and stoute:
Who you my children thus disperst through all my house about,
May worthely enough bewayle? in all my euils yet
This countnaunce hard can neuer weepe, a sword now hether set:
My shaftes reach hether, hyther reach my mighty club also:
To thee my weapons breake I will, to thee my sonne a two
Ile knappe my bowes, and eke my clubbe, this blocke of heauy wayghte
Shal to thy sprites be burned loe: this selfe same quiuer frayght
With Lerney shaftes to funerall of thyne shall likewyse goe.
Let all my weapons penance pay and you vnhappy to
Euen with my weapons burne I wil, O stepdames handes of myne,
Th.
Who euer yet to ignoraunce hath geuen name of cryme?
Her.
Ful oftentymes did errour greate the place of gylt obtayne.
Th.
T'is neede to be a Hercles now, this heape of yll sustayne.
Her.
Not so, hath shame yet geuen place with fury drowned quight:
But peoples all I rather should dryue from my wicked sight.
My weapons, weapons Theseus, I quickly craue to mee
Withdraw to be restoard agayne: if sound my mynd now bee,
Restore to me my weapons if yet last my rage of mynd,
Then father flee: for I the waye to death my selfe shal fynde.
Am.
By sacred holy kynreds rightes, by force and duty all
Of both my names; if eyther me thy brynger vp thou call,
Or parent els, and (which of good men reuerenced are)
By these hoare hayres, I the besech my desert age yet spare,
And wery yeares of house falne downe the one as only stay,
[19]
Reserue thy selfe: yet neuer hath there happ'ned once of thee
Fruite of thy toyles: still eyther I the doubtful sea to see
Or monsters feard: who euer yet hath bene a cruell king
In all the world to ghostes allow, and aulters both hurtinge,
Of me is feard: the father of thee absent stil to haue
The fruite, the touching, and the sight of thee at length I craue.
He.
Wherfore I longer should sustayn my life yet in this light,
And linger here no cause there is, all good lost haue I quighte,
My mynd, my weapons, my renoume, my wife, my sonnes, my handes,
And fury to no man may heale and lose from gylty bandes
My mynd defyeld: needes must with death be heald so haynous yll.
Th.
Wilt thou thy father slay?
He.
Least I shoulde do it die I will.
Th.
Before thy fathers face?
He.
I taught him mischief for to see.
Th.
Thy deedes marking rather that should of al remembred bee,
Of this one only cryme I do a pardon of thee craue.
Her.
Sall he geue pardon to himselfe, that to none els it gaue?
I beeing bidden prayse deseru'd, this deede mine owne doth proue.
Helpe father now, if eyther els thy piety thee moue,
Or els my heauy fate, or els the honour and renowne.
Of stained strength, my weapons bringe, let fortune be throwen downe.
with my right hand.
Th.
The prayers which thy father makes to thee
Are stronge enough, but yet likewyse with weeping loe of me
Be moued yet: aryse thou vp, and with thy wonted myght
Subdue thyne yls: now such a mynde vnmeete to beare vpright
No euill hap, receyue againe loe now with manhode gret
Thou must preuayle euen Hercules forbyd with yre to fret.
HE.
Alyue, I hurt: but if I dye I take the gylt also.
I hast to ridde the world of cryme euen now before me lo
A wicked monster cruel, and vntamed fierce and stout
Doth wander: now with thy ryght hand beginne to goe aboute
A greate affayre, yea more then all thy twyse sixe labours long.
Yet stayst thou wretch, that late agaynst the children wast so stronge,
And fearful mother now except restoard my weapons bee,
Of Thracian Pindus eyther I wil teare downe euery tree,
And Bacchus holly woods and tops of mount Cythæron hye
Burne with myselfe, and al at once with all their housen I
And with the Lordes therof the roofes with goddes of Thebes all
The Thebane temples euen vppon my body will let fall:
And wyl be hyd in towne vpturnd: if to my shoulders might
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And couerd with seuen gates I shall not be enough opprest,
Then all the wayght wheron the worlde in middle part doth rest,
And partes the Goddes vppon my head Ile turne and ouerthrow
My weapons geue.
Am.
This word is meete for Hercles father lo
With this same arrow slaine behold thy sonne is tombled downe,
This weapōs cruell Iuno lo from handes of thyne hath throwne,
This same wil I now vse, loe see how leaps with feare afright
My wretched harte, and how it doth my careful body smight.
The shaft is set therto thou shalt a mischiefe lo do now
Both willing it and wotting: tel, what thing commaundest thou?
I nothing craue my doloure let in saf'ty standeth now.
To kepe my sonne alyue to mee that onely do canst thou
O Theseu, yet I haue not scapte great'st feare that happen can
Thou canst mee not a miser make, thou mayst a happy man
So order euery thyng thou dost, as all thy cause in hand,
And faine thou mayst wel know in strayght and doubtful case to stande
Thou liu'st, or diest: this slender soule that light is hence to flee,
Weried with age and no lesse bet with greuous ils to see,
In mouth I holde so slowly to a father with such staye
Doth any man geue lyfe? I wil no longer bid delay,
The deadly sword throughout my breast to strike I wil apply,
Here, here the gylt of Hercules euen sound of mynd shall lye.
Her.
Forbeare O father now forbeare, withdraw thy hand againe.
My manhood yeld thy fathers will, and impery sustaine.
To Hercles labours now like wyse, let this one labour goe,
Let me yet liue, lift vp from ground th'afflicted lims with woe
O Theseu of my parent: for from Godly touch doth flee
My wicked hand.
Am?
I gladly do this hand embrace to mee,
By this I beyng slayed will goe, this mouing to my brest
Ile slake my woes,
Her.
what place shall I seeke ronnagate for rest?
Where shall I hyde my selfe? or in what land my selfe engraue?
What Tanais, or what Nilus els, or with his Persyan waue
What Tygris violent of streame, or what fierce Rhenus flood,
Or Tagus troublesome that flowes with Ibera treasures good
May my ryght hand yow wash from gylt? although Mæoris cold
The waues of all the Northen sea on me shed out now wolde,
And al the water ther of shoulde now pas by my two handes,
Yet wil the mischiefe deepe remayne alas into what landes
Wilt thou O wicked man resort? to East or westerne costs?
[20]
From me the worlde doth flee a back, the starres that sydelyng rone
Do backwarde dryue their turned course, euen Cerberus the sone
With better count'naunce did behold O faythfull friend I saye,
O Theseu seeke some lurking place, farre hence out of the way
O thou awarder of mens gyltes what euer Iudge thou bee
That hurtful men dost loue, repay a worthy thanke to me:
And my desertes. I thee beseech, to ghostes of hell againe
Send me that once escaped them: & subiect to thy raine
Restore me yet to those thy bandes, that place shal me wel hyde:
And yet euen that place knowes me wel
Th.
Our land for thee doth bide
There Mars his hande acquite agayne and made from slaughter free
Restoard to armoure, loe that land (Alcides) calles for thee,
Which wontes to quite the gods, and proue them Innocent to be.
HERE ENDETH THE FIRST Tragedye of Seneca, called Hercules furens,
translated into Englishe by Iasper Heywood studentein Oxenforde.
| The First Tragedye of Seneca, called Hercules Furens | |