AGAMEMNON

The only fault of youth it is not to refrain his rage The Father's blood already stirs in Pryams wanton age: Sometime Achilles grievous checks I bore with patient heart, The more thou mayest the more thou oughtest to suffer in good partly Whereto would ye with slaughtered blood a noble spirit stain? Think what is meet the Greeks to do, and Trojans to sustain. The proud estate of tyranny may never long endure. The King that rules with modest mean of safety may be sure. The higher step of princely state that fortune hath us signed The more behou'th a happy man humility of mind And bred the change that chau ̄ ce may bring, whose gifts so soon be lost And chiefly then to fear the Gods, while they the favour most. In beating down that war hath won, by proof I have been taught, What pomp and pride in twinke of eye, may fallen and come to nought. Troy made me fierce & proud of mind, Troy makes me frayed withal. The Greeks now stand where Troy late fell, each thing may have his fall. Sometime I grant I did my self, and Sceptors proudly bear, The thing that might advance my heart makes me the more to fear Thou Priam perfect proof presentest thou art to me eftsoon: A cause of pride, a glass of fear a mirror for the nonce, Should I account the sceptors ought, but glorious vanity Much Like the borrowed braided hair, the face to beautify. One sudden chance may turn to nought, and maim the might of men With fewer then a thousand ships, and years in less then ten. Not she that guides the slipper wheel of fate, does so delay: That she to all possession grants, of ten years settled stay. With leave of Greece I will confess, I would have won the town But not with ruin thus extreme to see it beaten down. But lo the battle made by night and rage of fervent mind, Could not abide the brydling bit that reason had assigned. The happy sword once slain with blood unsatiable is, And in the dark the servent rage does strike thee more amiss. Now are we wreakt on Troy so much let all that may remain. A Virgin born of Princes blood for offering to be slain And given be to slain the tomb and ashes of the dead, And under name of wedlock see the guiltless blood be shed, I will not grant for mine should be thereof both fault and blame. Who when he may, forbiddeth not offence: does will the same. Yes very great, for all the world shall celebrate his praise, And lands unknown that never saw, the man so praised by fame, Shall heat and keep for many years the glory of his name. If bloodshed vail his ashes ought strike of and Oxes head, And let no blood that may be cause of mother's tears, be shed. What furious fransy may this be that does your will so lead, This earnest careful sutte to make in travail for the dead? Let not such envy toward your father in your heart remain, That for his sacrifice ye would procure and others pain, I not deny, but Pyrrhus chief renown, in war is this, That Pryam slain with cruel sword, to your father humbled is. But needs I must, and will confess, your father did not fear: When burned our fleet with Hector's brands, & Greeks they slaughtered wear. While loitering then a loof he lay, unmindful of the fight. In steed of arms with scratch of quill, his sounding harp to smite. For why aloof the Thessale fleet, they lay from Trojans hands, And well your father might have rest, he felt not Hector's brands. Why hast thou then a worthy king berieued of his life? But now your mercy moveth you a virgins death to will. Nought else could save the Greeks from ̄ seas, but only blood of her: A king before his children ought, his country to prefer. That which the law does not forbid, yet shame does oft say nay. So much the less he ought to list, that may do what he will. The same Achilles that was slain, by stroke of Par S hand. The stoutest man I rather would his checks he should refrain I could them tame but all your brags, I can full well sustain. For even the captives spares my sword: let Calchas called be. If destyntes require her blood, I will thereto agree Calchas whose counsel ruled our ships, and navy hither brought, Unlookest the poale and hast by art the secrets thereof sought, To whom the bowels of the beast, to whom the thunder clap, And blazing star with flaming train, betokeneth what shall hap. Whose words with dearest price I bought, now tell us by what mean The will of Gods agreeth that we return to Greece again. Beset about it is with wave. And thou a bestard of a may de, deflowered privily. Whom (then a boy) Achilles got, in filthy lecherr. Hath Scyros isle such stomachs bred?