University of Virginia Library

THE FIRST ACTE.

Hecuba.
Who so in pompe of prowde estate, or Kingdome sets delight:
Or who that ioyes in Princes courte to beare the sway of might.
Ne dreads the fates which from aboue the wauering Gods downe flinges:
But fast affiance fixed hath, in frayle and fickle thinges:
Let him in me both se the Face, of Fortunes flattering ioy:
And eke respect the ruthful end of thee (O ruinous Troy)
For neuer gaue shee playner proofe, then this ye present see:
How frayle and britle is the state of pride and high degree,
The flowre of flowring Asia, loe whose fame the heauens resound,
The Worthy worke of Gods aboue, is batered downe to ground.
And whose assaultes they sought afar, from West wt Banners spred
Where Tanais cold her braunches seuen, abroad the world doth shed.
With hugie host and from the East, where springes the newest dea,
Where Lukewarme Tygris channell runnes, and meetes the ruddy sea.
And which frō wandring land of Seythe, the band of widowes sought:
With fire and sworde thus battered be her Turrets downe to nought.
The walles but late of high renowne lo here their ruinous fall:
The buildinges burne, and flashing flame, swepes through the pallas al.
Thus euery house ful hie it smoakes, of old Assarackes lande:
Ne yet the flames withholdes from spoyle, the greedy Victors hand.
The surging smoake, the asure skye, and light hath hid away:
And (as with cloude beset) Troyes Ashes staynes the dusky day.
Through pearst with ire and greedy of hart, the victor from a farre.
Doth view the long assaulted Troy, the gaine of ten yeares warre,
And eke the miseryes therof abhorres to looke vppon,
And though he se it yet scant himselfe, belieues might be wonne,
The spoyles thereof with greedy hand, they snatch and beare awaye:
A thousand shippes would not receiue aboorde so huge a pray
The yreful might I do protest of Gods aduerse to mee,
My countryes dust, and Troyan King I call to witnes thee,
Whom Troy now hydes, and vnderneath the stones art ouertrode:
With al the Gods that guides the Ghost, and Troy that lately stoode.
And you also you flocking Ghostes of al my children dere:
Ye lesser Sprightes what euer ill, hath hapned to vs here.
What euer Phœbus watrish face, in fury hath foresayde:
At raging rise from seas when earst, the monsters had him frayde.
In childbed bandes I saw it yore, and wist it should be so:
And I in vayne before Cassandra told it long agoe.
Not false Vlysses kindled hath these fires, nor none of his:
Nor yet deceyptful Sinons craft, that hath bene cause of this.
My fyre it is wherwith ye burne, and Parys is the brand
That smoaketh in thy towres (O Troy) the flowre of Phrygian land.
But ay (alas) vnhappy age, why dost thou yet so sore,
Bewayle thy Countries fatall fall, thou knewest it long before:
Behold thy last calamityes, and them bewayle with teares:
Account as old Troys ouerturne, and past by many yeares,
I saw the slaughter of the King, and how he lost his life:
By Th'aulter sloe (more mischiefe was) with stroake of Pyrrhus knife.
When in his hand he wound his lockes, and drew the King to ground,
And hid to hiltes his wicked sword, in deepe and deadly wound.
Which when the gored King had tooke, as willing to bee slayne,
Out of the old mans throate he drew his bloudy blade agayne.
Not pitty of his yeares (alas) in mans extreamest age:
From slaughter might his hand withhold, ne yet his yre asswage:
The Gods are witnes of the same, and eake the sacrifyes,
That in his kingdome holden was, that flat on ground now lies.
The father of so many Kings Pryam of aunient name,
Untombed lieth and wants in blase of Troy: his funerall flame.
Ne yet the Gods are wreakt, but loe his Sonnes and daughters all,
Such Lordes they serue as doth by chance of lot to them befall.
Whom shall I follow now for pray? or where shall I be led
There is perhaps amonge the Greekes that Hectors wyfe will wed.
Some man desyres Helenus spouse some would Antenors haue,
And in the Greekes their wantes not some, that would Cassandra craue
But I (alas) most woeful wight whom no man seekes to chuse,
I am the only refuge left, and me they cleane refuse
Ye careful captiue company, why stints your woful crye?
Beate on your breastes and piteously complayne with voyce so hye,
As meete may be for Troyes estate, let your complayntes rebound
In toppes of Trees: and cause the hills to ring with terible sounde.

THE SECOND SCENE.

The VVoman,
Hecuba.
Not folke vnapt, nor nevv to vveepe (O Queene)
Thou vvilst to vvayle by practise are vvee taught,
For all these yeares in such case haue vve bene,
Since first the Troyan guest, Amiclas soughte
And saild the Seas, that led him on his vvay
With sacred ship, to Cibell dedicate
From vvhence he brought his vnrepyning pray,
The cause (alas) of all this dire debate,
Ten tymes novv hydde the hilles of Idey bee,
With snovve of Syluer hevv all ouer layd.
And bared is, for Troyan rages each tree,
Ten tymes in field, the haruest man afrayde,
The spikes of Corne hath reapt, since neuer day
His waylyng wantes new cause renewes our woe
Lift vp thy hand, (O Queene) crie well away:
We follow thee, we are wel taught thereto.

HEC.
Ye faythful fellowes of your casualty,
Vntie thattyre, that on your heads ye weare,
And as behoueth state of misery,
Let fall aboute your woeful neckes your hayre.
In dust of Troy rub all your armes about,
In slacker weede and let your breastes be tyed
Downe to your bellies let your limmes lye out,
For what wedlocke should you your bosomes hyde?
Your garmentes loose, and haue in readines
Your furious handes vppon your breast to knocke
This habite well beseemeth our distresse,
It pleaseth me, I know the Troyan flocke
Renew agayne your longe accustomde cryes,
And more then earst lament your miseryes.
We bewayle Hector.

WO.
Our hayre we haue vntide, now euerychone,
All rent for sorrow of our cursed cace,
Our lockes out spreads, the knottes we haue vndone
And in these ashes stayned is our face.

HEC.
Fill vp your handes and make therof no spare,
For this yet lawful is from Troy to take
Let dovvne your garmentes from your shoulders bare.
And suffer not your clamour so to slake.
Your naked breastes wayte for your handes to smight
Now dolor deepe now sorrow shevv thy might:
Make all the coastes that compas Troy about
Witnes the souude of all your careful crye
Cause from the Caues the eccho to cast out:
Rebounding voyce of all your misery:
Not as she wontes, the latter word to sound
But all your woe from farre let it rebound
Let al the Seas it heare, and eke the land
Spare not your breastes vvith heauy stroake to strike
Beate ye your selues, ech one vvith cruell hand
For yet your vvonted crie doth me not like
VVe bevvayle Hector.

VVO.
Our naked armes, thus here vve rent for thee,
And bloudy shoulders, (Hector) thus vve teare:
Thus vvith our fistes, our heades lo beaten bee
And all for thee, behold vve hale our heare.
Our dugges alas, vvith mothers hands be torne
And vvhere the flesh is vvounded round about
VVhich for thy sake, vve rent thy death to morne
The flovving streames of bloud, they spring thereout.
Thy countres shore, and destinies delay.
And thou to vvearied Troians vvast an ayde,
A vvall thou vvast, and on thy shoulders Troy
Ten yeres it stode, on thee alone it staide,
VVith thee it fell: and fatall day alas
Of Hector both, and Troy but one there vvas.

HEC.
Enough hath Hector: turne your plaint and mone
And shed your teares for Pryame euery chone.

VVO.
Receiue our plaintes, O lord of Phrigian land
And old tvvise captiue king, receiue our feare,
VVhile thou vvert king. Troy hurtles then could stand
Though shaken tvvise, with Grecian sword it weare,
And twise did shot of Hercles quiuer beare,
At latter losse of Hecubes sonnes all
And roges for kings, that hgih on piles we reare:
Thou father shutst our latest funerall.
And beaten downe, to Ioue for sacrifies.
Like liueles blocke, in Troy thy carkas lies.

HEC.
Yet turne ye once your teares, another way,
My pryams death, should not lamented be.
O Troyans all, ful happy is Pryame say,
For free from bondage, downe descended hee,
To the lowest Ghoste: and neuer shall sustayne
His Captiue necke with Greekes to yoked bee.
Hee neuer shal behold the Atrids twayne
Nor false Vlisses euer shal he see,
Not hee a pray for Greekes to triumph at
His necke shall subiect to their conquestes beare
Ne geue his handes to tye behynde his backe,
That to the rule of Scepters wonted weare,
Nor following Agamemnons chare, in bande
Shall he bee pompe, to proude Mycenas land.

WO.
Ful happy Pryame is, each one wee say
That toke vvith him his Kingdome then that stoode
Now safe in shade, he seekes the wandring way,
And treads the pathes of all Elizius wood,
And in the blessed Sprightes, ful happy hee,
Agayne there seekes to meete with Hectors Ghost.
Happy Pryam, happy who so may see,
His Kingdome all, at once with him be lost.

Chorus
added to the Tragedy by the Translator.
O ye to whom the Lord of Lande and Seas,
Of Life and Death hath graunted here the powre
Lay dovvne your lofty lookes, your pride appeas
The crovvned King fleeth not his fatall howre.
Who so thou be that leadst thy land alone,
Thy life vvas limite from thy mothers vvombe,
Not purple robe, not Glorious glittering throne,
Ne crovvne of Gold redeemes thee from the tombe:
A King he was that wayting for the vayle,
Of him that slew the Minotaure in fight:
Begilde with blacknes of the wonted saile
In seas him sonke, and of his name they hight.
So he that wild, to vvin the golden spoyle
And first vvith ship, by seas to seeke renovvne,
In lesser vvaue, at length to death gan boyle,
And thus the daughters, brought their father dovvne:
Whose songes, the vvoodes hath dravven, and riuers held,
And birdes to heare his notes, did theirs forsake,
In peece meale throvvne, amid the Thracian field,
Without returne hath sought the Stigian lake.
They sit aboue, that holde our life in line,
And vvhat vve suffer dovvne they fling from hie,
No carke, no care, that euer may vntwine
The thrids, that vvouen are aboue the skie,
As vvitnes he that sometyme King of Greece,
Had Iason thought, in drenching seas to drovvne
Who scapt both death and gaind the Golden fleece,
Whom fates aduaunce, there may no povvre plucke dovvne
The highest God sometyme that Saturne hight
His fall him taught to credite their decrees
The rule of heauens: he lost it by their might,
And Ioue his sonne novv turnes the rolling Skies.
Who vveneth here to vvin eternall vvelth,
Let him behold this present perfite proofe.
And learne the secrete stoppe of chaunces stelth,
Most nere alas, vvhen most it seemes aloofe.
In slipper ioy let no man put his trust:
Let none dispayre that heauy haps hath past
The svvete vvith sovvre she mingleth as she lust
Whose doubtful web pretendeth nought to last.
Frailtie is the thride, that Clothoes rocke hath sponne,
Novv from the Distaffe dravvne novv knapt in tvvaine
With all the world at length his end he wonne,
Whose works haue wrought, his name should great remaine
And he whose trauels twelue, his name display,
That feared nought the force of worldly hurt,
In fine (alas) hath found his fatall daye,
And died with smart of Dianyraes shurt,
If prowes might eternity procure,
Then Priam yet should liue in lyking lust,
Ay portly pompe of pryde thou art vnsure,
Lo learne by him O Kinges yee are but dust.
And Hecuba that wayleth now in care,
That was so late of high estate a Queene,
A mirrour is to teach you what you are
Your wauering wealth, O Princes here is seene.
Whom dawne of day hath seene in high estate
Before Sunnes set, (alas) hath had his fall
The Cradels rocke, appoyntes the life his date
From setled ioy, to sodayne funerall.