PHILOCTETES

In such a cheerful sort As no man lives. That there was any heat at all his face did not bewray, Who proved that power might force all things to stoop and to obey, That under son untamed be. That mischief witch all only yet the world knew not before, Even fire hath been conquered as beasts, and monsters more Among the toils of Hercules the fire is crept in. As soon as he with smarting hand the Oetam hill had grypte, And forthwith from y e branched Beeche y e shrinking shade was wipte: And felled from the stump it lies, a Pine tree hard he bends, That crake's the clouds, & down from skies his haughty head he send The Rock did totter ready for to reel, and with the sway It tumbleth down, a little grove withal it bears away. A spreading Oak of Chaon big, whose leaves did ever rush, And dimde the sun, and did beyond the wood his branches push. It being hewde does crack, and eake in twain the wedges knappes: The steel starts back and thus the tool of Iron bides the rappes, And flies out of the Log, at length at roore it shogde and shook, And falling down full lythly the overthrow it took. Forthwith the place lost all his light, the birds scaard from their nest Do foare about the cropped wood, and holes wherein to rest, And chirping with their weary wings about the plot they flicker In every tree the ringing strokes were multiplied thicker. The holy Oaks in hugy hand the Iron Axe did feel. No timber on the stallen stocks might escape the hewing steel, Thus all the wood upon a pile is heaped, and one by one The Logs are laid as high as heaven that Hercules thereon Might have a narrow room: his burning bones for to bestow. On Pynetree top, and towghest Oak the fler begins to glow. And on the stumped Willow flamth, and thus the forest wide Does make the Kill the Popler wood all Hercles blocks does hide. But as the puissant Lion when his fits do vex him soar, Lies wallowing on his back, and through the forest loud does roar. So fareth he, who would have thought he had to burning gone? As one that climbs to heaven, not fire, he was to look upon When up he stepped on Oera mount and gazed on his Kill. Being laid aloft he brake the block, so heavy was he still. The shyues yet could not bear his weight he calling for his bow Did say to me, have Philocktet, on thee I it bestow, This same is it that Hydra with his swarming heads did know. This did fetch down the stimphall fool's, and all that we have daunt, Go thou with this let victory, and happiness thee haunt, For never shall thou shute against thy foes with these but speed. If at a bird amid the clouds thou aame she die indeed. These certain shafts shall bring thy mark down from the Azure sky, This bow shall not deceive thy hand, full oft I did it try, And made it meet to bear a shaft, and cast his level Due. Thine arrows shall not fail thine aame if that thou nock them true, I ask but only this of thee, put fire to the Stack, Bestow on me my funeral flame to bring me to my wrack. This knarry Club (quoth he) the which no hand shell ever lose Shall only with his Hercules in fire go to lose, This also (quoth he) shouldst thou have if thou could wield the same, Beside his master let it lie to help toward the flame. And then beside him down he lays the Lyons vayry skin To burn with him: the shaggy case hid all the pile within. The people sobde, and none there was but sorrow straynde his tears. The mother mad for egar grief her breast all bore she bears, And naked down tooth Navel stead displays her tender teats. And languishing with wringed hands her naked dugs she bears And cryeth out upon the Gods on Jove himself she Can es, Her shrieking rang through all place so womanlike she yalles Be still (quoth he) good mother: force your showers of tears to cease. Your dreary dole disgraceth much the death of Hercules. Wail secretly unto your self: why make you Juno glad, To see that you a weeping day with store of tears have had? (It does her good to see her bawds, to stand with weeping eyes.) Forbear, forbear your malady, 'tis deadly sin for ye, To tear the tears, and rend the womb, that first did foster me. And as he blustered giving grunts when carest he led in chain The hownd about the towns of Greece what time he came again Triumphing over conquered hell defying Plutoës might, And dreadful destiny: so on the fire he lay upright. What conqueror ever sat in coach with such a cheerful grace? What tyrant did control his folk by law with such a face? How hushed was all thing at his death? himself he could not weep And also we had clean forgotten the wound of sorrows deep None does lament him at his death now were it shame to wail: Alemen (whom nature ought to move) her tears now do her fail. And thus as ill as was the son the mother stood almost. As on in deep despair He lay, and staring up so rolled his eyes into the air To spy if Jove look down to him from any turret hie. Then with his hands displayed to heaven (quoth he) where so thou lie, And lokest down to see thy son, this same, this same is he, Whom one day eeked with a night engendered hath to thee If East and West if Scythia, and every burning plot, That parched is with glowing glede of Phœbus fire hight Does sing my praise? and if the earth full satisfied with peace If languishing and wailing words in every town do cease. If none their alters do embrue with any guiltless gore, Then Jove let my uncaged spirit have heaven for evermore. As for thinfernall dens of death they do not me detarre? Nor scouling Pluto's dungeon dark, but Jove I do abhor. Unto those ghastly Goblins as a stlly shade to go. Sith I am he whose conquering hand gave them their overthrown. Withdraw these foggy clouds of night, display the glimsyng light That Hercles broiled with flying flames the Gods may have in sighed And if thou do deny (Oh fire) the stars and heaven to me To give me them against thy will thou shalt constrained be, If glutting grief do stop thy speech, the Stygian goulphes set oape, And let me die, but first declare within the heavenly cope, That thou accepst me as thy soon: this day it shall be wrought, That to be raised aloft to stars, I may be worthy thought. Thou hast done little for me yet: it may be doubted well Whither Jove did first beget his son, or damned him first to hell. And (quoth he) let my stepdame see, how well I can abide The scorching heat of burning brands: for fire then he cried, And say to me Oh Philoctet in hast upon me throw The burning logs, why quakest thou? dost dastard thou forslow, For fear to this wicked deed? Oh coward peasant slave, Thou art to weak to bend my bow, unmeet my shafts to have What ailest thou to look so pale? and as thou seest me lie With cheerful look courageously do thou the fire ply. Behold me wretch that broil and burn my father opens the Skies And unto me son Hercules come, come away he cries. Oh father Jove (quoth he) I come: with that I waxed pale And towards him a burning beam with might and main I hale: But back from him the billets fly and tumbling out they leap, And from the limbs of Hercules down falls all the heap. But he encroacheth on the fire as it from him does shrink. That many mountains whole were set on fire a man would think No noise was hard, and all was hushed, but that the fire did hiss In Hercles glowing paunch when as his liver burning is. It boysteous giant Typhus had amid this fire be thrown, These torments would have strained his tears & forced him sighs & groan. Or tough Euceladus that tossed a mountain on his back. But Hercles lifted up himself amid his fires all black, With smoke besmeared his corpse half burned in shivers, gube & flaws, And down the throat his gasping breath & flames at once he draws Then to Alemen he turned himself: Oh mother mine (quoth he) Should you so stand at Hercles death? should you thus wail for me? And thus between the fire and smoke, upright and stiff he stands. And neither stoops nor leans awry, but moves and stirs his hands, With all his lively gestures still, and thus he does persuade. His mother leave the langusshing, and mourning that she made. And did encourage all his men t'encrease the fire than As though he were not burning, but would burn some other man. The people stood astonished, and scant they would believe That fire had any force on him, or that it did him grieve. Because his cheerful look had such a majesty and grace. And never wild us move the fire that he might burn apace, (And now when as he thought, he had endured pangs enough,) And stoutly bode the brunt of death, the blocks he does remove, That smothering lay, to make the ̄ burn: then downward does he shove And where the stewing heat did chiefly scorch, and burn most hight, That way he thrusts his frying limbs, and thither hath he God. (With steaming countnaunce vnapaulde his mouth now does he fill) With burning coals, his comely Beard the ̄ blazed about his cheeks: And now when as the sparkling fire unto his visage seeks, The flame licked up his S ged hair, and yet he did not wink: But open kept his staring eyes But what is this? my think Alomene comes yonder as a woeful wight forlorn, With sighs and sobs, and all her hair befrounced rend, and torn. And bears the remnant in her Lap, of Hercules the great. Oh mother of noble Hercules forbear your dreary plaint: His valiant death thus should not be with female tears attaint. You should not languish thus for him, nor count him wretched man In dying, who by noble mind prevent his destiny can. His cheuatry forbiddeth us with tears him to bewail: The stately stomach does not sloupe: they sighs whose hearts do fail.