The tragedy of Orestes, vvritten by Thomas Goffe Master of Arts, and student of Christs Church in Oxford: and acted by the students of the same house

ACT. V. (Book 5)

SCEN. I.

Enter Orestes in his gowne: Tyndarus: Strophius: Electra: Pylades: two Lords.

Orest.

MY Lord your daughters potion works most rare∣ly. The King's asleepe, God blesse his Maiesty. O: doe not wake him, faith 'tis pitty, la:

Tyn.

What doe I see? ha, blood? the little child Dead; his daughter bleed, Aegysteus kill'd?

Orest.

Your Lordships eyes doe faile, 'tis but spilt w〈…〉〈…〉

Tynd.

Lay hands o'th villaine, 'tis the Physicians de〈…〉〈…〉

Orest.

Nay friends, hands off, 'tis no Physician now:

D〈…〉〈…〉¦uers him〈…〉〈…〉

See, see, old Tyndarus, dost thou know me yet? Fetch me my Crowne and robes, nay, I'll ascend: Is not Atrides eldest sonne your King?

Tyn.

What hast thou done, foule Viper, to eat out Thy mothers bowells, what, was this thy deede? Thy silence saies 'twas thine, what Tanais Tygris or Rhenus, or what flowing sea, Should wash thee in the salt Meotis streame,

Or Tethis at full tide o'rflow thy banks, Still would the spots of murder sticke on them.

Orest.

Why Grandsire, I goe not about to wash, By heauen, 'twas all the fruit thought to win, To thinke all mischiefe here could be no sinne.

Tynd.

See, see, thy mother, looke vpon her now, On her, whose eyes thou hast for euer clos'd, Which eyes haue often wakned at thy cry, And hush'd thee with a lullaby to sleepe: See, see, these hands, which oft with so much care, Wrapt gently vp thy vnset tender limbs: See, see, this face, wont at thy signes to smile, When nature gaue not leaue vnto thy tongue. To vtter thy childs meaning.

Ore.

See, see these bones, these nasty rotten bones, Which had so often lock'd his hands in hers; Here stood the tongue which oft had call'd her sweet, Deare Glytemnestra, and then stopt his speech, And told his loue in a more speaking signe. Here stood those eyes, which fed vpon her face, And made her of thy daughter, a great Queene, And thee made him a dish for loathed wormes.

Tyn.

Suppose she did, there was but one yet dead, And with ones death againe should be repaid.

Orest.

No, Tyndarus, had I desir'd but one, I should haue thought I had desired none. Why, me thinks, I should too haue kill'd thee, The number is too little yet of three.

Tyn.

Into what land, what country wilt thou fly? All earths, all lands, all countries will flie thee: The heauens will look with a more cherefull brow On Cerberus.

Orest.

Why, let heauen looke as 'twill, it is my crowne, That I haue done an act shall make heauen frowne:

Tynd.

O, what earth loues so much a guilty soule, That it can beare thee?

Ore.

Why, Sir, this is mine, And this shall beare mee. Am I not righ heire?

Tynd.

Thou heire to kingdomes! thou a subiect rather, To helpe to make a Players Tragedie.

Orest.

Why, that will make me swell with greater pride,

To thinke my name shall drop in lines of blood; From some great poets quils, who well shall paint How brauely I reueng'd my fathers death, That is the thing I wish'd, and 'tis my glory, I shall be matter for so braue a story. But where's my Crowne?

1 Lord.

No murderers, wee'll rather ioyne with him, This old man here to take away thy life, Then such an homicide shall frame vs lawes, Who hath himselfe rac'd out the lawes of Nature.

2 Lord.

Yes, and wee'll set here Argos Crowne on him, Who shall enact some punishment for thee; Which although none can equalize this deed, Yet what our griefes can thinke, all shall be done, And wee'll forget thou'rt Agamemnons sonne.

Ore.

Why, thinke you vpon your worst, I scorne to craue. I had three liues, you but my one shall haue.

Tyn.

Then since vile wretch thou hast committed that, Which while there is a world, throughout the world VVill be pronounc'd for the most horrid deede That euer came into the thought of man; A thing which all will talke of, none allow; I here disclaime that name of Grandfather, And I must quite forget that in thy veynes, My blood doth flow, but thinke it then let out, VVhen thou letst out my daughters; and since you Kinde Lords commit the state vnto my yeeres, Yeeres too vnfit, heauens know, to beare a state: My mind, me thinks, contends for to decree Somewhat, which to my selfe I dare not tell: Iust conceiu'd wrath, and my affection striues, Hate forbids pitty, pitty forbids hate, And exile is but barren punishment: Yet let me banish thee from out these eyes, O neuer let thy sight offend me more, All thy confederates, and all thy friends. You, Pylades, wich did so smoothly cloake, The damnde profession hee did vndertake: You, Strophius.

Stroph.

My Lord, I know not ought, Yet, since one foot is now in Charons boat,

If it please you, let tother too afloate.

Tynd.

Not so, but I will banish you the court, And you Electra, come, I must forget Affection too towards you, you gaue the child, Which you had charge of to the murderers sword.

Elect.

Why Grandsire, I herin no wrong do finde, Since all these goe, I would not stay behinde.

Tyn.

Nay, but no one shall company the other, Hence thou Cocytus streame of this offence, Strophius & Pylades, Electra, hence:

Exeunt Stroph. Pyl. Elect.

Orest.

Why farewell Grandsire, since thou bidst, I flie, And scorn companions for my misery.

Exit Orest.

Tynd.

Vnto this punishment this one more I adde, That none shall dare to giue Orestes foode, And this decree shall stand; I speake with griefe, And here pronounce Orestes no reliefe. Hence with these corps; poore child what hadst thou don? Thy Nurses prayers, that there might spring a rose, Where e're thou trod'st could not keepe backe thy foes. Some plague he hath, but such a matricide Should neuer die, although he euer dide.

SCEN. II.

Enter Elect. and Stroph.

Elect.

THus neuer lesse alone, then when alone, Where to ourselues we sweetly tell our woes, Thou Vncle, cheife companion to our griefes, And sole partaker of our miseries, Why doe we liue, when now 'tis come to passe, It is scarce knowne that Agamemnon was, He dies far easier, who at first doth drowne, Then he which long doth swim, and then sinks down.

Stroph.

Nay Neece, me thinks I now doe see the Hauen. Where my ag'de soule, must leaue this tossed barke, Made weak with yeeres and woes, yet I commend Vnto my Son the heart of a true friend, That's all the will I leaue, and let him know Friendship should euer be, but most in woe.

And so I leaue thee Neece, I first must die, To haste a periode to this Tragedy.

He dies.

Elect.

O enuious Fates could you not vse me thus? Haue not I griefe inough to burst my heart? Was my life's thred twisted and knit so strong? That the keen edge of all these miseries Can neuer cut it off; Must I beare more? 'Tis all my safety now not to be safe, Are there so many wayes to rid ones life? And can I hit on none? they say that death Is euery where, and yet I finde him not: Tush, but I seeke him not, why my owne hand Might graspe him to me, if I did but striue. Now hand helpe ease my heart, and make a way

Stabs her selfe

To let out griefe, that hath so long dwelt here, Now knife tha'st don good seruice, there lie by, Heauen well decreed it, nothing life can giue, But euery thing can make vs not liue.

SCEN. III.

Enter Cassandra.

NOw Priams ghost, haste, haste, I say to looke, With chearefull eyes on the sinister booke, And there to Hecuba my mother show The tragique story of thy conquered foe. And let Andromacha my sister see, What Agamemnons race is come to be. Now Troy gratifie that most sad doome, Conquered by those that thus themselus or'ecome, Let Greece so florish still, let Argos be Puft with the pride of their great victory. Let it beare Souldiers, so withall it beare Orestes too; now mother neuer feare Argos makes me to laugh, which made thee weep, The Troians in the graue now sweetly sleep. Their sorrow hath the end, now these begin To ouerflow themselues with mutuall sin: And after all, Orestes, we may see, Hath lost his reason, mans sole propertie.

SCEN. IV.

Enter Orestes furens.

Orest.

BY heauen you shall not, nay, I am decreed, Doe teare, teare me, yes, I haue deseru'd it.

Cass.

O braue, O braue, hee's mad as well as I; I'me glad my madnes hath got companie.

Orest.

Mother, why mother will you kill my father? Then I'll kill you; tush, I haue don't already. Much patience will grow fury in time, Follow you me, you beast, you damn'd Aegysteus, I'll hew thee piece by piece, looke of my mother.

Cass.

I am she, or one loues thee well.

Orest.

Out you witch, you witch.

Cas.

Murderer, murderer,

Orest.

Dost whisper with the diuells, to torment mee, O how they lash me with their snaky whips, Why Megaera, Megaera, wilt not hold thy hand? Are you there too, Erynnis? hay, all hell, My Grandsire Atreus he stands fighting there, But hee'll ha'th better on't; keep Cerberus keepe, Keepe the fates fast, or all hell breakes loose. Mother I see you, O you are a whore, Did I kill you witch, dost thou lash, dost thou?

Cas.

Why this is fine, my very looks doe whip him.

Orest.

Could I but get the stone from Sysiphus, I'de dash thy braines out; O are you there I faith,

Spics Stro. and Elect. dead.

A bed so close with you adulterer, I'll stab your lustfull soules with your owne kniues.

Stabs them with Electra's knife.

Cas.

O clap, clap, O rare beyond expectation, Hold good heart, do not burst with laughter,

Orest.

Will you not wake, sleepe, sleepe then your last, Looke how they flyi'th ayre,

Cass,

I see them see them,

Orest.

Why Ioue, dost meane to let them into heauen, O th'art come downe, and gon to hell, Pluto, see Pluto hee's afraid of them, O spare my sides, my sides, my sides, the blood O now you touch my ribs:

Cas.

Hay, how he skips, O excellent, whips himselfe,

O sweet Catastrophy, do's none see't but I? Clap, clap, againe, would all Priams sons, And daughters were here now to helpe me laugh.

Orest.

Lash on, lash on Canidia, arth thou there? Why grandsire would it were to doe againe, Nay Aeacus I feare no whipping posts,

currentes Exeunt.

Laugh'st thou, thou witch? I'll follow thee to hell.

SCEN. V.

Enter Pylad. alone.

Pyl.

THus seeking others, I haue lost my selfe, My friend and father banisht, and whilst I Wander to seeke them for to ease their woe, I heare more griefe proclam'd against my friend, That none must succor, none must giue him foode, And yet I'll seeke him, and should all the lawes, That Tyranny should thinke vpon, restraine, I'de draw my blood forth for let him drinke, But O what's here? O I haue found too sonne,

Spies Stroph. dead.

One which I sought, my Fathers wearied soule In sighes hath now expired out it selfe. Now O ye Sisters, your great taske is done, You ne're vntwinde what you haue once begun. Thus obuious to our Fates t'our selues vnkind, We haste to seeke, that which too soone we finde. Alas why doe our souls too greedy burn, To hasten thither whence we ne're return, We run to't of our selues, though death were slow, Should he come tardy, we too soone should goe. For the first day that giues vs our first breath, Doth make vs a day nearer vnto death. All this huge world, which now on earth so striue. To morrow this time may not be aliue. Great Troy is downe since Agamemnon fell, Since my deare Father, which but now was well. O art thou come deare friend, for thee I sought,

Enter Orest.

Her's some foode yet, in spight of all the lawes:

Orest.

Wilt bid me to dinner Pluto, ha, with what?

Giue me no snakes, I, I goe, I goe, Vp to Cythaerus top, I hate thy meate.

Pyl.

Heauens! hee's distracted, now doth fury right, When thus against her selfe, her selfe doth fight. 'Tis I man here, 'tis Pylades, not Pluto;

Orest.

Ha, Pylades, I, they haue banisht him, But grandsire looke too't, I'll teare out your maw, Pylades, Pylades I come —

Pylad.

Why I am hee, looke friend, dost not know me.

Orest.

Yes, yes thou wert with me when I kild my mother And see, the Furies now would whip thee too, Alecto looke, looke, here's Alecto too, O Clytemnestra, hay, how the lion skips, And Taurus he would tosse me on his hornes. Looke on the Ramme, see the Beare roares at me, And Charon he would fling me into Styx.

Pylad.

He feares the heauenly signes, nay then now time Hath brought true punishment on euery crime.

Orest.

Dash out the puppets braines, the little boy, The bastard, my mothers bastard: so blood, spin, My mother kild my Father, kild the King, But she got little by't, looke on her brest It bleeds, it bleeds; so, so Aegystheus, so.

Pylad.

O what a strange distemper stirs his braine, Thou gentle Somnus, in whom care doth rest, Kinde father of cold death, and son of peace, Which comes to Kings and poore men all alike: Binde his disturbed braine, tye vp his sense. Let him but liue to die; now tis not long Before we both shall sing our funerall song.

Or.

Ha, must I sinke, can I not keepe a loft?

Fals a sleepe.

What is the streame so strong? why then I'll diue, And come to hell the sooner.

Pylad.

So gentle sleepe, Thou gather'st vp his wandring braines againe, This is but halfe dead, yet halfe dead he lies, But tis not long; before he wholly dies.

Musique within.

Harke they play musike; O these sounds do harme, Enticing woe with their melodious charme; These please not men in woe; these time doe keepe, But miseries best falling is to weepe.

Or stops are nought but sobs, our hearts we bring. Whereon we prickt the soulefa which we sing.

A song within together with the musicke.

Weepe, weepe you Argonauts, Bewaile the day That first to fatall Troy You tooke your way. Weepe Greece, weepe Greece, Two Kings are dead, Argos, thou Argos, now a graue Where Kings are buried. No heire, no heire is left, But one that's mad, See Argos, hast not thou, Cause to be sad? Sleepe, sleepe wild braine, Rest rocke thy sence; Liue if thou canst To grieue for thy offence. Weepe, weepe you Argonauts, &c.

Pyl.

Peace Musique, peace, our plaints haue louder cries, A heart that's sad can neuer harmonize. Griefe cannot keepe his time, all time's too long, Sighs are best sembriefes to his dolefull Song. My ditties mournefull though thou sweetly play. Thus doe we all euen blow our liues away. But doest thou wake Orestes? is rest fled,

Orest. wakes

Sleep ne're dwells long in a molested head,

Orest.

Harke, harke the Furies entertaine my mother, Orpheus would fetch Euridice from Hell, See, he lookes back, wouldst venter so thou foole, I'de see my mother burnt before Ide goe, Why shouldst thou bring her? she would stifle thee, Stifle thee in thy bed as my mother did.

Pylad.

Still harping on thy mother?

Orest.

Harping, no, Let Orpheus harpe: O, I, she was, she was, A very, very Harpie.

Pyl.

Thus madnes playes, And keeps a certaine measure in his words,

Orest.

O I suckt out my mothers dearest blood,

I did indeed, O she plagues me for't now, O I must goe lie downe in Tytius place, Ixion too, he Sir would faine resigne. I scorne your petty plagues, I'll haue a Worse, O the vulture, the wheele, the vulture.

Pyl.

See how his conscious thoughts, like fiends of hells▪ Doe arme themselues, and lash his guilty soule. He see's no vulture, nor no Scorpion strikes, Yet doth his conscience whip his bloody heart, He needs no witnesses, he hath within A thousand thoughts which testifie his sin. No punishment so strickt, no deadly smart, As priuate guilt that smiteth on the heart.

Orest.

I did, I confesse I did, I kild them all, Ript vp the wombe that bare me; nay I did, O Tantalus thy plague, some meate, some meate, Who pulls thoseapples hence? let them alone, Nay sinke to the bottom, I will follow thee,

Lies downe to drinke▪

The riuers drie, my mother hath drunke all.

Pyl.

Alas, come, goe with me, we will finde drinke.

Orest.

Is Pluto's buttry ope, his drinks too hot, I doubt 'twill scald me, but I'll taste on't yet Th' Eumenides stand to whip me as I goe, Nay I will passe you, I will out-slip them all.

Exit currens,

Pyl.

See in his conscience lies hels punishment, Our own thoughts iudges none are innocent.

Exit.

SCEN. VI.

Enter 2. Lords.

1 Lord.

WE that haue here ben born to see this change, May leaue the court, and tell our children tales, Of the dire fall of Inachus great house, The young Prince mad, the Princesse kild her selfe, Old Strophius dead from griefe; and murder heapt, Corps vpon corps, as if they ment t'inuite, All hell to supper, or som Iouiall night.

2 Lor.

Nay but my Lord this is most pittifull, That the yong Prince should thus from dore to dore,

Beg for his foode, and yet none dare to giue, I saw him wandring yesterday alone, Flying from euery crow, or pratling Pie, Crying out mother, and as if there had Tormenting Furies following him with fraud, And truth I thought to tell old Tyndarus, To moue his ruthfull yeeres to pitty him, And will you ioyne petitioner with me, Wee'll tell the cause, 'tis good to ease misery.

1 Lord.

My Lord I like your motion, and will ioyne For Agamemnons sake my honor'd Master.

Exeunt.

SCEN. VII.

Enter Orestes, Pylades, with naked rapiers.

Orest.

MY Fury leaues me, now I'me at my last, And now me thinks thou truely art a friend, Now with vndaunted spirit preuent my griefe, And let thy rapier drinke blood greedily, As if it lou'd it, cause it is thy friend, Now rid me of my woe, thy friendly vow, Neuer did truely shew it selfe till now:

Pyl.

Why then deare friend I thus erect this arme, And will be strong to thee, as thou to me, Wee'll looke vpon our deathes with better face, Then others doe on life; come Tyndarus, see, We scorne to liue when all our friends are dead, Nor shall thy Fury make base famine be The executioner to my dearest friend, Whilst I can kill him, therefore spight of thee, Wee'll free our selues past all calamity,

Orest.

Yes Pylades, we will beguile our time, And make him search through euery nooke a'th world, If he in all his race can euer spie, Two that like vs did liue, like vs did die: But we delay our death, now brauely come▪ And the last parting word shallbe strike home.

they run at one another run again

Pyl.

O brauely rstook deare friend yet once again.

Orst.

Yes at one thrust two friends must not be slain,

O, how I loue these wounds, heauen dropping showers, When the outragious dogge makes clouds of dust Vpon the thirsty earth, come not more sweet, Then the blest streames of blood, thy rapier raines. Hence weapon: for my loynes now scorne all props, But my friends armes, O, beare good leggs a while, The weight of murder sits vpon my soule, And bends my staggering ioynts vnto the earth.

Pyl.

Haste, haste, I faint, but O, yet let my strength Be Atlas to sustaine the falling world; Breath, breath sweet vapours of two trusty hearts, And let our breaths ascend to heauen before, To make a roome hard by the frozen pole, Where that our winged soules shall mount and sit, More glorious then the Concubines of loue, Wreath'd with a crowne of rich enamel'd starres, Leauing all ages to deplore our death: That friendships abstract perish with our breath:

Orest.

Fly thou best part of man, where Hecate Borne on the swarthy shoulders of the Euen, Sits in agroue of oakes, till gray eye'd morne, Bids her to throw off nights blacke Canopie.

Pyl.

Wil't die before me? Stay, stay, I come.

Orest.

O graspe me then, our names like Gemini, Shall make new starres for to adorne the skie. Is thy breath gone?

Pyl.

O, yes, 'tis almost past, Then both together, thus wee'll breath our last.

They fall downe dead, embracing each other.

SCEN. VIII.

Enter in haste Tyndarus, Lords, with others.

Tynd.

WEnt they this way? my Lords, you moue mee much, Could I find him now, I would seat him new, In his right Kingdome, which doth weigh downe mee.

1 Lord.

I see my Lord Orestes, and his friend, Without your leaue haue made themselues an end.

Tynd.

Then now is Argos Court like to some stage,

When the sad plot fills it with murdred Trunckes, And none are left aliue but onely one, To aske the kinde spectators (plaudite) All else haue bid (valete) to the world, The man reseru'd for that, is Tyndarus, Who thus hath seen his childrens childrens end, His Grandchild, a bad sonne, a most deare friend; The Scene must now be ouerflow'd with grones, Each man sits downe to waile his priuate mones: One for the Queen doth weep, one for the King, All taste the bitter waters of this Spring: The Nurse bewails the child, that part she beares, All haue their subiects to bedew with teares; Each one yet haue but one; but all of mee, Challenge a part in griefes sad sympathy. Orestes, Clytemnstra, I must call, These all for mine, thus must I weepe for all: Let none belieue this deed, or if they doe. Let them belieue this punishment then too. 'Tis vile to hate a Father, but such loue, As breeds a hate to'th mother, worse doth proue: Our life consists of ayre, our state of winde, All things we leaue behind vs which wee find, Sauing our faults; witnesse Orestes here, VVho was his owne tormentor, his owne feare. VVho flying all, yet could not fly him selfe, But needs must shipwrack vpon murders shelfe: And so his brest made hard with miserie, He grew himselfe to be his enemy. Thus griefe and gladnesse still by turnes do come, But pleasure leastwhile doth possesse the roome. Long nights of griefe may last, but lo, one day Of shining comfort slideth soone away. He, whom all feare on earth, must feare a fate, For all our powers are subordinate: Three howres space thus well can represent, Vices contriu'd and murders punishment. A Monarchs life can in this little space Shew all the pompe that all the time doth grace His risings and his falls, and in one span

Of time, can shew the vanity of man. For none of vs can so command the powers That we may say, to morrow shall be ours. Now Fortunes wheele is turn'd, and time doth call, To solemnize this friendly funerall. No force so great, no so disaster wrong, As can vnknit the bands which holdeth strong Vnited hearts: who since they thus are dead, One roome, one tombe shall hold them buried: And as these friends ioyn'd hands to beare their Fate; So we desire you to imitate. VVho since they all are dead, we needs must craue Your gentle hands to bring them to their graue.