University of Virginia Library

Clytemnestra,
Nutrix
O drowsie dreaming doting soule, what commeth in thy brayne
To seeke about for thy defence what way thou mayst attayne?
What ayels thy skittish waiward wits, to wauer vp and downe?
The fittest shift preuented is, the best path ouergrowne
Thou mightest once mayntayned haue thy wedlocke chamber chast,
And eake haue ruld with maiesty, by fayth conioyned fast:
How nurtures lore neglected is, all ryght doth clean decay
Religion and dignity with faith are worne away:
And ruddy shame with blushing cheekes so farre god wot is past,
That when it would it cannot now come home againe at last.
O let me now at randon runne with bridle at my will:
The safest path to mischiefe is by mischiefe open still
Now put in practise, seeke aboute, search out and learne to find
The wylie traynes, and crafty guyles of wicked womankind:
What any diuelish trayterous dame durst do in working woe,
Or any wounded in her wits by shot of Cupids bowe.
What euer rigorous stepdame could commit with desperat hand,
Or as the wench who flaming fast by Venus poysoning brand,
Was driuen by leud incestuous loue in ship of Thessail land,
To flit away from Colchos yle, where Phasis channel deepe.
With siluer streame downe from the hylles of Armenie doth sweepe.
Get weapons good, get bylbowblades or temper poyson strong,
Or with some yonker trudge from Grece by theft the seas along:
Why dost thou faynt to talke of theft, exile or priuie flight?
These came by hap, thou therfore must on greatter mischiefe light.

Nut.
O worthy Queene amonge the Greekes that beares the swinging sway.
And borne of Ledas royall bloud, what muttring dost thou say?
What fury fel inforceth thee, bereaued of thy wits.
To rage and raue with bedlam braynes, to fret withfranticke fittes?
Though madam thou do counsayle keepe, and not complayne thy case,
Thyne anguish playn appeareth in thy pale and wanny face.
Reueale therfore what is thy griefe, take leasure good and stay,
What reason could not remedy, oft cured hath delay.

Clit.
So grieuous is my careful case which plungeth me so sore,
That deale I cannot with delay, nor linger any more.
The flashing flames and furious force of fiery feruent heate,
Outraging in my boyling brest, my burning bones doth beate:
It suckes the sappy marow out the iuice it doth conuay,
It frets, it teares it rents, it gnaws, my guttes and gall away.
Now feble feare stil egges mee on (with dolor beyng prest)
And cankred hate with thwacking thumpes doth bounce vpon my brest
The blynded boy that louers hartes doth reaue with deadly stroake,
Entangled hath my linked mynd with leawd and wanton yoke:
Refusing stil to take a foyle, or cleane to be confound:
Among these broyles, and agonies my mynd beseging round,
Loe feble, weary, batred downe, and vnder troden shame,
That wrestleth, striueth, strugleth hard, and fighteth with the same.
Thus am I driuen to diuers shores and beat frow banke to banke,
And tossed in the fomy floods that striues with corage cranke.
As when here wynd, and their the streame when both their force wil try,
From sandes alow doth hoyst and reare the seas with surges hye.
The waltring waue doth staggeryng stand not weting what to do,
But (houeryng) doubtes, whose furious force he best may yeld him to.
My kingdome therfore I cast of, my sceptor I forsake
As anger, sorrow, hope, me leade, that way I meane to take.
At all aduenture to the seas I yeld my beaten Barge,
At randon careles wil I runne, now wil I roue at large
Whereas my mynde to fancy fond dath gad and runne astray,
It is the best to chuse that chaunce, and follow on that way.

Nu.
This desprat dotage doth declare, and rashnes rude and blynde,
To chuse out chaunce to be the guyde and ruler of thy mynd.

Cli.
He that is driuen to vtter pinch and furthest shift of all,
What neede he doubt his doubtful lot or how his lucke befall?

Nut.
In silent shore thou saylest yet thy trespas we may hyde,
If thou thy selfe detect it not, nor cause it be descryde.

Cl.
Alas it is more blasd abroade, and further it is blowen,
Then any cryme that euer in this princely court was sowen.

Nu.
Thy former falt with pensiue hart and sorrow thou dost rew.
And fondly yet thou goest about, to set abroch a newe,

Cl.
It is a very folishnes to kepe a meane therein.

Nu.
The thing he feares he doth augment who heapeth sinne to sinne.

Cli.
But fire and swoard to cure the same the place of salue supply.

Nu.
There is no man who at the first extremity wil trye.

Cl.
In working mischiefe men do take the rediest way they fynde.

Nu.
The sacred name of wedlocke once reuoke and haue in mynd.

Cli.
Ten yeares haue I bene desolate, and led a widowes life.
Yet shall I entertayne a new my husband as his wyfe?

Nu.
Consider yet thy sonne and heire whom he of thee begot.

Cly.
And eake my daughters wedding blase as yet forget I not.
Achilles eke my sonne in law to mynd I do not spare,
How wel he kept his vow that he to me his mother sware.

Nu.
When as our nauy might not passe by wynd nor yet by streame,
Thy daughters bloud in sacrifyce their passage did redeme:
Shee sturd and brake the sluggish seas, whose water stil did stand,
Whose feble force might not hoyse vp, the vessels from the land.

Cl.
I am ashamed herewithal, it maketh me repyne,
That Tyndaris (who from the Gods doth fetch her noble ligne
Should geue the ghost t'asswage the wrath of Gods and them appease,
Wherby the Grekish nauy might haue passage free by seas.
My grudging mynd stil harpes vppon my daughters wedding day,
Whom he hath made for Pelops stock the bloudy raunsome pay.
When as with cruel countenaunce embrewd with gory bloud,
As at a wedding alter syde th'unpitiful parent stoodt,
It erked Calchas woful hart, who did abhorre the same,
His Oracle he rewd, and eke the backe reflicting flame
O wicked and vngracious stocke that winnest il with yll,
Tryumphing in thy filthy feats encreasyng leaudnes still.
By bloud we win the waueryng windes, by death wee purchase warre

Nu.
But by this meanes a thousand ships at once released are:

Cly.
With lucky fate attempt the seas did not the losed rout?
For Aulis Ile, th'ungracious fleete from port did tumble out:
As with a lewde vnlucky hand the warre he did beginne,
So Fortune fauored his successe to thriue no more therin.
Her loue as captiue holdeth him whom captiue he did take
Not moued with the earnest suite that could Achilles make,
Of Phœbus prelat Sminthicall he did retayne the spoyle:
When for the sacred virgins loue his furious breast doth boyle:
Achilles rough and thundring threats could not him qualify.
Nor he that doth direct the fates aboue the starry skye.
To vs he is an Augur iuste, and keepes his promise due,
But while he threats his captiue truls of word he is not true.
The sauage people fierce in wrath once might not moue his spright,
Who did purloyne the kindled tentes with fyer blasing bryght:
When slaughter great on Greekes was made in most extreamest fyght
Without a foe he conquered, with leanes pines awaye,
In lewd and wantōn chamber trickes he spends the idle day,
And freshly still he fedes his lust, least that some other while
His chamber chast should want a stewes, that might the same defile.
On Lady Brises loue againe his fancy fonde doth stand,
Whom he hath got, that wrested was out of Achilles hand.
And carnal copulation to haue he doth not shame,
Though from her husbands bosome he hath snacht the wicked dame,
Tushe, he that doth at Paris grudge, with wound but newly stroke
Eflamd with Phrygian Prophets loue, his boyling brest doth smoke.
Now after Troyan boties braue, and Troy orewhelm'd he saw,
Retourned he is a prysoners spouse, and Pryams sonne in law.
Now heart be bold, take corage good, of stomacke now be stowt,
A field that easely is not fought, to pitch thou goest about.
In practise mischiefe thou must put, why hopst thou for a day,
While Priams daughter come from Troy in Grece do beare the sway.
But as for the poore sely wreth, a wayteth at thy place
Thy wyddow, virgyns, and Orest his fatherlyke in face,
Consyder theyr calamityes, to come, and eake their cares,
Whom all the peril of the broyle doth threat in thy affayres.
O cursed captiue, woful wretch why dost thou loyter so?
Thy little brats a stepdame haue whose wrath wil worke their woe.
With gashing sword (and if thou can none other way prouide)
Nor thrust it through anothers ribbes then launch thy gory syde,
So murther twayne with brewed bloud, let bloud immixed be,
And by destroying of thy selfe destroy thy spouse with thee.
Death is not sawst with soppes of Sorrow if some man els I haue,
Whose breathlesse corse I wish to passe with me to deadly graue.

Nu.
Queene, brydle thyne affections, and wysely rule thy rage,
Thy swelling moode now mittigate, thy choller take asswage.
Way wel the wayghty enterpryse that thou dost take in hand,
Tryumphant victor he returnes of mighty Asia land
Auenging Europes iniury with him he bringes away.
The spoyles of sacked Pargamy a huge and mighty pray.
In bondage eake he leades the foalke of long assaulted Troy,
Yet darest thou by poliecie attempt him to annoy?
Whom with the dynt of glittring sword Achilles durst not harme,
Although his rash and desperat dickes the froward Knight did arme:
Nor Aiax yet more hardy man vp yelding vitall breath,
Whom frantike fury fell enforst to wound himselfe to death:
Nor Hector he whose onely life procurde the Greekes delay,
And long in warre for victory enforced them to stay:
Nor Paris shaft, whose conning hand with shot so sure did ayme:
Nor mighty Memnon swart and blacke, had power to hurt the same:
Nor Xanthus flood, where to and fro deade carkasses did swimme,
With armour hewd and therewithall some maymed broken limme:
Nor Symois, that purple wawmes with slaughter died doth steare.
Nor Cygnus lilly whyte, the Sonne of fenny God so deare:
Nor yet the musteryng Thrasian host: nor warlike Rhesus kinge:
Nor Amazons, who to the warres did paynted Quiuers bring,
And bare theyr hatches in their handes with Target and with shield,
Yet had no powre with ghastly wound to foyle him in the field.
Syth he such scouringes hath escapt and plungde of perilles past
Entendest thou to murther him returning home at last?
And sacred alters to prophane with slaughters so vnpure?
Shal Greec thaduenger let this wronge long vnreuengde endure
The grym and fearre coragious horse, the battayles, shoutes, & cryes,
The swelling seas which bruised barkes do dread when stormes aryse,
Behold the fieldes with streames of bloud oreflowne & depely dround,
And al the cheualry of Troy in seruile bondage bounde,
Which Greekes haue writ in registers. Thy stubborne stomacke bynd,
Subdue thy fond affections, and pacify thy mynde.