CASSANDRA

Dread sovereign, as you will, Cassandra goes hence. Oh would y e tears, might tell my tale, I shame so much my fallen, Or else, Lord Promos lewdness shown, would death would end my thrall. Murderous varlet, away. Renowned King, I pardon crave, for this my hold attempt, In pressing thus so near your grace, my sorrow to present: And least my foe, false Promos hear, do interrupt my tale, Grant gracious King, that uncontrolled, I may report my bale, Then know dread sovereign, that he this doom did gene, That my Brother, for wantonness should loose his head: And that the maid, which sind, should ever after live In some religious house, to sorrow her misdeed: To save my brother judged to die, with tears I sought to move Lord Promos heart, to show him grace but he with lawless love, Was fired by and by and knowing necessity, To save my brother's life, would make me yield to much, He craned this ransom, to have my virginity: No tears could work restraint, his wicked lust was such, Two evils here were, one must I choose, though bade were very best, To see my brother put to death, or grant his lewd request: In fine, subdued with natural love, I did agree, Upon these two points: that marry me he should, And that from prison vile, he should my brother free. All this with moustrous oaths, he promised he would. But Oh this perjured Promos, when he had wrought his will, First cast me of: and after caused the Gailer for to kill My brother, raunsomde, with the spoil of my good name: So that for companing, with such a hellish feende, I have condemnde my self to wear these weeds of shame: Whose cognisance does show, that I have (fleshly) sind. Lo thus, High and renowned king, Cassandra ends her tale, And this is wicked Promos that hath wrought her endless bale. Good knight, for time, do not my suit foreslow. Whilst grass, does grow oft starves the Silly steed. Oh wretched wench, where may I first complain? When heaven, and earth, agrees upon my pain? Nay, I vile wretch, should most aggrieved be, Before thy time, thy death which hastened have: But (Oh sweet husband) my fault forgive Me. And for amends, I'll help to fill thy graven: Yet ere we partly, sweet husband let us kiss, Oh, at his lips, why faileth not my breath? Oh Polina, sorrow is my relief. Wherefore, sweet wench, help me to rue my woe, With me vile wretch, thy bitter plaints bestow: To hasten lyngring death, who wants might: I see, alone, to slay, the wretched wight. Oh, so or no, thy motion doth well, Swan like, in song, to towle my passing Bell. ¶ Dear Dams divorce, your minds from ̄ joy, help to bewail my woe, Condole with me, whose heavy sights, the pangs of death do shoe; Rend heairs, shed tears, poor we ̄ changed distressed, to hast the means to die, Whose joy, annoy: relief, whose grief, hath spoiled with cruelty. My brother slain, my husband ah, at point to loose his head, Why live I then unhappy wench, my suckers being dead? Oh time, Oh crime, Oh cause, Oh laws, that Judged them thus to die: I blame, you all, my shame, my thrall, you hate that harmless try. This Tragidy they have begun, conclude I wretched must, Oh welcome care, consume the thread, thereto my life does trust: Found bell, my knell, away delay, and give me leave to die, Less hope, have scope unto my heart, a fresh for aid to fly. Vain is thy hope, I saw Andrugio dead. Too sweet, God wot, for true. The King. And I my Lord Promos, adue sorrow. Lives Andrugio, welcome sweet brother. I. Most gracious King, with these my joy to match, Vouchsafe, to give my dampened husband life. I did, but what a Wife, should do for you. Unhappy Wench, the more I seek, for to abandon grief, The further off, I wretched find, both comfort and relief. My Brother first, for wanton faults, condemned was to die: To save whose life, my suit, wrought hope of Grace, but hapless I. By such request, my honour spoiled, and gained not his breath: For which deceit, I have pursued, Lord Promos unto death. Who is my Husband now become, it pleased our Sovereign so, For to repair, my crazed Fame: but that now works my woe. This day, he must (o) lose his head, my Brother's death to quite, And therein Fortune hath alas, shown me his greatest spite. Nature wild Me, my Brother love, now duty commands Me, To prefer before kin, or friend, my Husbands safety. But Oh, aye Me, by Fortune, I, am made his chiefest foe: Was I also, even only I. that wrought his overthrow. What shall I do, to work amends, for this my heinous deed? The time is short, my power small, his succors axeth speed. And shall I seek, to save his blood, that lately sought his life? Oh, yea I then was sworn his foe: but now as faithful Wife, I must and will, prefer his health, God send me good success: For now unto the King I will, my changed mind to express. Sir Ulrico, if that my unknown grief, May move good minds, to help me to relief, Or bitter sighs, of comfort clean dismayed, May move a man, a shiftless dame to aid: Rue of my tears, from true intent which flow, Unto the king, with me, yet once more go. See if his grace, my husbands life will save, If not, with his, death shall my corpse engrave. Aye me, alas: my hope is untimely. Whither goes my good Lord? My loving Lord, farewell, I hope ere long, my soul with thine shall dwell.