Fuimus Troes Æneid. 2. The true Troianes, being a story of the Britaines valour at the Romanes first inuasion: Publikely represented by the gentlemen students of Magdalen Colledge in Oxford.

Act. 4. Scen. 2. Eulinus.

Eul.

Though Orpheus Harpe, Arions Lute, the Chimes Whose siluer sound did Thebane towers raise: Though sweet Vrania with her ten-string Lyre, Vnto whose stroke the daily-rowling sphaeres Dance their iust measures; Should with tune and tone Tickle my eare-bred ayre: Yet can their notes Those fabulous stones more enter, than my Soule. Lead, poppy, Slumber stupifie my heart: But Bedlame griefe actes gambolles in my braine. The Centaures Wheele, Prometheus Hawke, The Vulture Of Tityus, Sisyphus neuer mossie stone, The tale of Danaids tubbe, and Tantalus gaping, Are but flea-bitings to my Smart: I've slaine A kinsman: more, A friend I dearely lou'd: Nay more, no cause prouoking, but in rash And hellish choller. I had thought my Loue had cannon-proofe bin 'gainst A world of iniuries: when see, all is split By a small wind. Cursed be thou my Sword, The Instrument of Fury: Cursed hand, Which mad'st the thrust: But most accursed Part, Whose ruddy flesh triangular boyld in flame, Like an Aetnean, or Vesuvian Salamander. That Breast, I so could hugge, that faithfull breast, That snowy white, I with darke sanguine stayn'd; And from the wounds red lips, his panting heart Did seeme to speake, Is this a friendly deed? O no, Hirildas: Beares can harmelesse play, Lyons can dally, and sheath vp their clawes: I onely, worst of brutes, kill friends in iest. Why dost Androgeus kindly-cruell keepe Mee from their Sentence? Say, Law bids me dye: If Law should not, Ile make that Law my selfe. Shall Ensignes be display'd, and Nations rage About so vild a wretch? Shall forraine hoofes Kick vp our trembling dust, and must a Caesar

Redeeme my folly with a kingdomes fall? First may I stop blacke Cerberus triple iawes. Dye, Dye, thou hast out-liv'd thy selfe. Thou only, Phaenix of females, still dost bind and bound My runnagate spirit in these walles of mudde: From thee, and For thee tis, I breath. Yet how Borrow can I his Shape, or vse mine owne? Odious before, now worse than hell-borne goblin With brand and chaines, to skare this Doue all quaking Twixt wrath and feare. But Time may fauour win: When Hope doth fayle, then Knife or Rope begin.

Exit.