CASSANDRA

¶Refrain your tears y down your cheeks should trickle evermore With woeful wailings piteously your private friends deplore My miseries refuse a mate, so much accursed as I: To rew my careful case, refrain your lamentable cry. As for mine own distress to murne, I shall suffice alone. ¶My fear by this aflyction is clean abated all, Nor praying to the heavenly ghosts for mercy will I call. Although they were disposed to chafe and fret in fustien fumes: They nothing have me to displease, fortune her force consumes. Her spite is worn unto the stumps, what country have I left? Where is my sire? am I of all my sisters quit bereft. The sacred tombs and altar stones our blood have drunk and swyld, Where are my brethren blessed knot? destroyed in the filled. All wyddow wives of Priam's sons may easily now behold, The palace void and cast of court of syllye Priam old. And by so many marriages so many wyddows ar, But only Hellen coming from the coast of Lacon far. That Hecuba the mother of so many a princely wight, whose fruitful womb did breed y brand, of fire blazing bright: Who also bore the swinge in Troy, by practis now does learn, New laws and guise of destynie in bondage to discern. On her she takes heart of grace with looks so stern and wild, And barks as a bedlam bitch about her strangled child Dear Polidor, the remnant left, and only hope of Troy, Hector and Priam to revenge, and to restore her joy. ¶How does it hap (oh sacred tops of high Parnassus hill) That me be rapt of since, with pricks of fury fresh you fill? Why do you me with ghost inspire, that am beside my wits? Oh Phaebus none of thine I am, releas me from the fits: Infixed in my burning breasts the flames extinguish out, Who forceth me with fury fell to gad and trot about? Or for whose sake inspired with sprite mad momblyng make must I? Why play I now the prophet cold, sith Troy in dust does lie? The day does shrink for dread of war, the night does dym mine eyes. With mantel black of darkness deep clean covered is the skies: But lo two shining Suns at one in heaven appeareth bright, Two Grecian houses muster do their armies twain to fight. Among the mighty Goddesis in Ida woods I see, The fatal shepherd in his throne as vmpier placed to be: I do advise you to beware, beware (I say) of kings, (A kindred in whose cankered hearts old pryuy grudges Springs) That country clown Aegisthus he this stock shall overthrown, What does this foolish despret dame her naked weapons show? Whose crown intend h she to crack in weed of Lacon land, With hatchet (by the Amazons invented First) in hand? What face of mighty majesty bewitched hath mine eyes? The conqueror of salvage beasts Marmarick Lion lies, Whose noble neck is wurried with currish fang and tooth The churlish snappes of eager Li onesse abide he doth. Alac you ghosts of all my friends why should you say that I, Among the rest am onl e safe, from perils far to lie? Fain father follow thee I would, Troy being laid in dust. Oh brother terror of the Greeks, Oh Trojans aid and trust. Our ancient pomp I do not see, nor yet thy warmed hands, (That fierce on greekish flaming fleet did fling the fyry brands) But ma ̄ gled me ̄ bers, scorched corpse, and eake thy valyant arms, Hard piniond and bound in bands sustaining grievous harms: Oh Troilus, a match unfit encountering with Achill (That mighty man of arms) to soon come unto the I will. I do delight, to sail with them on stinking Stygian flood. To view the churlish mastyfe cum of hell, it does me good. And gaping mou head kingdom dark of greedy Ditis reign. The barge of filthy Phlegethon this day shall entertain, Me conquering, and conquered, and princes souls with all. You flyteryng shades I you beseech, and eake on the I call, Oh Stygian pool (whereon the gods their solemn oaths do take Unbolt a while the brazen bars of darksome lymbo lake. Whereby the Phrygian folk in hell may Micean state be hold. Look up you selly wretched souls, the fates ar backward roulde. The sqallye sisters do approach, and deal their bloody strokes, Their smultring faggots in their would ̄ ds half burned to ashes smokes. Their visages so pale do burn, with fyrye flaming eyes: A garment black their gnawed guts does gird in morning guise. Dire dreaded of night begins to howl, the bones of body vast With lying long do rot corrupt in miry puddle cast. Behold, the weary aged man his burning thirst forgotten, The waters dallying at his lypps to catch endeavours not: But murneth for the funeral, that shall ensue anon. The Trojan prince his royal robes triumphant putteth on. ¶At Troy so was it wont to be. ¶At Chalters died my syer: ¶To Jove whose grace divine does me inspire? ¶And Priam eke I see. ¶Nay freedom's draws nigh. ¶All cares for to defy Death gives a courage unto me. ¶But yet much troublous dau ̄ her does hang over thy head I wot. ¶Even that he dreads not. ¶Do not thus hale me on. I will before you take the way, these tidings First to tell Unto my country men of Troy beneath in lowest hell. How ouerquelmed shypps eke whea ar spread the sea upon And Micoene country conquered is brought in subjection. He that of thousand captains was grand captain general, Come to as great calamytie as Troy it self did fallen, Entrapped was by traitorous train, and whoredom of his wife, And by a gift received of her depreved of his life. Let us not linger: on with me, and thanks I do you gyve. I joy, that it might be my hap, thus after Troy to live. ¶The fransy fits of fury fell on you shall also light. WIthin a revel rexe is kept, as soar as ever was Eve ̄ at y e .x. years siege of Troy : What thing is this? (alas) Get up my soul, and of the rage auengment worthy crave: Though Phrygians we be vanquished, the victory we have. The matter well is brought abought: up Troy thou risest now, Thou flat on floor haste pulde down Greece, to lie as low as thou. Thy conqerour does turn his face: my propheseing spryght Did never yet disclose to me so notable a sight: I see the same, and am thearat, and busied in the broil, No vision found fantastical my senses does beguile: Such fare as Phrygians feasted with on last unhappy night At Agamemnon's royal court full daintily they dight: With purple hangings all adorned the broidered beds do shine, In old Assaracks goblets guilt they swink and swill the wine. The king in gorgyous royal robes on chair of state does fit, And pranked with pride of Priam's pomp of whom he conquered it. Put of this hostile weed, to him (the queen his wife gan say) And of thy loving lady wrought wear rather this array, This garme ̄ to knit. It makes me loath, that shivering here Island. Oh shall a King be murdered, by a banished wretches hand? Out, shall Thadulterer destroy the husband of the wife? The dreadful destynies approached. the food that last in life He taste worser of before his death, their masters blood shall see, The gubs of blood down dropping on the wind shall poured be. By traitorous tryck of trapping weed his death is brought about, Which being put upon his head his hands could not get out, The stopped poake with mouth set open his muffled head does hide, The mankind dame w to trembling hand the sword drew from her side, Nor to the utmost of her might it in his f esh she thrast, But in the giving of the stroke she stayed all aghast, He as it were a brystled Boar entangled in the net Among the brears in Bushy woods yet trieth out to get. w to struggling much the shrinking bans more streightly he does bind. He stryues in vain, and would slip of the snare that does him blind. Which catches hold on every side. but yet then tangled wretch Does grope about, his subtle foes with groping hand to catch. But furious Tyndaris prepared the pole-axe in her hand, And as the preyst to sacrifice at Thalter side does stand, And views with eye the bullocks neck, ear that with axe he smite, So to and from she heaves her hand to strike and level right. He hath the stroke: dispatched it is: not quite chopped of the head It hangs by a little crop: here from the carcase dead The spouting blood cam gushing out: and there the head does lie, With waloing bobling mu ̄ bling tonge: nor they do by and buy Forsake him so: the breathless coors Aegist does all to coil: And mangled hath the gashed corpses: while thus he does him spoil, She putteth to her helping hand: by detestable deed They both accord unto the kind, whereof they do proceed. Dame Helens sister right she is, and he Thyestes son: Lo doubtful Titan stands Still the day now being done, Not knowing whither best to keep Still on his wonted way Or turn his wheels unto the path of dire Thiestes day. ¶where Helen is there take I Troy to be.