VIDENA

TO HE silent night that brings the quiet pause, From painful travails of the weary Day: Prolonges my careful thoughts and makes me blame The slow Aurore that so for love or shame Does long delay to show her blushing face, And now the Day renews my griefful plaint. So great a wrong and so unjust despite, Without all cause against all course of kind. Neither my Son, such is the forward will, The person such, such my mishap and thine. Yes: mine for thine my son: A father? no: In kind a Father, but not in kyndlynes. Therefore, the more unkind to thee and me. For knowing well (my son) the tender love That I have ever born and bear to thee, He grieved thereat, is not content alone, To spoil thee of my sighed my chiefest Joy, But thee, of the birth, right and Heritage Causeless, unkindly and in wrongful wise, Against all Law and right he will bereave, Half of his kingdom he will give away. Even to Porrex his younger son Whose growing Pride I do so soar suspect, That being raised to equal Rule with thee, Me thinks I see his envious heart to swell Fyllde with Disdain and with ambitious Pride The end the Gods do know, whose Altars I Full oft have made in vain of Cattle slain, To send the sacred smoke to Heavens Throne, For thee my son if things so succeed, As now my Jelious mind misdemeth soar. So grant the Gods: But yet thy father so Hath firmly fixed his unmoved mind That plaints & prayers can no whit avail, For those have I assayed, but even this day, He will endeavour to procure assent Of all his counsel to his fond devise. There rests all, but if they fail thereof, And if the end bring forth and evil success On them and theirs the mischief shall befall, And so I pray the Gods requite it them, And so they will, for so is wont to be When Lords and trusted Rulers under kings To please the present fancy of the Prince, With wrong transpose the course of governance Murders, mischief, or ciuyll sword at length, Or mutual treason, or a joust revenge, When right succeeding Line returns again By Jove's joust Judgement and deserved wrath Brings them to civil and reproachful death, And roots their names & kindreds from ̄ the earth. The end? thie end I fear, Jove end me first. Why should I live and lynger forth my tune In longer lief to double my distress? Oh me most woeful wight whom no mishap Long ere this day could have bereaved hence. Might not these hands by fortune or by fate, Have pierced this breast and life with Iron reft, Or in this Palace here where I so long Have spent my days, could not that happy hour Ones, ones have happened I which these hugy frames With death by fallen might have oppressed me Or should not this most hard and cruel soil, So eft where I have pressed my wretched steps Sometime had ruth of mine accursed lief, To rend in twain and swallow me therein, So had my bones possessed now in peace Their happy graven within the closed ground And greedy worms had gnawen this pined heart Without my feelyinge pain: So should not now This living breast remain the ruthefull tomb Wherein my heart yelden to death is graved: Nor driery thoughts with pangs of pining grief My doleful mind had not afflicted thus, Oh my beloved son: Oh my sweet child, My tear Ferrex, my Joy, my lives delight. Is my well-beloved son, is my sweet child, My deer Perrex, my Joy, my lives delight Murdered with cruel death? Oh hateful wretch, Oh heinous Traitor both to heaven and earth, Thou Porrex, thou this damned deed hast wrought Thou Porrex, thou shalt dearly aby the same, Traitor to kin and kind, to Sire and me, To thine own flesh, and Traitor to thy self The Gods on the in hell shall wreke their wrath, And here in earth this hand shall take revenge On the Porrex, thou false and caitiff wight, If after Blood, so eigre were thy thirst And Murderous mind had so possessed thee, If such hard heart of Rock and stony Flint Lived in thy breast, that nothing else could Like Thy cruel Tyrants thought but death & blood Wild savage beasts might not y slaughter serve To fede thy greedy will, and in the midst Of their entrails to stain thy deadly hands With Blood deserved, and drink thereof thy fill: Or if nought else but death and blood of man Might please thy lust, could none in Bryttain land Whose heart be torn out of his loving breast With thine own hand, or work what death thou wouldst Suffice to make a Sacrifice to appease wouldst That deadly mind & murderous thought in the? But he who in the self same womb was wrapped Where thou in dismal hour receivedst life? Or if needs, needs Thy hand must slaughter make Moughist thou not have reached a mortal wound And w to thy sword have pierced this cursed womb? That the accursed Porrex brought to light? And given me a joust reward therefore. So Ferrex, if sweet life might have enjoyed And to his aged father comfort brought, w to some young son in whom they both might live But whereunto wast I this ruthefull speech? To the that hast thy brother's blood thus shed Shall I still think y to from this womb thou sprung? That I thee bore? or take thee for my son? No Traitor, no: I the refuse for mine, Murderer I thee renounce, thou art not mine: Never, Oh wretch, this womb conceived thee, Nor never bode I painful throws for thee: Changeling to me thou art, and not my child Nor to no wight, that spark of pity knew, Ruthless, unkind, Monster of Nature's work. Thou never suckte the milk of woman's breast But from thy birth the cruel Tigers teats Have nursed, nor yet of flesh and blood Formed is thy heart, but of hard Iron wrought. And wild and desert woods bread thee to life: But canst thou hope to escape my joust revenge? Or that these hands will not be wrooke on thee? Dost thou not know that Ferrex mother lives That loved him more dearly then her self? And does she live, and is not venged on thee?