University of Virginia Library

Scene the III.

Andromach,
Ulysses, Astyanax.
Miserable wretch Come from thy Den!
Andromach calls Astyanax from the Tomb, he comes out.
—See here
The Child Ulysses who your Ships doth fear.
Submit thy self fall prostrate on thy face,
At thy Lord's feet intreat: Nor think that base
Which fortune to the wretched hath assign'd.
Thy Kingly Grand-fathers put from thy mind,
And famous Priamus's mighty Power,
Hector forget, and like a Captive bear
Thy Self with bended knees.
If tho' art not sensible as yet of Death
Yet imitate thy mothers Tears.—Troy hath
Once seen the tears of her young Princely heir:
The fierce Alcides threats removed were
By little Priamus; That fierce one who
Did monsters by his mighty Strength subdue,
Who broke hell's gates, returned thence, yet he
Was by the tears of 's little Enemie
O'recome; Take here, said he, the reins, possesse
Thy Father's seat, and Throne; more faith express
In ruling now. His Captives, not repent
We should: By Hercules learn to relent.
Must onely Hercules's arrows please?
As good as Priamus here suppliant lies
Before thy feet: his life he begs; as for
The Realm he that to Fortune doth refer.

Ulys.
The Mourning of this 'frighted mother sore
Aside.
Moves me, but yet the Grecian dames move more,
To whom this Child great Sorrow once may yield.

Andromach.
Shall he this ruin'd City e're rebuild?
Shall these hands Troy erect? No hopes Troy has
If such as these: we ruin'd are, alass!
Not so that we to any fear may Cause.
Doth's Father Cause this rigor?— True the place!
Hector himself after Troys downfall would
Have left his Courage, by such great Ills Cool'd.
If punishments you seek, worse can you lack
Than to the yoak to use his noble neck?
Sure he may serve, who 'le this a King deny?

Ulysses.
'Tis Calchas this denies to you, not I.

Andromach.
Author of Fraudes! worker of Cruelty!
None in the wars did by thy valour die:
By the Sly fraudes of thy infected minde
Greeks too have fallen. Why dost thou pretend
The Prophet, and the Guiltless Gods? when this
Night Champion! of thy own devising is?
Tho'art valiant to slay a Child; 'Tis now
Alone by day thou any thing dar'st doe.

Ulysses.
Ulysses valour to the Greeks is known
Enough, too much to you: I may n't in vain
Words Spend the day. Our Anchors way'd will be.

Andr.
Grant some short stay whilst that I render the
Last duties of a Parent to my Childe,
And have my griefs by my last Clippings fill'd.

Ulysses.
Would I might pity shew! this onely may
Be shewn; we grant at thy request delay,
And time to weep. Tears griefs disburden does.

Andr.
Sweet pledge! O glory of our fallen house!
Last end of Troy! O fear to Greeks! O vain
Hope of thy Mother! for whom thy Gran-sires raign
In his best State, thy Father's fortitude
I did request: The Gods our votes delude.
In Iliums royal Court Troys Scepter thou
Shall n't bear, nor laws give to thy people now:
Nor to thy yoak submit the Conquer'd rout,
Nor Grecians slay; Nor Pyrrhus drag about.
Nor shall thy tender hands Arms exercise,
Nor boldly in the lawnes wilde beasts surprize.
Nor shalt thou with the noble youths resort.
To use th'(at solemn Lustres) Trojan sport.
Nor with swift feet dance in the Phrygian fanes
About the Altars, whilst the warlike straines
Of Curved pipes excite. Dire death, alass!
Worser than death; Something more sad than was
Hector's Troy now shall see.

Ulysses.
Break off thy Tears
Great dolor never of it Self forbears,

Andr.
Small is the time for tears that we require,
Vlysses! grant before that he expire,
I wish my hand may close his little Eyes.
Thou dyest young but fear'd by Enemies.
Thy Troy expect thee; Go free Trojans see
From bondage freed.

Astyanax.
O Mother succour me!

Andr.
Why hugg'st thou me? Why hold'st thy mothers hands?
Thou tak'st a vain defence. As trembling stands
By 'is mothers side the tender youngling, when
It hears the Lion roar: She gon, he then
With his vast jaws teareth the tender prey,
So thee thy foe snatch from my breast away
Will. Here receive my Kisses, Tears, and hair
Rent off. To th'Sire now full to me repair,
Tell him thy mothers plaints: If Ghosts retaine
Their former Love, not perish'd in the flame.
O Cruel Hector! wilt thou suffer thy
Andromach serve the Greeks? and slothful lie?
Achillis back return'd. Take here, take here,
Once more my rented hair, and tears, what e're
Is of my Hector left: These Kisses give
Unto thy Sire. This Coate thy mother leave:
This touch'd has my dear's ashes, and his tomb;
I'le search his ashes and what's left lick down.

Ulysses.
Thou hast no measure in thy tears: away,
'Tis time to break the Grecians Ships delay.

Exeunt omnes.
Chorus.