PYLADES

Nay, but deer Cousin, give not the reins too much To new received joys, lest that they run With so much speed, that they out-Breath themselves; Your Father is come home; but being come Should now some wilful afterclap of fate (Which Omen Jove forbid should come to pass) But take him hence again, and cross your joy: Each spark of gladness which you now conceive, Would turn a flame, for grief still on extreme Altering his course, turns to the diverse theme. Yes, and such storms oft come, And wet shrewd too, before we get at home. Call them not gifts Orestes, th'are but lent, Mere lendings friend, and lendings we must pay, When e'r the owner shall appoint his day. Trust not the heavens too much, although they smile, Good looks do mortal hearts too oft beguile: The heavens are usurers; and as oft it's seen A full poucht churl give a most fair good Even To his poor Creditor: who trusting that Hath slacked his payment: on the morrow next He hath been rooted out by the tusky boar, Which gave thee fair good Even the day before: The heavens can do thus too — Nay let this tempest fallen, thou hast lost a father, Why, 'tis but change, my father shall be thine, I'll be thy brother, nay, I'll be thy self, Weep when thou weepest, and where thou goest I'll go, And bring thee on thy pilgrimage of woe. Nay, not alone Orestes, while I live, Shouldst make thy bed upon the rigid Alps, Or frozen Caucasus, wrapped in sheets of snow, I'ld freeze unto thy side; we will tell tales Of Trojan warriors, and deposed Kings, Tell of strange shipwreck, of old Priam's fallen, How mad Andromacha did tear her hair, When the wild horses tore brave Hector's limbs: Wee'll think they all do come, and weep with us; Grief loves companions, and it helpeth woe, When it hears every one groan forth his (O) It eases much, and our plaints fallen more sweet, When a whole consort, in one tune do meet. The half-dead shipman, which hath shipwreck born Seeing many drowned, it makes him less to mourn: It made Deucalion care the less to die, When he had all the world in company. Thus we will fit, and our tears turns shall keep, Thou for thy father, I for thee will weep; If actors on the stage having no cause, But for to win and hearers hands applause, Can let fallen tears, wee'll think we Actors be, And only do but play griefs Tragedy. Why, dearest friend, suppose my case were thine, And I had lost a father, wouldst not thou In the Like sort participate my grief? So, now thou hast lost a father, Alas, Orestes ! Grief does distract thee who is't thou wilt kill? I, who are they? Stay thy vengeful thoughts, And since thus long we have estranged our selves From friends and parents, lets think why it is, And why we had it noised in the Court, We both were dead; the cause was thy revenge, That if by any secret private means, We might but learn who'twas, that drenched their swords In thy deer father's blood, we then would rouse Black Nemesis in flames from out her cave, And she should be the umpire in this cause. Men soul is Like a boisterous working sea, Swelling in billows for disdain of wrongs, And tumbling up and down from day to day, Grows greater still in indignation, Turns male content, in pleaselesse melancholy, Spending her humours in dull passion, still Locking her senses in unclosed begins, Till by revenge she sets at liberty. I, but deer friend, thou must not let rage lose, And Like a furious Lion, from whose den The forester hath stolen away his young, He missing it, strait runs with open jaws On all he meets, and never hurting him That did the wrong; wise men must mix revenge With reason, which by providence will prompt, And tell us where's the mark, whereat we aim. Till then in Cinders wee'll rake up our grief, Fire thus kept, still lives, but opened die, From smallest sparks great flames may one day rise. Yes, harken friend, I have bethought a means; Not distant far from this place where we live, There stands a cave hard by a hollow oak, In a low valley where no Sun appears, No music ever was there herd to found; But the harsh voice of croaking ominous ravens. And sad Nyctimine the bird of night, There's now a shed under whose ancient roof, There sometime stood and Altar for the Gods, But now slow creeping time, with windy blasts Hath beaten down that stately Temples walls, Defaced his rich built windows, and untiled His battlemented roof, and made it now A habitation, nor for God, nor men: Yet and old woman, who does seem to strive With the vast building for antiquity, In whose rough face time now hath made such holes, As in those uncouth stones she there hath made Her self a cell, wherein to spend her age; Her name's Canidia ; great in Magic spells, At whose dire voice, the gods themselves would quake, To hear her charm the second time pronounced. One that can know the secrets of Heaven, And in the air hath flying ministers, To bring her news from earth, from sea, from hell: Which, when thick night hath compassed in the world, Then does she go to dead men's graves and tombs, And sucks the poisonous marrow from their bones, Then makes her charm, which she never spent in vain, Nor does she comes as suppliant to the Gods, But making Erebus, and Heaven to quake, She sends a spell drowning infernal thunder, By which all secrets that were ever done, In fair white parchment writ in lines of blood, Locked in the inmost room of hell it self Is brought unto her: and by her we may Have leave to look in Pluto's register, And read the names of those most loathed Furies, Which rend thy Father's soul from out his trunk, But she must see thy Father's dead bones first, Them we must bring her, for by them she works: This if thou darest assay, I'll go along. Upon the stroke of twelve. Fear not, it shall be chained with silence. But let us haste deer friend, this vast world's room Allows us none, but thy dead father's Tomb: Here's nought but airs of death, no bed but stones Our pillow's a dead scull, companions bones, Thi's all our comfort, if we needs must die, We have a graven prepared wherein to lie. But a bade mother, friend, thou shouldst not hurt, The law of nature does forbid such thoughts. Nay, but Orestes, think now of your self, Complain not of your wrongs, but seek to right them. We might have lived i'th woods still to complain, And to that purpose we may turn again. Whet up your former thoughts, and spend not time, To rave, but to revenge this odious act. We know they were their shapes, and no Chymera's. I hope you think it. 'Twas a black deed indeed, and passed all thought. Nay, still outrageous friend, good now contain Your heady fury in wisdoms rein: Harken to my advice. Then listen now, the best plot I can think, Is this: we here will live a while unknown: Orestes, thy profession shall be physic, I as your friend company you at Court; Carry it neatly, learn a few strange words, Palliate your woe a while, and coop up grief, You may in time so minister to the King, Physiques occasion fit revenge may bring. Sir, 'twas small manners to interrupt our talk, And give no warning of your being near. Nay keep a temper, hold good friend a while. Show thy self valorous, overcome thy self, If we be known, we surely are condemned. Believe him not, upon my knees I vow, These hands are only branded with the gilded, And for ones blood, let not two lives be spilled. But Oh great King, if justice must have right, Let me stand only guilty in thy sighed. Old Lord a word with you, Had not you once a Son loved the young Prince? I Faith Orestes prithee spare the child, It hath no fault, but it's too Like the mother. Poor babe. 'Twas a strange fight. Alas, one will be enough for him! THus seeking others, I have lost my self, My friend and father banished, and while I Wander to seek them for to ease their woe, I hear more grief proclaimed against my friend, That none must succour, none must give him food, And yet I'll seek him, and should all the laws, That Tyranny should think upon, restrain, I'de draw my blood forth for let him drink, But Oh what's here? Oh I have found too son, Spies Stroph. dead. One which I sought, my Father's wearied soul In sighs hath now expired out it self. Now Oh you Sisters, your great task is done, You never vntwinde what you have once begun. Thus obvious to our Fates t'our selves unkind, We haste to seek, that which too soon we find. Alas why do our souls too greedy burn, To hasten thither whence we never return, We run to't of our selves, though death were slow, Should he come tardy, we too soon should go. For the first day that gives us our first breath, Does make us a day nearer unto death. All this huge world, which now on earth so strive. To morrow this time may not be alive. Great Troy is down since Agamemnon fell, Since my deer Father, which but now was well. Oh art thou come deer friend, for thee I sought, Enter Orest. Hers some food yet, in spite of all the laws: Heavens! he's distracted, now does fury right, When thus against her self, her self does fight. It's I man here, it's Pylades, not Pluto ; Peace Music, peace, our plaints have louder cries, A heart that's sad can never harmonise. Grief cannot keep his time, all time's too long, Sighs are best sembriefes to his doleful Song. My ditties mournful though thou sweetly play. Thus do we all even blow our lives away. But dost thou wake Orestes? is rest fled, Orest. wakes Sleep never dwells long in a molested head, Thus madness plays, And keeps a certain measure in his words, See how his conscious thoughts, Like fiends of hells Do arm themselves, and lash his guilty soul. He see's no vulture, nor no Scorpion strikes, Yet does his conscience whip his bloody heart, He needs no witnesses, he hath within A thousand thoughts which testify his sin. No punishment so strict, no deadly smart, As private gilded that smites on the heart. Alas, come, go with me, we will find drink. See in his conscience lies hels punishment, Our own thoughts judges none are innocent. Exit. Why then deer friend I thus erect this arm, And will be strong to thee, as thou to me, Wee'll look upon our death's with better face, Then others do on life; come Tyndarus, see, We scorn to live when all our friends are dead, Nor shall thy Fury make base famine be The executioner to my dearest friend, While I can kill him, therefore spite of thee, Wee'll free our selves passed all calamity, Oh bravely rstook deer friend yet once again. Haste, haste, I faint, but Oh, yet let my strength Be Atlas to sustain the falling world; Breath, breath sweet vapours of two trusty hearts, And let our breathes ascend to heaven before, To make a room hard by the frozen pole, Where that our winged souls shall mount and fit, More glorious then the Concubines of love, Wreathed with a crown of rich enameled stars, Leaving all ages to deplore our death: That friendships abstract perish with our breath: Wil't die before me? Stay, stay, I come. Oh, yes, it's almost passed, Then both together, thus wee'll breath our last. Near to this shady grove, where never light Appears, but when `'tis forced with some charm, Canidia dwells, in such a dusky place, That the night goblins fear to come too near it, Here let us knock. Alas, where be his wits? He stands declaiming against senseless worms, And turns more senseless then the worms themselves; Where's now the oracle you should consult, The great Magician, now the Centaurs thought Shall be example to all future years, And now transcend Proserpina's invention, Would, hast thou found them out, would, were they worms? Prompt us some Ghost, Great fear of earth, and governess of nature, In whose deep closet of that sacred heart Are written the characters of future Fate; And what is done, or what must be thou knowest: Whose words make burning Acheron grow cold, And Jove leave thundering, when he hears thy name, To thee we come: Oh turn thy secret book, And look whose names thou there shalt see inscribed For murderers, read over all the catalogue, Until thou findest there, engraved those Which killed the King of Greece, great Agamemnon. Look here thou King of Greece, found Menelaus, Thou which didst bring so many goodly shapes, Takes up the scull. Into such things as these, and all for Helen, Which when the worms bred of her dainty flesh, Shall have knawed off her tender Ruby lips, And left her gumless, look upon her then; And thou wouldst even disgorge thy self to see, Such putrid vermin to lie kissing her. Gentlemen, we as lovers to the court, Came here as strangers, for to see the King, This man being coming out, too soon for us; And for himself used us uncivilly, We have been gentlemen, though our Fortune's now Have put on beggars weeds upon our backs Who answering in the same sort he proposed, He struck us, and men cannot endure blows: So thinking much to be struck again, He grew so hight, he drw and made a Stab; At which encounter both enclosing him betwixt us, he took a wound worse then we thought To give, for we did think to have given none; But since it's thus, we must appeal to the King. Oh hold thy doom a while, it was not he, His serious studies in the learned Arts. Hearing acute Philosophers dispute betwixt life and death, and of a future state Would feign haste to it; but the man was I, Believe not him, 'twas his desire to die. That was my dagger King, he took't from me, No King, it's I confess. Great King, our duty owes to thee our lives, And were we men that strived to set a cloud Before these gifts, Art hath instructed us: Or we have purchased at a most deer rate, Of cost and labour, yet thy clemency Commands us to lay open all to thee, Yet for my self I rather count my state, Blessed that I lighted on this happy man, Whose accurate and watchful indagation, Hath taught him for to heal the wounds of Nature, By his exceeding skill in wholesome herbs, One that when I did think my thread of life Had been quite cut, did tie it up again, And make it last: recalled my youthful days, And made me Aeson -Like become thus young, For which great practises I did owe my life, And thence proceeded our late pious strife. Alas, deer friend, see the pretty knave. Why I am he, look friend, dost not know me. He fears the heavenly signs, nay then now time Hath brought true punishment on every crime. Oh what a strange distemper stirs his brain, Thou gentle Somnus, in whom care does rest, Kind father of cold death, and son of peace, Which comes to Kings and poor men all alike: Bind his disturbed brain, tie up his sense. Let him but live to die; now 'tis not long Before we both shall sing our funeral song. So gentle sleep, Thou gatherest up his wandering brains again, This is but half dead, yet half dead he lies, But 'tis not long; before he wholly die. Music within. Hark they play music; Oh these sounds do harm, Enticing woe with their melodious charm; These please not men in woe; these time do keep, But Misery's best falling is to weep. Or stops are nought but sobs, our hearts we bring. Whereon we pricked the soulefa which we sing. Still harping on thy mother? Now some Archilocus to help him make Vengeful Iambiques, that would make these worms To burst themselves; Passion must please It self by words, grief told it self does ease. How could they think Orestes, when thou camest to the crown That thou shouldst bear, that these should eat thy father,