ANDROMACHE

Still still (alas) of one mishap there riseth more and more, Nor yet the doleful destinies of Troy be come to end. Two parts of all the silent night almost then passed were. And then the clear seven clustered beams of stars: were fall to rest And first the sleep so long unknown my wearied eyes oppressed. If this be sleep the astonished ma e of mind in heavy mood, When suddenly before mine eyes the spright of Hector stood. Not Like as he the Greeks was wont to battle to require: Or when amid the Grecians ships, he threw the brands of fire. Nor such as raging on the Grees, with slaughtering stroke had slain And bore indeed the spoils of him that did Achilles fain. His countenance not now so bright, nor of so lively cheer, But sad and heavy Like to owres and clad with ugly hair It did me good to see him though when shaking then his head: Shake of thy sleep in hast he said, and quickly leave thy bed: Convey into some secret place our son (Oh faithful wife) This only hope there is to help find mean to save his life. Leave of thy piteous tears he said, dost thou yet wail for Troy? Would God it lay on Ground full flat so you might save the boy. Up stir he said thy self in hast convey him privily. Save if you may the tender blood of Hector's progeny Then Straight in trembling fear I waked and rolled mine eyes about Forgetting long my child poor wretch, and after Hector sought. But Straight (alas) I wist not how the Spright away did pass, And me forsook before I could my husband once embrasse. Oh child, Oh noble father's brood and Trojans only joy, Oh worthy seed of ancient blood, and beaten house of Troy. Oh image of thy father lo, thou lively bearest his face, This countnaunce lo my Hector had, and even such was his pace. The pitch of all his body such, his hands thus would he bear. His shoulders high his threatening brows even such as thine they were Oh son: begotten to late for Troy, but born to soon for me, Shall ever time yet come again, and happy day may be, That thou mayest once revenge and built again the towers of Troy, And to the town and Trojans both restore their name with joy? But why do I (forgetting state of present destiny), So great things wish? enough for captives is to live only: Alas what privy place is left my little child to hide? What seat so secret may be found where thou mayest safely bide? The tower that with the walls of go S so valiant was of might, Through all the world so notable, so flourishing to sighed, Is turned to dust: and fire hath all consumd'e that was in Troy, Of all the town not so much now is left to hide the boy. What place were best to choose for guile, the holy tomb is here, That then mies sword will spare to spoil where sith my husband deer. Which costly work his father built, king Pryame liberal: And it up raised with charges great, foe Hector's funeral. Herein the bones and ashes both of Hector (lo) they lie, Best is that I commit the son to his father's custody. A cold and fearful sweat does run, through oh to my members all, Alas I careful wretch do fear, what chance may thee befall, What land unknown out of the way what unfrequented place May keep thee safe? who aids our fear? who shall defend our case? Hector, Hector that evermore thy friends didst well defend Now chiefly aid thy wife and child and us some succour send. Take charge to keep and cover close the treasures of thy wife, And in thy Ashes hide thy son preserve in tomb his life. Draw near my Child unto the Tomb, why fliest thou backward so? Thou takest great scorn to lurk in dens thy noble heart I know. I see thou art ashamed to fear shake of thy princely mind, And bear thy breast as thee behooves as chance hath thee assigned. Behold our case: and see what flock remaineth now of Troy The tomb: I woeful captive wretch and thou a Silly boy, But yield we must to sorry fates thy chance must break thy breast, Go to, creep underneath thy father's holy seats to rest. If ought the fates may wretches help thou hast thy safeguard there, If not: already then poor fool thou hast thy sepulchere. Alas my child would God thou Wertenberg yet in thy mother's hand. And that I knew what destentes thee held or in what land. For never should the mother's faith her tender child forsake: Though through my breast the enemies all, their cruel weapons strake. Nor though the Greeks with pinching bands of iron my hands had bound, Or else in fervent flame of fire beset my body round. But now my little Child (poor wretch alas) where might he be? Alas, what cruel destiny what chance hath happened to thee? Art thou yet ranging in the fields and wanderest there abroad? Or smothered else in dusty smoke of Troy: or ouertroad? Or have the Greeks thee slain (alas) and laughed to see thy blood? Or torn art thou with jaws of beasts? or cast to fool's for food? A happy chance were Death to her that does desire to die. Ulysses if you will constrain Andromacha with fear, Threaten my life for now to die my chief desire it were. Set me in amid of burning flame with wounds my body rend, Use all the means of cruelty that you may all invent. Prove me with thirst and hunger both, and every torment try, Pierce through my sides with burning irons in prison let me lie. Spare not the worst you can devise (if ought be worse then this) Yet never get you more of me. I wot not where he is. Now will I make Ulysses glad and all the Greeks also, Needs must thou woeful wretch confess declare thy hidden woe. Rejoice you sons of Atreus there is no cause of dread. Be glad Ulysses tell the Greeks that Hector's son is dead. My spright failth me, my limbs do quake, fear does my wits continued ̄ found And as the I'm congeals with frost, my blood with could is bound. A little stay, while I my last farewell give to my child, And have with oft embracing him my greedy sorrows filled. We are the wretches Hecuba in cursed case we stand. Whom straight the ship shall toss by seas into a foreign land. But as for Heleyns grieves be gone and turned to the best, She shall again her native country see and live at rest. Declare the double slaughters then, & tell the whole throughout. What cruel Calchas could or scith such slaughter rake in hand Or by the shore of Caspyan Sea, what barbarous lawless land. Busyridis to altars yet no infants blood hath shed Nor never yet were children slain for feast of Diomed. Who shall alas in tomb thee lay, or hide thy limbs again? The caves and dens of hell be rend for Trojans greater fear And from the bottoms of their tombs the hidden sprights appear. May none but Greeks alone from hell return to life again? Would God the fates would finish soon the sorrows I sustain. Death thankful were, a common care the Trojans all oppress, But me (alas) amasseth most the fearful heaviness. That all astonished am for dread, and horror of the sighed: That in my sleep appeared to me by dream this latter night. What way were best to work: that none our doings might bewray What if the enemies ask me: where Astianax both remain? What shall it help to have him hid? at length they will him find. But what prevails, since free from fear we may him never hide? The less he fears that fears at hand, and yet if need be so, If you think meet a little hence for safety let us go. May ever he the burned ruins of Troy re-edify? And shall these hands in time to come, ereckt the town again? If this be that only help we have, there does no hope remain For Troy, we stand not now in case to cause your fear of mind, Does ought avail his father's force, or stock of noble kind? His father's heart abated was, he drawn the walls abought. Thus evil haps, the haughttest heart at length they bring to nought, If you will needs oppress a wretch what thing more grievous were Then on his noble neck he should the yoke of bondage bear? To serve in life does any man this to a King deny? And grouth there yet more grief to me that erst I have not known? Whose servant am I then become whom shall I master call? Now open earth, and thou my spouse from ̄ Stix rend up y ground, Deep in thy bosom hide thy son that he may not be found. Ulysses comes with doubtful pace and changed countenance He knittes in heart decetptful craft for some more grievous chance. And say your Augur Calchas so? Where is Hector? where all the rest that had with Troy their fallen Where Priamus? you ask for one but I require of all. What shall I do y mind distracted is with double fear. On thone my son, on tother side my husbands ashes deer, Alas which partly should move me most, the cruel Gods I call To witness with me in the truth, and Ghosts that guide thee all Hector that nothing in my son is else that pleases me. But thou alone God grant him life he might resemble thee: Shall Hector's ashes drowned be hide I such cruelty, To see his bones cast in the Seas? yet let Astyanax die, And canst thou wretched mother bide, thine own child's death to see? And suffer from the High towers top that headlong thrown he be? I can and will take in goad partly, his death and cruel pain, So that my Hector after death be not removed again. The boy that life and senses hath may feel his pain and die, But Hector lo his death hath placed at rest in tomb to lie What dost thou stay? determine which thou w lt preserve of twain. Art thou in doubt? save this: oe here thy Hector does remain, Both Hector's be, thone quick of spright & drawing towards his stre ̄ gth And one that may perhaps revenge his father's death at length. Alas I cannot save them both: I think that best it were, That of the twain I saved him that does the Grecians fear. The faith of Gods I call upon Achilles us defend, And Pyrrhus aid thy father's right. Oh mischief, never durst the Greeks show yet such cruelty. You strain the temples and the Gods that most have favoured you, The dead you spare not, on their tombs your fury rages now. I will their weapons all resist my self with naked hand, The ire of heart shall give me strength their armour to withstand. As fierce as did the Amazons beat down the Greeks in fight, And Menas once enspierd with God, in sacrifice does smyght, With spear in hand, and while with furious pace she treads the grou ̄ worser And wood as one in rage she strikes, and feeleth not the wound: So will I run on amid of them and on their weapons die, And in defence of Hector's tomb among his ashes lie. Oh slay me rather here with sword rid me out the way, Break up the deep Avern, and rid my destinies delay. Rise Hector and beset thy foes, break thou Ulysses ire, A spright art good enough for him, behold he casts fire. And weapon shakes with mighty hand do you not Greeks him see? Or else does Hector's spright appear but only unto me What wilt thou suffer both thy sons be slain, And after death thy husbands bones to be removed again? Perhaps thou mayest with prayer yet aprease the Grecians all. Else down to ground the holy tomb of Hector, straight shall fall. Let rather die the child poor wretch and let the Greeks him kill, Then father and the son should cause the tone the others ill. Vllisses, at thy knees I fall, and him bly ask mercy, These hands that no men feet else knew, first at thy feet they lie. Take pity on the mother's case and sorrows of my breast, Vochsafe my prayers to receive and grant me my request. And by how much the more the Gods have thee advanced High, More easily strike the poor estate of wretched misery. God grant the chased bed of thy godly wife Penelope, May thee receive and so again Laerta may thee see, And that thy son Telemachus may meet thee joyfully. His graundstres y ears, a worser father's wit, to pass full happily. Take ptty on the mother's tears, her little child to save, He is my only comfort left, and only to I have. Oh false inventor of deceit and heinous cruelty, By manhood of whose hand in war no man did ever die. But by disceipt and crafty train of mind that mischief seeks, Before this time full many one dead is, yea of the Greeks, The Prophets words and guilties Gods sayest thou my son require, Nay: mischief of thy breast it is, thou dost his death desire. Thou night soldier, and stout of heart a little child to stay. This enterprise thou takste alone and that by open day. Oh deer, Oh sweet, thy mother's pledge, farewell my only joy, Farewell the flower of honour left of beaten House of Troy. Oh Trojans last calamity and fear to Grecians partly Farewell thy mother's only hope, and vain comfort of heart. Oft wish I thee thy father's strength and half thy graundstres years But all for nought the Gods have all dispoynted our desires. Thou never shalt in regal court thy sceptors take in hand, Nor to thy people give decrees nor lead with law thy land. Nor yet thine enemies overcome by might of handy stroke. Nor send the conquerde nations all under thy servile yoke. Thou never shalt Beatrice down in fight, and Greeks with sword pursue, Nor at thy Charyot Pyrrhus pluck, as Achill Hector drew And never shall these tender hands thy weapons wield and wrest, Thou never shalt in woods pursue the wild and mighty beast. Nor as accustomed is by guise and sacrifice in Troy, With measure swift: between the altars shalt thou dance with joy. Oh grievous kind of cruel death that does remain for thee, More woeful things then Hector's death the walls of Troy shall see. Ulysses spare as yet my tears and grant awhile delay, To close his eyes yet with my hands er he depart away. Thou diest but young: yet feared thou art thy Troy does wait for thee, Go noble heart thou shalt again the noble Trojans see. Alas my child why takest thou hold by me? In vain thou callest where help none is I can not succour thee. As when the little tender beast that hears the Lion cry, Straight for defence he seeks his dam, & crouching down does lie, The cruel beast when once removed is the dam away, In greedy awe with ravening bit does snatch the tender pray So Straight the enemies will thee take, and from my side thee bear. Receive my kiss and tears poor child, receive my rented hair. Depart thou hence now full of me, and to thy father go, Salute my Hector in my name and tell him of my woe Complain thy mother's grief to him if former may move, The sprights: and that in funeral flame they lose not all their love. Oh cruel Hector sufferest thou thy wife to be oppressed? With bound of Grecians heavy yoke and liest thou still at rest? Achilles rose: take here again my tears and rented hear, And (all that I have left to send) this kiss thy father bear. Thy coat yet for my comfort leave, the tomb hath touched it If of his ashes aught here lie I'll seek it every whit. This ill the Trojans never knew in all their griefs and pain Before this time you never made us to rejoice in vain. Troy towers give light, Oh seemly time for marriage to be made, Who would refuse the wedding day that Helayne does persuade? The Plague and ruin of each part behold dost thou not see, These tombs of noble men, and how their bones here scattered be? Thy bridebed hath be cause of this for thee all these be dead For thee the blood of Asia both and Europe hath be shed. When thou in joy and pleasure both the fighting folk from far, Hast viewde: in doubt to whom to wish the glory of the war. Go to, prepare the martages, what need the Torches light? Behold the Towers of Troy do shine with brands that blaze full bright. Oh Trojans all set to your hands, this wedlock celebrate: Lament this day with woeful cry and tears in seemly rate. Alas, what care makes Heleyn weep? what grief does she lament? Declare what crafts Ulysses casts, what mischief hath he sent? Shall she from height of Idey hill be headlong tumbled down? Or else out of the turrets top in Troy shall she be thrown? Or will they cast her from the clieues into Sygeon seas? In bottom of the surging waves to end her ruthful days? Show what thy countnaunce hides and tell the secrets of thy breast. Some woes in Pyrhus wedding are far worse then all the rest. Go to, give sentence on the maid, pronounce her destiny: Delude no longer our mishaps, we are prepared to die. Behold lo how her noble mind of Death does gladly hear, She decks her self? her regal weed in seemly wise to wear, And to her head she sets her hand the broided hair to lay, To wed she thought it Death, to die she thinks a wedding day But help (alas) my mother sounds to hear her daughters death, Arise pluck up your heart and take again the panting breath. Alack good mother how slender stay, that does thy life sustain? A little thing shall happy thee thou art almost passed pain. Her breath returns: she does reuyue, her limbs their life do take. So see when wretches fain would die, how death does them forsake. Lo herein does he yet likewise, his father represent. What ever thing the enemies hand may that eam en hap to me Let speedy fates me slay forthwith, and earth me hide at ones And after death from tomb again, remove you: Hector's bones, Except my son already now, do rest among the dead. And that except Astianax into his tomb be led. Would God that any cause there were yet left that might me fray, My heart at last now all is lost hath laid all fear away. That once you sold? Cassandra is happy, fury saves perhaps and Phœbus her.