ALCMENA

Where shall I wretched mother of Alcides wish to be? Where is my child? where is my son? If sighed deceive not me With gasping mouth, and panting heart lo where he sprawling lies. Where as (alas) in raging heart of boiling fits he fries, He groves, all is dispatched, deer child let me Alcides mine Embrace thy pining limbs: with kiss enfoulde my arms in thine Where are the limbs? where is the neck that bore the skies alone? What thus hath mangled thee that all thy corpse is waste and gone? What world hath bred this uncouth bug? what land engendered it? Or else what monstrous mischief may on thee triumphing fit? Who is't that conquers Hercules? To overthrow my Hercules, what treason hath the might? How hath this pestilence got to thy Limbs and bleeding bones? Where is the Shyrt for nothing but thy naked coips I see? And can such poison be contrived? Oh noble Imp of Hercules, (alas) my Nephew deer, That dost of wretched Alcmens Son the lively feature bear. Refrain my child thy wailing words, this quiet sleep perhaps Will overcome these plunging fits. But lo? lo in my lap. He does begin to strive again, his fits begin a fresh. Sleep gieuing up the feeble ghost to rankle in the flesh. Now stint thy tender tears that down thy checks so long have trilled, And master this thy malady compel thy sorrows sloupe. And show that in these plunging pangs Alcides did not droop, And as it hath be Can st thy guise force death and hell to shri ke. It is not son the woman's bane that in thy bones does boil But festering tears and broosing knocks of thy continual toil The wrinches old with aching pangs begin to smart anew. (I'll moan no more: behold, behold. most wretched mother I) Have lost the shield of land end seed, where glittering Phoebe displays With whirling wheels in foamy gulfs, and read and purple rays The lose of many sons I may lament in him alone. Through him I lifted Kings to frown, when crown my self hadnone Aid never any mother lived, that needed less to crave. Of Gods, then I. I asked nought while I my son might have. What could not Hercles tender love Like on me to bestow? What God would once den to or what he held me fro, I was in my pour to ask and have. If Jove would ought deny, My Hercules did bring to pass I had by. What mortal mother ever bore and lost so deer a son? Erst down the cheeks of Niobe the When of her deer and tender brattes she wholly was hereuen, And did bewa le with strained sighs her children seven and seven And yet might I compare this one (my Hercles ) unto those And I in him as much as she in all her imp S die loose. The mother's that are mourning dams do lack on h worser and chief, And now Alcmene shall be she depriude of all releese, Cease woeful the cease, if that among you any are Constrain to shed your streaming tears by force of peas we care You Lady whom lamenting song of women form rocks, Give place unto my glutting grief, Beatrice on with burning knocks You hands upon my riveled breast, alas am I alone Enough for such a funeral to languish and to move, Whom all the world shall shortly need? yet steech thyfeble arms To thump upon thy sounding breast thy grief with boleful And in despite of all the gods pour put thy woeful erye And to receive thy flowing tears thy warry cheeks apply. Bewail Alcmena's woeful state: the son of Jove bewail, Whose birth did cause the du ay day in kindly course fail. The East compact two nights in one: Lo, to, a greater thing Then glorious day the world hath lost now let your furrows ring, Yet people all whose lowering lords he draw to dens of death Their blades (that recked with guiltless ) he into the sheath. Bestow on hin your Crystal tears, which he deserved wellt Howl out you heavens, you mardle seas, and goulphes with groanings yell. Oh Crete Dear darling unto Jove For Jove of Hercles ro e, You hundred cities beat yont arms: my son, for evermore Is gone among the gries y ghosts, and shimmering shades of hell Lament for him you woeful mights, that here on do dwell, Whence roars this thundering voice. y does against mine ears rebosid, And bids me to shine my tears? I know it now I know, The darksome dung daunied are, and Demies of Lake's allow. Oh Son art thou rest rnd to the from Stygian gulf again? And can thou twice of ugly death the con quest thus obtain? And braced the baleful prisons twice, of glum and ghastly night. Agam st thus by might? May any escape from thou stape alone? Hath hell no power to hold thy sprite, when breath from breast is gone? Or else hath Pluto baalde thee out, for fear least thou alone Should cloyne his Sceptre from hand, & pluck him from his front? For I am sure I saw thee laid upon the burning trees: And from thy Corpse the slame and sparks against the welkin flies: That sure thou wast to po ldee burn, and feeble life was lost: But sure the deeps and pits of did not lock up thy ghost. Why were the devils alrayde of thee? why quaked Ditis grim? And did thy noble ghost seem such a ghastly bug to him? But stay awhile my son: he fades and shrinketh from my sighed Advanced he is among the stars: does this my charmed Spirit Dote in a trance & or do I dream that I have seen my son A troubled mind can scant believe the things he sees done. But now I see thou art a God possessing heaven for aye. I see it sure. I will to Thebes thy triumphs to display.