University of Virginia Library

THE THIRD SCENE.

Vlisses,
Andromacha, Astianax,
Of truth the mothers greate sorow, doth moue my hart full sore.
But yet the mothers of the Greekes, of neede must moue me more,
To whom this boy may cause in time a great calamtie.

Andr.
May euer he the burnt ruines of Troy reedifie?
And shall these handes in time to come, ereckt the towne againe?
If this be th onely helpe we haue, there doth no hope remain
For Troy, we stand not now in case to cause your feare of mynde,
Doth ought auayle his fathers force, or stocke of noble kinde?
His fathers heart abated was, he drawen the walles abought.
Thus euil haps, the haughtiest heart at lengh they bring to nought,
If ye wil needes oppresse a wretch what thing more grieuous were
Then on his noble neck he should the yoke of bondage bere?
To serue in life doth any man this to a King denye?

Vl.
Not Vlisses with his death, but Calchas prophecy.

An.
O false inuentor of deceipt and hainous cruelty,
By manhode of whose hand in warre no man did euer dye.
But by disceipt and crafty trayne of mynd that mischiefe seekes,
Before this tyme ful many one dead is, yea of the Greekes,
The Prophets wordes and guiltles Gods saist thou my sonne require,
Nay: mischiefe of thy breast it is, thou dost his death desyre.
Thou night souldier, and stout of hart a litle child to slay.
This enterprise thou takste alone and that by open day.

Vl.
Vlisses manhood wel to Greekes to much to you is knowne,
I may not spend the tyme in wordes, our Nauy wil be gone

And.
A little stay, while I my last farewel geue to my child,
And haue with oft embracing him my greedy sorrowes fild.

Vli.
Thy grieuous sorrowes to redresse, would God it lay in mee,
But at thy wil to take delay of tyme I graunt it thee.
Now take thy last leaue of thy Sonne, and fil thy selfe with teares.
Oft tymes the weeping of the eyes, the inward griefe out weares.

An.
O deere, O sweete, thy mothers pledge, farewel my onely ioy,
Farewel the flowre of honor left of beaten howse of Troy.
O Troyans last calamity and feare to Grecians part
Farewel thy mothers onely hope, and vayne comfort of hart.
Oft wisht I thee thy fathers strength and halfe thy graundsires yeares
But all for naught the Gods haue all dispoynted our desires.
Thou neuer shalt in regal court thy sceptors take in hand,
Nor to thy people geue decrees nor leade with law thy land.
Nor yet thine enmies ouercome by might of handy stroke,
Nor sende the conquerde nations all vnder thy seruile yoke.
Thou neuer shalt beat downe in fight, and Greekes with sword pursew,
Nor at thy Charyot Pyrrhus plucke, as Achill Hector drew
And neuer shal these tender handes thy weapons weild and wrest,
Thou neuer shalt in woods pursue the wyld and mighty beast.
Nor as accustom'd is by guyse and sacrifice in Troy,
With measure swift: betweene the aulters shalt thou daunce with ioy.
O grieuous kind of cruel death that doth remayne for thee,
More woeful thinges then Hectors death the walles of Troy shall see.

Vliss
Now breake of al thy mothers tears I may no more tyme spende.
The grieuous sorrowes of thy hart wil neuer make an end.

An.
Vlisses spare as yet my teares and graunt awhyle delay,
To close his eyes yet with my handes er he depart away.
Thou diest but young: yet feard thou art thy Troy doth wayte for thee,
Goe noble hart thou shalt agayne the noble Troyans see.

Asti.
Helpe me mother?

An.
Alas my child why tak'st thou holde by me?
In vayne thou calst where helpe none is I can not succour thee.
As when the litle tender beast that heares the Lyon crye,
Straight for defence he seekes his damme, & crouching downe doth lye,
The cruel beast when once remoued is the damme away,
In greedy iaw with rauening bit doth snatch the tender pray
So strayght the enmies wil thee take, and from my side thee beare.
Receiue my kisse and teares pore childe, receiue my rented hayre.
Depart thou hence now ful of mee, and to thy father goe,
Salute my Hector in my name and tel him of my woe
Complayne thy mothers griefe to him if former cares may moue,
The sprightes: and that in funerall flame they leese not all their loue.
O cruel Hector suffrest thou thy wyfe to be opprest?
With bond of Grecians heauy yoke and liest thou still at rest?
Achilles rose: take here agayne my teares and rented heare,
And (al that I haue left to send) this kisse thy father beare.
Thy coat yet for my comfort leaue, the tomb hath touched it
If of his ashes ought here lye Ile seeke it euery whit.

Vl.
There is no measure of thy teares I may no lenger stay,
Deferre no further our returne breake of our shippes delay.

Chorus
altered by the translatour.
O Ioue that leadst the lampes of fire, and deckst vvith flaming starres the skye,
VVhy is it euer thy desyre to care their course so orderly?
That novve the frost the leaues hath vvorne & novv the sprīg doth close the tree.
Novv fiery Leo rypes the corne, and stil the soyle should chaunged be?
But vvhy art thou that all dost guide, betvvene vvhose hands the poale doth svvay,
And at vvhose vvil the Orbs do slyde, careles of mans estate alvvay?
Regarding not the goodmans case, nor caryng hovv to hurt the yll.
Chaunce beareth rule in euery place and turneth mans estate at vvill.
She geues the vvronge the vpper hand the better part she doth oppresse,
She makes the highest lovv to stand, her Kingdome all is orderlesse.
O parfite profe of her frailty, the princely tovvres of Troybeat dovvne,
The flovvre of Asia here ye see vvith turne of hand quight ouerthrovvne.
The ruthful ende of Hectors son, vvhō to his death the Greekes haue led,
His fatall hovvre is come and gone, and by this tyme the Child is ded:
Yet still (alas) more cares encrease, O Troyans doleful destenie,
Fast doth approach the maydes decease, and novv Polixena shall die.