HECUBA

¶You faithful fellows of your casualty, Untie thattyre, that on your heads you wear, And as behooves state of misery. Let fallen about your woeful necks your hair. In dust of Troy rub all your arms about, In slacker weed and let your breasts be tied Down to your bellies let your limbs lie out, For what wedlock should you your bosoms hide? Your garments lose, and have in readiness Your furious hands upon your breast to knock This habit well beseems our distress, It pleases me, I know the Trojan flock Renew again your long accustomde cries, And more then erst lament your miseries. We bewail Hector. ¶Fill up your hands and make thereof no spare, For this yet lawful is from Troy to take Let down your garments from your shoulders bore. And suffer not your clamour so to slake. Your naked breasts wait for your hands to smite Now dolour deep now sorrow show thy might: Make all the coasts that compass Troy about Witness the souude of all your careful cry Cause from the Caves the echo to cast out: Rebounding voice of all your misery: Not as she wonts, the latter word to found But all your woe from far let it rebound Let all the Seas it hear, and eke the land Spare not your breasts with heavy stroke to strike Beat you your selves, each one with cruel hand For yet your wonted cry does me not Like We bewail Hector. Enough hath Hector: turn yonr plaint and moan And shed your tears for Pryame every chone. Yet turn you once your tears, another way, My pryams death, should not lamented be. Oh Trojans all, full happy is Pryame say. For free from bondage, down descended he, To the lowest Ghost: and never shall sustain His Captive neck with Greeks to yoked be. He never shall behold the Atrids twain Nor false Ulysses ever shall he see Not he a pray for Greeks to triumph at His neck shall subject to their conquests bear Ne give his hands to tie behind his back, That to the rule of Sceptres wonted wear, Nor following Agamemnon's chare, in band Shall he be pomp, to proud Mycena's land. Does yet Achilles live (alas) to work the Trojans spite? Does he rebel against us yet? Oh hand of Paris light. The very tomb and ashes lo yet thirsteth for our blood, A happy heap of children late on every side me stood. It wearied me to deal the mother's kiss among them all. The rest are lost, and this alone now does me mother call. Thou only child of Hecuba, a comfort left to me. A stayer of my sorry state and shall I now lose thee? Depart Oh wretched soul, and from this careful carcase fly, And ease me of such ruthful fates, to see my daughter die. By weeping wets (alas) my eyes, and stains them over all, And down my cheeks the sudden streams and showers of tears do fall. But thou deer daughter mayest be glad, Cassandra would rejoice, Or Hector's wife thus wed to be if they might have their choice. Is any one among them all that prisoner would have me? Alas what cruel dire and ireful dealer of the dome. What God unjust does so divide, the captives to their lords? What grievous arbiter is he? that to such choice accords, What cruel hand to wretched folk, so evil fa es hath cast? Who hath among Achilles armour, Hector's mother's placed? Now am I captive, and beset with all calamity. My bondage grieves me not, but him to serve it shameth me. He that Achilles spoils hath wone, shall Hector's also have: Shall barren land enclosed with seas receive my bones in graven? Lead me Ulysses where thou Wilt, lead me. I make no stay, My master I, and me my fates, shall follow every way. Let never calm come to the seas, but let them rage with wind, Come fire and sword, mine own mischance and Priam's let me find. In mean time haps this deep distres my cares can know no calm: I ran the raze with Priamus, but he hath wone the Palm, But Pyrrhus comes with swiftned pace & threatening brows does wrest. What stayste thou Pyrrhus? strike thy sword now through this woeful breast. And both at ones the parents of thy father's wife now slay, Murderer of age, likes thee her blood? he draw my daughter away Defile the gods and stain the sprights, of hell with slaughtered blood, To ask your mercy what avails? our prayers do no good. The vengeance ask I on your ships, that it the gods may pleasant, According to this sacrifice, to guide you on the seas. This wish I to your thousand sails, Gods wrath light on them all, Even to the ship that bears me, what ever may befall. What ever men calamities you wail for mine it is. I bear the smart of all their woes each other feels but his Who ever he, I am the wretch all haps to me at last. Now go, now go you Greeks, and now repair you safely home. With careless ships and hoist sails now cut the salt sea foam. The Child and Virgin both be slain, your battles finished are. Alas where shall I end my age? or whither bear my care? Shall I my daughter, or my nephew, or my husband moan? My country else, or all at once? or else my self alone? My wish is death that children both and virgins fiercely takes Where ever cruel death does hast to strike, it me forsakes, Amid the enemies weapons all, amid both sword and fire, All night sought for, thou fleest from me, that do thee most desire. Not flame of fire, not fallen of tower, not cruel enemies hand Hath rid my life, how near (alas) could death to Priam stand? Would God the'xpou ̄ der of the Gods would give his dome so right That I also on point of sword might lose the loathsome light, Or at Achilles tomb with ache of Pyrrhus hand be apne: And bear a partly of all thy fates Oh wretched Polixeyne. Whom yet Achilles woeth to wed, and where his ashes lie, Requires that thy blood be shed, and at his tomb to die.