University of Virginia Library

THE FIFTH ACTE.

Nuntius.
Chorus. Nutrix. Medea. Iason.
All things are topsy turuy turnde, and wasted cleane to nought.
To passing great calamity our Kingdome State is brought.
The Syre, and Daughter burnt to dust in blendred Cynders lye.

C.
What trayne hath them entrapt?

Nū.
Such as are made for Kinges to dye,
False traitrous gifts.

C.
What priuy guile could wrapped be in those?

Nū.
And I doe meruayle at this thing and skant I can suppose
That such a mischiefe might be wrought by any such deuice

Ch.
Report how this destruction and ruine should aryse

Nū.
The fyzzing flame most egerly doth scoure with sweeping sway
Eache corner of the Prynces court, as though it should obay,
Commaunded therevnto so flat on flowre the Pallace falles:
Wee are in dread least further it will take the townishe walles.

Ch.
Cast quenching water on it then to slake the greedy flame.

Nū.
And this that seemeth very straunge doe happen in the same,
The water feedes the fier fast, the more that wee doe toyle
It to suppresse, with hotter rage the heate begins to boyle:
Those thinges that wee haue gotten for our help it doth enioy.

Nut.
Medea thou that doest so sore king Pelops lande anoy,
Twine hence in hast thy forwarde foote, at all assayes depart
To any other kinde of coaste.

Me.
Can I finde in my hart
To shun this lande? if hence I had first falne away by flight,
I would haue traueled backe agayne, to gase at such a sight.
To stande and see this wedding new, why stayst thou doting mynde?
Apply, apply, thy sore attempt, that good successe doth finde.
What great exployt is this, that thou of vengeaunce dost enioy?
Still art thou blynded witlesse wench with vale of Venus boy?
Is this suffisaunce for the griefe? is roote of rancour ded,
If Iason leade a single lyfe in solitary bed?
Some netling, thorny, stinging plagues vnpractised deuise:
Prepare thy selfe in redines and fall to on this wyse:
Let all bee fishe that commes to Net, haue no respect of ryghte,
From mynde on mischiefe fixed fast let shame be banisht quyte:
The vengeaunce they receaued at my lytle chyldrens hand,
Is nothing worth: in earnest ire ententiue must thou stand.
When heate of wrath begins to coole, cheere vp thy selfe agayne:
Rayse vp those touches olde that wonted were in thee to raygne,
That buried deepe in breast doe lye: and as for all the same
That yet is wrought: Of godlinesse let it vsurpe the name:
Doe this, and I shall teach them learne, what tryfling cast it was,
And common practisde flimflam trick that erst I brought to passe.
By this my raging malady a preamble hath made,
To shew what howgier heapes of harmes shall shortly them inuade
What durst my rude vnskilfull hand assay that was of wayght?
What could the mallice of a Gyrle inuent her foes to bayte?
Still conuersaunt with wicked feates Medea am I made.
My blunt and dulled braynes hath so ben beate about this trade.
O so I ioy, I ioy, that I smote of my brothers head,
And slasht his members of: eake that from parents had I fled:
And fliched haue the priuy fleece, loe Mars that sacred was.
It glads my heart that I to bring olde Pelias death to passe:
Haue set his daughters all on worke: O griefe picke out a way
Not any guilt thou shalt with vnacquainted hand assay
Against whom wrath entendest thou to bend thyne Irefull might?
Or with what weapon dost thou meane thy trayterous foes to smight?
I know not what my wrathfull minde consulted hath within,
And to bewray it to himselfe, I dare not yet begin.
O rash and vnaduised foole, I make to hasty speede:
O that my Foe had gotten of his Harlots body Seede:
But what so euer thou by him enioyest, suppose the same
To bee Creusas Babes, of them let her enioy the name.
This vengeaunce, this doth like mee well good reason is there, why,
The last attempt of ils, thou must with stomacke stout apply.
Alas yee litle seely fooles that erst my children were,
The plaguing price of Fathers fault submit your selues to beare.
O, horrour huge with sodayne stroke my heart doth ouercom:
With ycie dulling colde congealde my Members all benum.
My shiuering lims appauled sore for gastly feare doe quake,
And banisht rage of malice hoate begins it selfe to slake:
The hatefull heart of wife agaynst her Spouse hath yeelded place,
And pitious mothers mercy milde restoreth natures face.
O shall I shed their guiltlesse bloude? shall I the frame vnfoulde
Of that, which louing natures hande hath wrought in me her moulde?
O doting fury chaunge thy minde, conceiue a better thought,
Let not this haynous sauage deede by meanes of mee be wrought.
What cryme haue they (poore fooles) cōmit, for which they should abye?
Upon theyr Father Iason right all blot of blame should lye.
Medea yet theyr Mother I am worser farre then hee.
Tush let them frankly goe to wracke no kith nor kin to mee
They are: dispatch them out of hand: holde, holde, my babes they be
God wot, most harmelesse lambes they are, no crime nor fault haue they
Alas they bee mere innocents, I doe not this denay:
So was my brother whom I slew: O false reuolting mynde,
Why dost thou staggring to and fro such chaunge of fancies fynde?
Why is my Face be sprent with teares, what makes mee falter so,
That wrath & loue with striuing thoughts doe leade mee to and fro?
Such fighting fancies bickringe stormes my swaruing minde detarre,
As when betwene the wrestling windes is raysed wrangling warre,
Eche where the tumbling wallowing waues, are hoyst and reared hye
Amid the iustling swolues of seas, that hot in fury frye:
Euē so my hart with strugling thoughts now sinks, now swells amaine,
Wrath sometyme chaseth vertue out, and vertue wrath agayne.
O yeelde thee, yeelde, a grising griefe, to vertue yeelde thy place:
Thou onely comforte of our stocke in this afflicted case,
Come heather, come deere loued Impe, with colling mee imbrace,
Whyle that by me your mother deere sweete Boyes yee are enioyed,
So long God graunt your Father may you kepe from harme vncloyed.
Exile and flight approach on mee, and they shall by and by
Be pulde perforce out of myne armes, with vapourde weeping Eye,
Sore languishing with mourning heart, yet let them goe to graue
Before their fathers Face, as they before their mothers haue:
Now rancorus griefe, with firy fits begins to boyle agayne,
The quenched coales of deadly hate do fressher force attayne.
The rusty rancour harbred long within my cancred brest
Starts vp, and stirres my hand anew in mischiefe to bee prest.
O that the rablement of brats which swarmde aboute the syde
Of Niobe that scornefull Dame, who perisht by her pryde
Had taken lyfe out of his lymmes, O that the fates of heauen
A fruictfull mother had me made of chyldren seuen and seuen.
My barreyne wombe for my reuenge hath yeelded litle store:
Yet for my sire and brother, twayne I haue, there needes no more:
Whom seeke this rufflyng rowt of Feendes with gargell Uisage dight?
Where will they deale theyr stripes, or whō with whips of fier smight?
Or whom with cruell scorching brande and Stygian faggot fell,
With mischief great to cloy, entendes this army black of hell?
A chopping Adder gan to hisse with wrethings wrapped rounde,
As soone as did the lasshing whyp flerte out with yerking sounde.
Whom bumping with thy rapping post Megæra wilt thou crush?
Whose ghost doth heere mishapt from hell with scatered members rush?
My slaughtred brothers ghost it is that vengeaunce coms to craue:
According to his dyre request due vengeaunce shall hee haue.
But flap thou fearce the fierbrandes full dasshed in myne Eyes,
Dig, rent, scrape, burne, and squeas them out, loe ope my breast it lyes,
To fighting furies bobbing strokes, O brother, brother bid
These royles, that preasse to worrey mee, them selues away to rid.
Downe to the silent soules alowe not taking any care:
Let mee be left heare by my selfe alone, and doe not spare,
To bast, and capperclaw these armes that drewe the bloudy blade:
To quench the furies of thy sprite, that thus doe mee inuade,
With this right hand the sacrifice on thaulter shalbe made.
What meanes this sudden trampling noyse? a band of men in Armes
Come bustling towarde vs, that mee will cloy with deadly harmes.
To ende this slaughter set vpon I will my selfe conuay
Up to the garrets of our house, come Nurce with me away,
Bestow thy body hence with mee from daunger of our foes.
Now thus my mynde on mischiefe set thou must thy selfe dispose,
Let not the flickering fame and prayse in darkenesse bee exilde
Of stomack stout, that you did vse in murthering of thy childe.
Proclaime in peoples eares the prayse of cruell bloudy hand.

IA.
If any faythfull man here bee, whom ruine of his land.
And slaughter of his Prynce doe cause in pensiue heart to bleede,
Step forth that yee may take the wretch that wrought this deadly deede.
Heere, heere, yee ioly champions lay loade with weapons heere,
Haue now, hoyst vp this house, from low Foundacion vp it reare.

ME.
Now, now my Scepter guilt I haue recouered once agayne:
My Fathers wronges reuenged are, and eke my brother slayne:
The gouldens cattels Fleece returnde is to my natiue land,
Possession of my realme I haue reclaymed to my hand:
Come home is my virginity, that whilom went astray.
O Gods as good as I coulde wisshe, O ioyfull wedding day,
Goe shrowde thy selfe in darknesse dim, dispacht I haue this feate:
Yet vengeaunce is not done inough, to coole our thristy heate.
O soule why dost thou make delay? Why dost thou doubting stande?
Goe foreward with it yet thou mayst, whyle doing is thy hande:
The wrath that might should mynister doth qualefy his flame:
The pryckes of sorrow twitch my heart attaynt with blusshing shame:
Through rygour of thy heynous gore, O wretch, what hast thou done?
Though I repent a caityfe vile I am, to slea my sonne:
Alas I haue committed it, importunate delight,
Still egged on my frowarde mynde that did against it fight:
And loe the vayne coniect of this delight increaseth still,
This onely is the thing, that wants vnto my wicked will,
That Iasons eyes shoulde see this sight as yet I doe suppose,
Nothing it is that I haue done, my trauell all I lose,
That I employde in dyry deedes, vnlesse hee see the same.

IA.
Loe heere shee looketh out, and leanes vpon the houses frame,
That pitchlong hanges with falling sway: heere heape your fiers fast,
Whereby the flames that shee her selfe enkindled, may her wast.

ME.
Goe Iason, goe the obit rights the windinge sheete and graue
Make ready for thy sonne, as last behoueth him to haue,
Thy spouse and eke thy father in lawe that are entomde by mee
Receiued haue the dutyes that to deade mens ghostes agree.
This childe hath felt the deadly stroke and launce of fatall knife,
And this with wailesome murther like shall lose her tender life.

IA.
By all the sacred ghostes of heauen, and by thy oft exile,
And spousall bed, which breach of loue in mee did not defile,
Now spare, and saue the life of him my childe and also thyne:
What euer cryme committed is, I graunt it to be myne:
Make mee a bloudy sacrifice to dew deserued death,
Take from my sinfull guilty head the vse of vitall breath.

ME.
Nay sith thou wilt not haue it so as greeues thy pynched minde,
Heere way to wreck my vengeaunce fell, my burning blade shall finde.
Auaunt, now hence thou pesaunt prowd employ thy busy payne,
To reape the fruites of virgins bed, and cast them of agayne
When mothers they are made.

IA.
Let one for dew reuenge suffice.

ME.
If greedy thyrst of hungry handes that stil for vengeaunce cries,
Myght quenched bee with bloude of one, then aske I none at all,
And yet to staunche my hungry griefe the number is to small,
If onely twayne I slea, if pleadge of loue lye secrete made,
My bowels Ile vnbreast, and search my wombe with poking Blade.

IA.
Now finish out thy deadly deede, that enterprised is,
No more entreataunce will I vse, yet onely graunt mee this,
Delay awhyle his dolefull death, that I may take my flyght.
Least that myne eyes wt bleeding hearte should vew that heauy sight.

ME.
Yet linger eger anguishe yet to slea this chylde of thyne.
Ronne not to rashe with hasty speede, this dolefull day is myne:
The time that wee obtayned haue of Creon, wee enioy.

IA.
O vile malitious mynded wretch my lothsome life destroy.

ME.
In crauing this thou speakst, that I should shew thee some releefe,
Well goodinough, all this is done: O ruthfull giddy greefe,
This is the onely sacrifice that I can thee prouide,
Unthankfull Iason hether cast thy coyesh lookes asyde.
Loe heare dost thou beholde thy wyfe? thus euer wonted I,
When murther I had made, to scape, my way doth open lye
That I may spring into the skyes: the flying serpents twayne
Submitted haue theyr scaly Neckes to yoake of ratling wayne,
Thou Father haue thy sonnes agayne, I in the wandring Skye
In nymble wheeled Waggon swyfte, will ryde aduaunced hye.

IA.
Goe through the ample spaces wyde, infect the poysoned Ayre,
Beare witnesse, grace of God is none in place of thy repayre.