Four Tragedies and Octavia (28 page)

Let once the rich with heapes of Gold be gone,

Whose hundred head his pastours overretch,

Then would the poore mans hart begin to stretch.

There is no wretch whose life him doth displease,

But in respect of those that live at ease.

7
Id. 1034 (
Phrixus and Helle translated as Pyrrhus and Helen
):

Ful sore did Pirrhus Helens losse complayne,

What time the leader of his flocke of shepe,

Uppon his backe alone he bare them twayne,

And wet his Golden lockes amid the deepe.…

8
OEDIPUS
,
by Alexander Nevyle
(1563), 569–81 (
much reconstructed
):

Than out with thundring voyce agayne the Prophet calles and cryes,

And straight as much with mumbling mouth he champs in secret wyse.

The trees do turne. The Rivers stand. The ground with roring shakes.

And all the world as seemes to mee, with fearful trembling quakes.

I am heard, I am heard, than out aloude the Priest began to cry:

Whan all the dampned soules by heapes abrode outrushing fly.

Then woods with rumbling noyse, doe oft resounding make.

And Heaven, and Earth together goe. And bowes and trees do crake.

And Thunders roore. And Lightnings flash. And waves aloft do fly.

And ground retyres: and Dogs doe bawl: and Beastes are heard to cry.

And whyther long of Acheron, that lothsom flud that flowes

All stinking streames: or of the earth, that out her Bowels throwes,

Free place to Sprights to geve: or of that fierce infernall Hound,

That at such times doth bustling make with chaynes and ratling sound.

9
Id. 596–607:

The Priest himselfe unmoved stoode, and boldly cited out:

Whole Armies of king Ditis men, who clustring in a Rowt:

All flittring thin like Cloudes, disperst abrode in Ayre doe fly.

And bearing sundry shapes and formes doe scud about in Sky,

A thousand woods I think have not so many leaves on trees.

Ten thousand medowes fresh have not so many flowers for bees.

Ten hundred thousand rivers not so many Foule can show:

Nor all the drops and streams, and gulphes that in the Seas do flow,

If that they might be wayed, can sure so great a number make

As could those shapes and formes that flew from out of Limbo lake.

10
Id. 1009–12:

Fayne would I speake, I am afraide. For what should I thee call

My Son? doubt not. Thou art my Son. My Son thou art for all

These mischiefes great: alas, alas I shame my Son to see.

O cruell Son. Where dost thou turn thy Face? Why dost thou flee

From me. From me thy Mother deare? Why dost thou shun my sight

And leave me thus in misery, with Cares consumed quight.

11
MEDEA
,
by John Studley
(1566), 740–51:

O flittring Flockes of grisly ghostes that sit in silent seat,

O ougsome Bugges, O Goblins grym of Hell I you intreat:

O lowring Chaos dungeon blynde, and dreadful darkened pit,

Where Ditis muffled up in Clowdes of blackest shades doth sit,

O wretched wofull wawling soules your ayde I doe implore,

That linked lye with gingling Chaynes on way ling Limbo shore,

O mossy den where death doth couche his gastly carrayne Face:

Release your pangues, O spryghts, and to this wedding hye apace.

Cause ye the snaggy wheele to pawse that rentes the Carkas bound,

Permit Ixions racked Lymmes to rest upon the ground:

Let hungry bitten Tantalus wyth gawnt and pyned panche

Soupe up Pirenes gulped streame his swelling thyrst to staunche.

Let burning Creon byde the brunt and gyrdes of greater payne,

Let payse
¹
of slippery slyding stone type over back agayne

His moyling Father Sisyphus, amonges the craggy rockes.

Ye daughters dyre of Danaus whom perced Pychers mockes

So oft with labour lost in vain this day doth long for you

That in your lyfe with bloudy blade at once your husband slewe.

And thou whose aares I honored have, O torch and lampe of night,

Approche O Lady myne with most deformed vysage dight.

12
HIPPOLYTUS
,
by John Studley
(
c
. 1567), 713–18:

Avaunt, avaunt, preserve thy lyfe, at my hand nothing crave,

This filed sword that thou hast toucht no longer will I have.

What bathing lukewarme Tanais may I defilde obtaine,

Whose clensing watry Channell pure may wash me cleane againe?

Or what Maeotis muddy meare, with rough Barbarian wave

That boardes on Pontus roring sea? Not Neptune graundsire grave

With all his Ocean foulding floud can purge and wash away

This dunghill foule of stane: O woode, O salvage beast I say.

13
Id. 959–88 (
see also
4
):

O Nature Grandame greate of Heavenly Sprites,

Eake Jove that guides Olimpus mighty sway,

That rakes the race of twinckling heavenly lightes

On spinning Spheare and order dost for aye

The stragling course of roaming planets hie,

And weildes about the whirling Axeltree

The weltring Poales, th' eternal course of Skie

To keepe in frame, what workes such care in thee

That earst the cold which hoary winter makes

Unclothes the naked wood, and now agayne

The shades returne unto the breary brakes.

Now doth the starre of Sommer Lyon raygne,

Whose scalded necke with boyling heate doth frie,

Perbraking flames from fiery foaming jawes:

With scorching heate the parched corne do drie:

Ech season so his kindly course in drawes.

But thou that weildes these thinges of massy might,

By whom the hugy world with egal payse

Even ballanced doth keepe in compasse right,

Each Spheare by measurd weight that justly swaise,

Alas why dost thou beare a retchles breast

Toward mankind? not casting any care

That wicked men with mischiefe be opprest,

And eake to see that good men wel do fare

Dame Fortune topsieturvy turnes at wil

The world, and deales her dole with blinded hand,

And fosters vice mayntayning mischiefe ill.

Fowle lust triumphes on good men brought in band

Deceipt in stately Court the sway doth weild,

In Lordinges lewde the vulgar sort delight,

With glee to such the Mace of might they yeeld,

Some magistrates they do both love and spight,

And pensive vertue brought to bitter bale,

Receyves reward that doth of right aryse,

The continent to Prison neede doth hale,

The Lecher raygnes enhaunced by his vice.

O fruitles shame, O counterfayted port.

14
Id. 1175–83 (
much elaborated
):

Appeare a while, receive my words, for speake I shall none ill:

This hand shal strike the stroake, wherwith thy vengeance quite

    I wil.

And sith that I, I Caitiffe, I, abridged have thy life,

Lo here I am content, to yeelde thee mine with bloudy knife.

If ghost may here be given for ghost, and breath may serve for breath,

Hippolytus take thou my soule, and come againe from death.

Behold my bowles yet are safe my limms in lusty plight,

Would God that as they serve for me, thy body serve they might,

Mine eies to render kindly light unto thy Carkase ded,

Lo for thy use this hand of mine shall pluck them from my hed,

And set them in these empty cells and vacant holes of thine.

Thy weale of me a wicked Wight to win, do not repine.

And if a womans wofull heart in place of thine may rest,

My bosom straight breake up I shall, and teare it from my breast.

But courage stout of thine doth loth faint womans heart to have,

Thy Noble mind would rather go with manly heart to grave.

Alas be not so manly now, this manliness forbeare,

And rather choose to live a man with womans sprite and feare,

Then as no man with manly heart in darknesse deepe to sit:

Have thou thy life, give me thy death that more deserveth it.

Can not my profer purchase place? yet vengeance shal thou have,

Hell shall not hold me from thy syde nor death of dompish grave

Sith fates wil not permit thee life, though I behest thee mine,

My selfe I shall in spite of fate my fatall twist untwine.

This blade shall rive my bloudy breast, my selfe I will dispoile

Of soule, and sinne at once: through floods and Tartar gulphes that boyle,

Through Styx and through the burning Lakes I will come after thee.

15
Id. 1201–12 (
a fairly close rendering, except for a mistranslation of
1210 – incidi in verum scelus):

O wanny jawes of blacke Averne, eake Tartar dungeon grim,

O Lethes Lake of woful Soules the joy that therein swimme,

And eake ye glummy Gulphes destroy, destroy me wicked wight

And stil in pit of pangues let me be plunged day and night.

Now, now, come up ye Goblins grim from water creekes alow,

What ever Proteus hugie swolne aloofe doth overflow,

Come dowse me drownd in swallowes depe, that triumphe in my sinne:

And father thou that evermore ful ready prest hath binne

To wreake myne yre, adventring I a deede deserving death

With new found slaughter have bereft mine onely Sonne of breath.

His tattred lims I scarred have the bloudy field about,

Whyle th' innocent I punish doe, by chaunce I have found out

The truth of al this wickednes: heaven, starres, and sprites of hell

I pester with my treachery that me doth overquell.

No mischiefes hap remayneth more: iii kingdoms know mee well.

16
Id. 1250–3:

Least that but once, or onely I should be a guilty Wight,

I Sire attempting mischiefe have besought my Fathers might.

Lo I enjoy my fathers gift, O solitarinesse,

A grievous plague when feeble years have brought us to distresse.

17
From R. Edwards's
Damon and Pythias
(acted 1564):

DIONYSIUS
: A mild prince the people despiseth.

EUBULUS
: A cruel king the people hateth.

DION
.: Let them hate me, so they fear me.

EUB
.: That is not the way to live in safety.

DION
.: My sword and my power shall purchase my quietness.

EUB
.: That is sooner procured by mercy and gentleness.

DION
.: Dionysius ought to be feared.

EUB
.: Better for him to be well beloved.

(cf.
Octavia
, 455–7)

18
From Greene's (?)
The First Part of the Tragicall Raigne of King Selimus
(published 1594):

AGA
.: Do you not feare the people's adverse fame?

ACO
.: It is the greatest glory of a king

    When, though his subjects hate his wicked deeds,

    Yet they are forst to beare them all with praise.

AGA
.: Whom fear constraines to praise their princes deeds,

    That feare, eternall hatred in them feeds.

ACO
.: He knows not how to sway the kingly mace,

    That loves to be great in his peoples grace:

    The surest ground for kings to build upon

    Is to be feared and curst of every one.

    What, though the world of nations me hate?

    Hate is peculiar to a princes state.

AGA
.: Where ther's no shame, no care of holy law,

    No faith, no justice, no integritie,

    That state is full of mutabilitie.

ACO
.: Bare faith, pure vertue, poore integritie,

    Are ornaments fit for a private man;

    Beseemes a prince for to do all he can.

(cf.
Thyestes
, 204–18)

19
From Hughes's
The Misfortunes of Arthur
(1587):

Is't meet a plague for such excessive wrong

Should be so short? Should one stroke answer all?

And wouldst thou die? Well, that contents the laws:

What, then, for Arthur's ire? What for thy fame,

Which thou hast stain'd? What for thy stock thou sham'st?

Not death nor life alone can give a full

Revenge: join both in one – die and yet live.

Where pain may not be oft, let it be long.

Seek out some lingering death, whereby thy corpse

May neither touch the dead nor joy the quick.

Die, but no common death: pass nature's bounds.

(cf.
Oedipus
, 936–51)

20
From the same:

CONAN
: But whoso seeks true praise and just renown,

    Would rather seek their praising hearts than tongues.

MORDRED
: True praise may happen to the basest groom;

    A forced praise to none but to a prince.

    I wish that most, that subjects do repine.

(cf.
Thyestes
, 209–12)

21
From the same:

Even that I hold the kingliest point of all,

To brook afflictions well; and by how much

The more his state and tottering empire sags,

To fix so much the faster foot on ground.

(cf.
Oedipus
, 82–5)