University of Virginia Library

THE FIFTE ACTE.

Atreus
alone.
Nowe equall with the Starres I goe, beyond each other wight,
With haughty heade the heauens aboue, and highest Poale I smite.
The kingdome nowe, and seate I holde, where once my father raynd:
I nowe lette goe the gods: for all my wil I haue obtaynde
Enoughe and well, ye euen enough for me I am acquit
But why enough? I wil procede and fyl the father yet
With bloud of his least any shame should me restrayne at all,
The day is gone, go to therfore whyle thee the heauen doth call
Would God I could agaynst their wils yet hold the Goddes that flee
And of reuenging dish constrayne them witnesses to bee:
But yet (which wel enough is wrought) let it the father see.
In spighte of al the drowned day I will remoue from thee
The darknesse all, in shade wherof do lurke thy miseryes.
And guest at such a banquet now to long he careles lyes,
With mery face: now eate and drunke enough he hath at last
T'ys best him selfe should know his ylls ye seruauntes, all in hast
Undoe the temple dores: and let the house bee open all:
Fayne would I see, when loke vppon his childrens heads he shal
What countenaunce he then would make, or in what woordes break out
Would first his griefe, or how would quake his body round about
With spright amased sore: of all my worke the fruite were this
I would him not a miser see, but while so made he is,
Behold the temple opened now doth shyne with many a light:
In glitteryng gold and purple seate he sittes hymselfe vpright,
And staying vp his heauy head with wyne vppon his hand,
He belcheth out, now chiefe o! goddes in highest place I stand,
And king of kinges: I haue my wish, and more then I could thinke
He filled is, he now the wyne in siluer bolle doth drinke
And spare it not: there yet remaynes a worser draught for thee
That sprong out of the bodyes late of sacrifyces three,
Which wine shall hyde let therwithall the boordes be taken vp.
The father (mingled with the wyne) his childrens bloud shall sup.
That would haue dronke of myne. Behold he now beginnes to strayne
His voyce, and synges, nor yet for ioy his mynde he may refrayne,

THE SECONDE SCEANE

Thiestes
alone.
O beaten bosomes dullde so longe with woe,
Laie down your cares, at length your greues relēt
Let sorowe passe, and all your dread let goe,
And fellow eke of fearefull banishment,
Sad pouertye and ill in misery
The shame of cares, more whense thy fall thou haste,
Then whether skylles, great hap to him, from hye
That falles, it is in surety to be plast
Beneath and great it is to him agayne
That prest with storme, of euylls feeles the smart,
Of kyngedome loste the payses to sustaine
VVith necke vnbowde: nor yet detect of heart
Nor ouercome, his heauy haps alwayes
To beare vpright but now of carefull carkes
Shake of the showres, and of thy wretched dayes
Away with all the myserable markes.
To ioyfull state returne thy chearefull face.
Put fro thy mynde the olde Thyestes hence.
It is the woont of wight in wofull case,
In state of ioy to haue no confidence.
Though better haps to them returned be,
Thafflicted yet to ioy it yrketh sore.
VVhy calst thou me abacke, and hyndrest me
This happy day to celebrate? wherefore
Bidst thou me (sorrow) wepe without a cause?
VVho doth me let with flowers so fresh and gay,
To decke my hayres? it lets and me withdrawes
Downe from my head the roses fall away:
My moysted haire with oyntment ouer all,
With so dayne mase standes vp in wondrous wyse,
From face that would not weepe the streames do fall.
And howling cryes amid my wordes aryse.
My sorrowe yet thaccustomd teares doth loue
And wretches stil delyght to, weepe and crye.
Vnpleasant playntes it pleaseth them to moue:
And florisht fayre it likes with Tyrian die
Their robes to rent, to waile it likes them still
For sorrow sendes (in signe that woes draw nie)
The mind that wots before of after yll.
The sturdy stormes the shipmen ouer lye,
VVhen voyd of wynd thasswaged seas do rest.
VVhat tumult yet or countenaunce to see
Makste thou mad man? at length at trustful breast
To brother gene, what euer now it be,
Causeles, or els to late thou art a dred.
I wretch would not so feare, but yet me drawes
A trembling terrour: downe myne eyes do shed
Their sodayne teares and yet I know no cause,
Is it a greefe, or feare? or els hath teares great ioy it selfe.

THE THIRDE SCEANE.

Atreus.
Thyestes.
Lette vs this daye with one consente (O brother celebrate)
This daye my sceptors may confyrme, and stablish my estate,
And faythfull bonde of peace and loue betwene vs ratifye.

Thy.
Enough with meate and eke with wyne, now satisfyed am I.
But yet of all my ioyes it were a great encrease to mee,
If now about my syde I might my litle children see.

Atr.
Beleeue that here euen in thyne armes thy children present be.
For here they are, and shalbe here, no part of them fro thee
Sal be withhelde: their loued lookes now geue to thee I wil,
And with the heape of all his babes, the father fully fyll.
Thou shalt be glutted, feare thou not: they with my boyes as yet
The ioyful sacrifyces make at borde where children sit,
They shalbe cald, the frendly cup now take of curtesy
With wyne vpfylde.

Thy.
of brothers feast I take ful willingly
The fynal gyft, shed some to gods of this our fathers lande,
Then let the rest be dronke, what's this? in no wyse wil my hand
Obeye: the payse increaseth sore, and downe myne arme doth sway.
And from my lippes the wafting wyne it selfe doth flye away,
And in deceiued mouth, about my iawes it rūneth rounde.
The table to, it selfe doth shake and leape from trembling ground.
Scant burnes the fyre: the ayre it selfe with heauy chere to slyght
Forsooke of sonne amased is betweene the day and night.
What meaneth this? yet more and more of backward beaten saye
The compas falles, and thicker myst the world doth ouerly
Then blackest darkenes, and the night in night it selfe doth hyde.
All starres be fled, what so it bee my brother God prouyde
And soones to spare: the Gods so graunt that all this testmpest fall
On this vyle head: but now restore to me my children all,

Atr.
I wil, and neuer day agayne shal them from thee withdraw,

Thy.
What tumult tumbleth so my guttes, and doth my bowels gnaw?
What quakes within? with heauy payse I feele my selfe opprest,
And with an other voyce then myne bewayles my doleful brest:
Come nere my sonnes, for you now doth thunhappy father call:
Come nere, for you once seene, this griefe would soone asswage & fall
Whence murmure they?

Atr.
wt fathers armes embrace them quickly now
For here they are loe come to thee: dost thou thy children know?

Th.
I know my brother: such a gylt yet canst thou suffer well
O earth to beare? nor yet from hence to Stygian lake of hell
Dost thou both drowne thy selfe and vs? nor yet with broaken ground
Dost thou these kingdomes and their king with Chaos rude confounde?
Nor yet vprenting from the soyle the bowres of wicked land.
Dost thou Micenas ouerturne with Tantalus to stand,
And aunciters of ours, if there in hel be any one,
Now ought we both: now from the frames on eyther syde anone
Of ground, all here and there rent vp out of thy bosome depe:
Thy dens and dungeons set abrode, and vs enclosed keepe,
In bottome low of Acheron: aboue our heds aloft
Let wander all the gylty ghostes, with burning frete ful oft
Let fyry Phlegethon that driues his sands both to and fro
To our confusion ouerroon and vyolently flow
O slothful soyle vnshaken payse vnmoued yet art thou?
The Gods are fled:

Atr.
but take to thee with ioy thy children now,
And rather them embrace: at length thy children all of thee
So long wisht for (for no delay there standeth now in mee)
Enioy and kisse embracing armes deuyde thou vnto three.

Thy.
Is this thy league? may this thy loue and fayth of brother bee?
And doost thou so repose thy hate? the father doth not craue
His sonnes aliue (which might haue bene without thy gylt) to haue
And eke without thy hate, but this doth brother brother pray:
That them he may entoombe restore, whom see thou shalt strayght waye,
Be burnt: the father naught requires of thee that haue he shall,
But soone forgoe

Atr.
what euer part yet of thy children all
Remaynes, here shalt thou haue: and what remayneth not thou host.

Thy.
Lye they in fieldes, a food out flong for fleeyng fowles to wast?
Or are they kept a pray, for wyld and brutish beastes to eate?

Atr.
Thou hast deuourd thy sonnes and fyld thy selfe with wicked meat.

Thy.
Oh this is it that sham'de the Gods and day from hence did dryue
Turn'd back to east, alas I wretch what waylinges may I geue?
Or what complayntes? what woeful woordes may be enough for mee?
Their heads cut of, and handes of torne, I from their bodyes see,
And wrenched feete from broken thighes I here behold agayn
Tys this that greedy father could not suffer to sustayne.
In belly roll my bowels round, and cloased cryme so great
Without a passage stryues within and seekes a way to get.
The sword (O brother) lend to me much of my bloud alas
It hath: let vs therwith make way for all my sonnes to passe.
Is yet the sword from me withheld? thy selfe thy bosoms teare,
And let thy brestes resound with stroakes: yet wretch thy hand forbeare
And spare the deade: who euer saw such mischiefe put in proofe?
What rude Heniochus that dwels by ragged coast aloofe,
Of Caucasus vnapt for men? or feare to Athens, who
Procustes wyld? the father I oppress my children do
And am opprest, is any meane of gylt or mischiefe yet?

Atr.
I meane in mischiefe ought to be when gylt thou dost commit,
Not when thou quytst: for yet euen this to litle seemes to me.
The blood yet warme euen from the wound I should in sight of thee
Euen in thy iawes haue shed, that thou the bloud of them mightst drinke
That lyued yet: but whyle to much to hast my hate I thinke
My wrath beguyled is my selfe with sword the woundes them gaue
I strake them downe, the sacred fyres with slaughter vowde I haue
Wel pleasd, the carcase cutting then, and liueles lymmes on grounde.
I haue in litle parcels chopt, and some of them I drounde
In boyling cauderns, some to fyres that burnte ful slow I put,
And made to droppe: their synewes all, and limmes a two I cut
Euen yet alyue and on the spitte, that thrust was through the same
I harde the liuer wayle and crye, and with my hand the flame:
I oft kept in: but euery whit the father might of this
Haue better done, but now my wrath to lightly ended is.
He rent his sonnes with wicked gumme, himselfe yet wotting naught,
Nor they therof

Th.
O ye encloas'd with bending bankes abought
All seas me heare, and to this gylt ye Gods now harken well
What euer place ye fled are to here all ye sprites of hel,
And here ye landes, and night so darke that them dost ouerly
With clowde so blacke to my complayntes do than thy selfe apply.
To thee now left I am, thou dost alone me miser see,
And thou art left without thy starres: I wil not make for me
Peticions yet, nor ought for me require may ought yet bee
That me should vayle? for you shal all my wishes now foresee.
Thou guyder great of skyes aboue, & prince of highest might,
Of heauenly place now all with cloudes ful horrible to sight,
Enwrap the worlde, and let the wyndes on euery syde breake out
And send the dredfull thunderclap through al the world about
Not with what hand thou gyltles house and vndeserued wall
With lesser bolt are wonte to beate, but with the which did fall
The three vnheaped mountaynes once and which to hils in height
Stoode equall vp, the gyantes huge: throuw out such weapons streight,
And flyng thy fires: and therwithall reuenge the drowned day.
Let flee thy flames, the light thus lost and hid from heauen away,
With flashes fyll: the cause (lest long thou shouldst doubte whom to hit)
Of ech of vs is ill: if not at least let myne be it.
Me strike with tryple edged toole thy brande of flaminge fyre:
Beate through this breast: if father I my children do desyre
To lay in tombe or corpses cast to fyre as doth behoue,
I must be burnt if nothing now the gods to wrath may moue,
Nor powre from skies with thunder bolt none strikes the wicked men
Let yet eternall night rewayne, and hyde with darknes then
The world about: I, Titan naught complayne as now it standes
If stil thou hyde thee thus away.

Atre.
now prayse I well my handes,
Now got I haue the palme. I had bene ouercome of thee,
Except thou sorrow'dst so but now euen children borne to mee
I compt and uow of bridebed chast the fayth I do repayre,

Thy.
In what offended haue my sons:

Atr.
In that, that thyne they were

Thy.
Setst thou the sonnes for fathers foode?

Atr.
I do & (which is best)
The certayne sonnes,

Thy.
The gods that guyde all infantes I protest.

Atr.
What wedlock gods?

Th.
who would the gilt wt gylt so quite again?

Atr.
I know thy greefe preuented now with wrong thou dost complayne:
Nor this thee yrkes, that fed thou art with food of cursed kind,
But that thou hadst not it prepard for so it was thy mynd,
Such meates as these to set before thy brother wotting naught,
And by the mothers helpe to haue, likewyse my children caught:
And them with such like to slay: this one thing letted thee,
Thou thought'st them thine.

Thy.
the gods shall al of this reuengers be
And vnto them for vengeance due my vowes thee render shall

Atr.
But vext to be I thee the whyle, geeue to thy children all.

THE FOVRTH SCENE, Added to the Tragedy by the Translatour.

Thyestes
alone.
O Kyng of Dytis dungeon darke, and goysly Ghosts of hell,
That in the deepe and dredfull Denne, of blackest Tartare dwell.
Where leane and pale dyseases lye where feare and famyne are,
Where discord stands with bleeding browes, where euery kynde of care,
Where furies fight in beds of steele, and heares of crauling snakes,
Where Gorgon grimme, white Harpyes are, & lothsome Lymbo lakes,
Where most prodigious vgly thinges, the hollows hell both hyde,
If yet a monster more myshapt then all that there dot byde,
That makes his broode his cursed foode, yee all abhorre to see,
Nor yet the deepe Auerne it selfe, may byde to couer mee,
Nor grisly gates of Putoes place, yet dare them selues to spred,
Nor gaping grounde to swallowe him, whom Gods and day haue fled:
Yet breake yee out from cursed seates, and heere remayne with mee,
Yee neede not now to be affrayde, the Ayre and Heauen to see.
Nor triple headed Cerberus, thou needst not bee affryght,
The day vnknowne to thee to see or els the lothsome lyght.
They both be fled: and now doth dwell none other count'naunce heere,
Then doth beneath the fowlest face, of hatefull hell appeere.
Come see a meetest match for thee, a more then monstrous wombe,
That is of his vnhappy broode, become a cursed tombe.
Flocke here yee fowlest flendes of hell, and thou O graundsyre greate,
Come see the glutted guts of myne, with such a kinde of meate,
As thou didst once for Gods prepare. Let torments all of hel
Now fall vppon this hatefull head, that hath deserude them well.
Yee all be plagued wrongfully, your guiltes be small, in sight
Of myne, and meete it were your pange on me alone should light.
Now thou O graundster guiltlesse arte, and meeter were for mee,
With fleeing floud to be beguilde, and fruite of fickle tree.
Thou slewst thy sonne, but I my sonnes, alas, haue made my meate.
I coulde thy famyne better beare, my paūch is now repleate
With foode: and with my children three, my belly is extent.
O filthy fowles and gnawyng gripes, that Tytius bosome rent
Beholde a fitter pray for you, to fill your selues vppone
Then are the growing guts of him: foure wombes enwrapt in one.
This paūche at once shall fill you all: if yee abhorre the foode,
Nor may your selues abide to bathe, in such a cursed bloode:
Yet lend to me your clinching clawes, your pray a while forbeare,
And with your tallons suffer mee, this monstrous mawe to teare.
Or whirling wheeles, with swinge of which Ixion still is rolde,
Your hookes vpon this glutted gorge, would catche a surer holde.
Thou filthy floud of Lymbo lake, and Stygian poole so dyre,
From choaked chanell belche abrode. Thou fearefull freate of fyre,
Spue out thy flames O Phlegethon: and ouershed the grounde.
With vomit of thy fyry streame, let me and earth be drownde,
Breake vp thou soyle from bottome deepe, and geue thou roome to hell,
That night, where day, yt ghosts, where Gods were woōt to raigne, may dwel.
Why gapst thou not? Why do you not O gates of hell vnfolde?
Why do yee thus thinfernall fiendes, so long from hence withholde?
Are you likewyse affrayde to see, and knowe so wretched wight,
From whom the Gods haue wryde theyr lookes, & turned are to flight?
O hatefull head, whom heauen and hell, haue shoonde and left alone,
The Sunne, the starres, the light, the day, the Gods, the ghosts be gone.
Yet turne agayne yee Skyes a while, ere quight yee goe fro mee,
Take vengeance fyrst on him, whase faulte enforceth you to flee.
If needes yee must your flight prepare, and may no longer bide,
But rolle yee must with you forthwt, the Gods and Sunne a syde,
Yet slowly flee: that I at length, may you yet ouertake,
While wandring wayes I after you, and speedy iorney make.
By seas, by lands, by woods, by rocks, in darke I wander shall:
And on your wrath, for right rewarde to due des rts, will call.
Yee scape not fro me, so yee Gods, still after you I goe,
And vengeaunce aske on wicked wight, your thunder bolte to throe.