MESSENGER

Slain is the maid, and from the walls of Troy the child is cast. But voth (as them became) they took their death with stomach stout. One tower of all the rest you know does yet in Troy remain, Where Pryan wonted was to fit, and view the armies twain. His little Nephew eke with him to led and from a far, His father's fights with fire and sword to show on feats of war. This tower, sometime well known by fame, and Trojans honour most. Is now with captains of the Greeckes, beset on every coast. With swift recourse and from the ships, in clustered heaps anon. Both tag and rag they run to gaze what thing should there be done Some climb the hills to seek a place where they might see it best, Some one the rocks a tiptoe stand to ouerloke the rest. Some on their re ̄ ples wear the pine, some beech, some crowns of bay, For garlands torn is every tree, that stands in they way, Some from the highest mountains top aloof beholdeth all. Some scale the buildings half thurne, and some the ruinous wall. Yea some there were (Oh tichtee lo) that for the more despyghte. The tomb of Hector sits upon beholders of the sighed. With princely pace Ulysses then passed through the pressed band Of Greeks, King Priam's little nephew leading by the hand. The Child with unrepining gate passed through his enemies hands, Up towards the walls, and as anon in turrets top he stands, From thence adown his lofty looks he cast on every partly, The nearer death more free from care he seemed and fear of heart. Amid his foes his stomach swells. and fierce he was to sighed. Like Tygere whel e, that that rats in vain w to tue less chap to bite. Alas, for pi y then each one, rew on his tender years, And all the rout that present were, for him they fhed their tears, Yea not Ulysses them restrained, but trickling down they sal, And only he, wept not (poor fool) whom they bewailed all. But while on Gods Ulysses called, and Calchas words expound, In amid of Pryams land (alas) the child leapt down to ground. What time the Child hath headlong feign thus from the walls of Troy, And at the Greeks the selves bewailed y slaughter of the Boy, Yet Straight return they back, and at Achilles tomb again The second mischief go to work the death of Polixeine. This tomb the waves of surging seas, beset the utter side, The other partly the fields encloase about, and Pastor's wide. In vale environed with hills, that round about do rise, A sloape on height erected are the banks in Theatre wise. By all the shore then swarm the Greeks, & thick on heaps they press Some hope that by her death they shall their ships delay release. Some other oy their enemies stock thus beaten down to be: A great partly of the people, both the slaughter hate, and see. The Trojans eke no esse frequent their own calamities And all afraid, beheld the last of all their miseries. When fi st proceeded torches bright as guise of wedlock is. And author thereof led the way the Lady Tindaris. Such wedlock ray the Trojans then, God send Hermiona And would God to her husband so restoard were Helena. Fear mass each partly, but Polixe ne her bashful look down cast: And more then erst her glittering eyes and beauty shined at last. As sweetest seems then Phœbus light, when down his beams do sway, When stars again with night at hand oppressed the doubtful day. Astonnted much the people were, and all they her commend, And now much more then ever erst, they praised her at her end. Some with her beauty moved were, some with her tender years: Some to behold the turns of chance, and how each thing thus wears But most them moves her valiant mind, and lofty stomach High, So strong, so stout, so ready of heart and well prepared to die. Thus pass they forth and bold before King Pyrrhus goes the maid, They pity her, they marvel her, their hearts were all afraid. As soon as then the hard hill top (where die she should) they trodden, And High upon his father's tomb the youthful Pyrrhus stood. The manly maid she never shrunk one foot, nor backward drew, But boldly turns to meet the stroke, with sloute unchanged hew, Her courage moves eke one, and lo a strange thing monstrous Like. That Pyrbus even himself stood still, or dread, and dur st not strike. But as he had, his glittering sword in her to hills up done, The purple blood, at mortal wound, then gushing ou spoon. Ne yet her courage her forsook, when dying in that ounde, She fell as the'rth should her revenge with lieful rage to grou ̄ worser. Each people wept the Trojans first with privy fearful cry, The Grectans eake, each one bewailed her death apparently. This order had the sacrifice, her blood the tomb up drunk, No drop remaynth above the ground, but down forthwith it sunk. Now captives all with swift recourse repair you to the says, Now spread the ships their sails abroad, & forth they seek their ways. What limbs from such a headlong fallen could in a child remain, His bodies payse thrown down to ground, hath batred all his bones. His face, his noble father's marks are spoiled against the stones. His neck unjointed is: his head so dashed with flint stoane stroke That scattered is the brain about, the scul is all to broke. Thus lies he now dismembered corpses, deformed and all to rend.