Early Modern Mythological Texts: Troia Britanica IV (1-50)
Thomas Heywood. Troia Britanica (1609)
CANTO IV (1-50)
Stanzas 1-10 — 11-20 — 21-30 — 31-40 — 41-50 — 51-119
Jove Esculapius kills, Apollo drives
To keep Admetus’ sheep in Thessaly,
And next his beauteous sister Juno wives,
At her return from Crete to Parthemy,
The father with the son in battle strives,
But by his puissance is enforced to fly;
Acrisius keeps his daughter in a tower,
Which amorous Jove scales in a golden shower.
To divine Physic. Gods made first of men.
And Perseus’ birth, swift Delta guides my pen.
1
Thou divine art of Physic, let me sing
Thy honoured praise, and let my pen aspire
To give thee life that unto life canst bring
Men half departed. Whether thy first sire
Was that Prometheus, who from the Heavens’ King
Stole by his skill part of the vital fire
That kindles life in man, thereby to save
Sick men that stand with one foot in the grave,
Or whether Esculapius was thy father,
Son to the Sun-god, by whose lively heat
Simples and plants their saps and virtues gather,
Let it suffice I know thy power is great;
And my unable muse admires thee rather
Than comprehends thy worth. Let them entreat
Of thy perfection, that with fame profess thee,
And in their arts unto the life express thee.
As famous Butler, Paddy, Turner, Poe,
Atkinson, Lister, Lodge, who still survive,
Besides these English Galens thousands moe,
Who, where they come, death and diseases drive
From pale sick creatures; and all cordials know,
Spirits spent and wasted to preserve alive,
In this with gods and kings they are at strife,
Physicians, kings and gods alone give life.
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Some hold young Mercury devised the skill Of physic first and taught that art abroad, Some unto Arabus impute it still, Some yield that honour to th’ Egyptian God Called Apis or Serapis; others will Apollo chief, what time he made abode With king Admetus, but most voices run, The first renowned was Esculap’ his son. |
Arabus, son to Apollo |
Hippocrates reduced it to an art,
Galen and Avicenna him succeed,
Cassius and Calpitanus too, impart
His sovereign skill, Rubrius taught first to bleed,
Antonius Musa cheered the wasted heart,
Arruntius too helped every grief at need:
Archagatus professed this first in Rome,
But all submit to noble Galen’s doom.
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The first that did this sacred art renown, And gave him fame on earth was, as I read, Great Esculape, who tracing up and down To gather simples in the flowery mead, Hard by a rock that wears a bushy crown, And ’bove the neighbour champion lifts his head, He spies a swain in habit neat and brisk, Hold battle with a dreadful basilisk. |
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A monster that kills only with his eye
Which from th’unarmèd shepherd shrunk and ran,
Apollo’s son with wonder stands him nigh,
And thinks, or that no beast or this no man,
Admiring by what hidden deity
The piercing cockatrice out-gaze he gan,
Unless by chance there lodged a virtue rare,
In some one simple in the wreath he ware.
All the strong armour ’gainst this horrid beast
Was but a chaplet which begirt his brain,
Which Esculape suspecting, much increased
His ardency to know what hidden strain
Slept in strange working herbs thus being possessed.
He begs the garland from the ignorant swain,
Who, now unwreathed, again the beast defies,
Who straight returns and kills him with her eyes.
Apollo’s son by certain proof now finds
Th’invirtued herbs have ’gainst such poison power,
To combat with the eye-killing beast he minds,
Thirsting for fame; the wreath with many a flower,
And herb, and plant, about his brain he binds,
And so with speed hastes to her rocky tower,
Scales her foul den, and threatens present war,
T’out-gaze her near, who seeing kills from far.
The big-swollen serpent with broad eyelids stares,
And through the air her subtle poison flings,
The sun’s-herb charmed, soon her venom dares,
And shrinks not at her perceant eyeballs’ stings.
The basilisk in her own strength despairs,
And to fly thence, she shakes her flaggy wings,
But his dart takes her as she meant to rise,
And pierced her heart that pierced hearts with her eyes.
Proud of this trophy, he returning sees
The harmless swain upon the ground lie dead,
Whom pitying, he descends unto his knees,
Taking the virtued chaplet from his head,
And herb by herb into his mouth doth squeeze,
And down his throat their powerful liquor shed,
But when the juice of one pure herb was drained,
The new departed life it back constrained.
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Nor wonder if such force in herbs remain, What cannot juice of divine simples bruised? The dragon finding his young serpent slain, Having th’ herb balin in his wounds infused, Restores his life and makes him whole again. Who taught the hart how dittany is used, Who being pierced through the bones and marrow, Can with that herb expel th’ offensive arrow? |
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Who taught the poor beast having poison tasted To seek th’ herb cancer, and by that to cure him? Who taught the boar finding his spirits wasted To seek a branch of ivy to assure him? The tortoise spied a dragon, and straight hasted For savory, armed with which he can endure him, Chiron found centaury, whose use is holy, |
savory or marjoram |
The stork having a branch of organy,
Can with much ease the adder’s sting eschew
And when the little weasel chased doth fly
The dragon, he defends himself with rue,
Much might be done by their rare purity,
By such as all their operations knew.
No marvel then if such as know their skill,
Find by their practice, art to save or kill.
The basilisk and the revivèd swain,
With all the powerful herbs that life restore,
He bears to Paphos: they beholding slain
So horrible a monster known before,
Perceiving likewise how he called again
Men dead to life: his person they adore.
Now Esculapius’ name is sounded high,
Through the vast compass of the spacious sky.
And whether envious of this Prince’s name,
Fitting the humorous world with such applauses,
Or whether for receiving such as came
From the last field: or at what carping clauses
Jove was aggrieved at Esculapius’ fame,
I find no certain ground but for some causes
Unknown to me, he Paphos doth invade,
And great Apollo to his son gives aid.
But Saturn’s seed prevails: much blood he spills
To quench the heat of his incensèd ire,
Paphos he sacks, and Esculapius kills.
Oh, where’s the art that made thy name aspire,
Whose fame, sea, earth, and heaven with clangour fills?
To others thou gav’st life, now life desirest,
In vain alas, when heaven hath doomed thy date
Prepare thy soul, all physic comes too late.
Besides this sentence, I pronounce on high
There is no strife with heaven: when their hours call,
Physicians must as well as patients die,
And meet at the great judgment general.
Paphos is spoiled, Apollo forced to fly,
The Cretans him pursue, he scapes them all
Disguised, and is in exile forced to keep
In Thessaly the king Admetus’ sheep.
I told you erst how Saturn reinvested
Into Parthemia, for bright Juno sent
There, with her unknown brothers to be feasted,
And how Athenian Neptune had intent
To meet with Pluto there. Things thus digested,
Triumphant Jove, now full of grief ostent,
For his late conquest in his breathed defiance,
Is in all pomp received by his alliance.
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Chiefly by twin-born Juno, not alone His sister, now his trothplight queen and bride, Their long divided bodies they atone And enter amorous parley, which espied By Saturn, speedy pursuivants are gone To all the bordering kings to them allied, Unto their solemn spousals to invite King, Prince, Duke, Marquess, Baron, Lord and Knight. |
Jupiter married to Juno |
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Metis, the daughter of Oceanus, They say, was Jove’s first wife, whom being great He swallowed, lest of her being childed thus, One should be born to lift him from his seat. By this the god grows more than tympanus, And swelling with the same, with throes did sweat, Till after anguish, and much travelling pain, The armèd Pallas leapt out of his brain. |
Bibliotheca, I
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Metis devoured, he Themis takes to bed. Espousing her within the Gnossean isle, There where the flood Therenus lifts his head, His third wife Juno, whom he won by guile, Jove knowing it unlawful was to wed His sister—by his godhood in small while Transforms himself, and like a cuckoo flies Where Juno tastes the pleasure of the skies. |
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But at his beck the king of gods and men,
Commands a storm the welkin to o’ercast,
At which the cuckoo trembling shrinketh then
Her legs beneath her wings. Juno at last
Pities the fearful bird, who quakes again,
And wraps it softly, till the storm was past,
In her warm skirt, when Jove within few hours
Takes heart, turns god and the fair queen deflowers.
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After which rape he takes her to his bride, And though some think her barren without heirs, Some, more judicious, have such tales denied— Gods that know all things, know their own affairs And what they will, their powerful wisdoms guide. Their children Preces were, whom we call prayers, These dwell on earth, but when they mount the spheres Have free access to Jove their father’s ears. |
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Imagine all the pomp the sea can yield,
Or air afford, or earth bestow on man,
Sea’s fish, air’s fowl, beast both of park and field,
Rarieties flowed in abundance then.
Nature and Art strive which is deeplier skilled,
Or in these pompous nuptials better can:
Twixt these being more than mortal seem small odds
And the high sumptuous shows made by the gods.
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Night comes, a daughter is begot, and named Hebe, the long-lived feast at length expires, Great Jupiter and Juno are proclaimed Parthemian king and queen; Neptune desires To visit Athens, being likewise named Th’ Athenian King, his blood ambition fires. Pluto departs, in Tartary to dwell, There founds a devilish town and calls it Hell. |
Hebe
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No day so clear but dark night must ensue,
Death is the end of life, and care of pleasure.
Pain follows ease, and sorrows joy pursue,
Save not to want, I know not what is treasure.
The gods that scourge the false, and crown the true,
Darkness and light in equal balance measure.
Tides fall to ebbs, the world is a mere grange,
Where all things brook decay, and covet change.
Not long these triumphs last, when Saturn seeing
Parthemian Jove such general fame achieve,
Outshining him, he envies at his being—
Still fear is apt things threatened to believe.
But when the oracle with this agreeing
He calls to mind, his soul doth inly grieve,
For this is he whom Delphos did foretell,
Should Saturn from his crown and realm expel.
Now turns he love to hate, his joy to sadness,
His father’s pity, to a foeman’s spite,
His pleasure to despair, his mirth to madness.
In tears he spends the day, in sighs the night,
To spleen his fears convert, to grief his gladness,
And all to melancholy is sad affright.
Nor can his troubled senses be appeased,
Till as a traitor he prince Jove has ceased.
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He therefore musters up a secret power Of his unwilling subjects, to surprise Jove in Parthemia. Jove ascends a tower At the same time, and from afar espies Their armèd troops the fields and champions scour. From every quarter clouds of thick smoke rise, No way he can his eyes or body turn, But he sees cities blaze and hamlets burn. |
War twixt Saturn and Jupiter |
More mad with anger than with rage dismayed,
From that high tower he in haste descends,
To know what bold foe dares his realms invade,
And ’gainst his peaceful kingdom envy bends.
Tidings is brought, great Saturn hath displayed
His hostile fury, and his wrack intends.
But Jove, that in his father’s grace affied
Swears he shall die, that hath his name belied.
It bears no face of truth, no shape of reason,
A father should a guiltless son pursue,
A son that hath his father saved from treason,
And but so late his dangerous enemies slew,
From whose embracing arms he for a season,
With much unwillingness himself withdrew.
All things well poised, he cannot yet debate,
How such hot love so soon should change to hate.
But whilst he argues thus, behold his foes
With armèd ranks begirt Parthemia round,
’Mongst whom the prince his father Saturn knows
And hears his warlike tunes to battle sound.
He now forgets the filial zeal he owes,
And cries “To arms!” their fury to confound,
But then again into himself retiring,
He to his father sends, his peace desiring.
Twice his submission to king Saturn came,
Twice his submission he returns in scorn,
Then Jove his protestation doth proclaim,
That with unwillingness his arms were born,
Loath with his sire to fight, more loath with shame,
By his bold foes, to have his kingdom torn,
Which to make good as Saturn erst had vowed,
They charge and cry “Assault!” with clamours loud.
Since no entreaty can prevail, he rather
Than trust to certain death, must battle wage.
Archas with him their stern Parthemians gather,
And issue boldly, to withstand the rage
Of their known malice. Twice Jove meets his father,
Twice gives him place, yet nothing can assuage
His settled hate; he threats the prince to kill,
Who whilst he strikes, bears off and guardeth still.
36
And seeks out other conquest ’mongst the troops,
Of men unnumbered, where his valour shines,
The strongest champion to his fury stoops,
And where he proffers war his stand resigns,
That now the pride of Saturn flags and droops,
Archas his forces with prince Jove combines,
And make one host of able strength and fear,
Before them as they fight the field to clear.
So have I seen a storm of hail and rain,
With thick tempestuous clouds of night and smoke,
Before it lay the fields of standing grain,
And top the stiff bows from the tallest oak.
So where they come these princes smooth the plain,
Making the green leaves wear a crimson cloak:
The scarlet drops that from the wounded slide,
Into deep red, the spring-tide’s livery dyed.
They still pursue the slaughter, Saturn flies,
Him Archas hotly to the seaside chases,
But in a creek a new-rigged ship he spies,
And scapes by sea; his swift steps Archas traces,
But all in vain, the gentle gusts arise
And bear him from the sight of his disgraces.
Leave we the conquered father basely fled,
The conquering son, triumphant ’mongst the dead.
39
Who from Parthemia posts in haste to Crete,
To seize unto his use his father’s crown,
The Cretans him with olive branches meet,
For who at prosperous fortunes dare to frown?
The sceptre and themselves too, at his feet
With one consent and voice they prostrate down,
His person with applause they circle round,
Thus Jove and Juno, king and queen are crowned.
40
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So without threatened arms or rude hostility, In greater pomp, and more degrees of state, By England’s commons and our high nobility, Was royal James ’mongst us received of late, With his queen Anne, to the realm’s large utility, O, may their days on earth have endless date: Instead of olive branches, entertained With zeal, with loyal thoughts, and hearts unfeigned. |
King James and Queen Anne |
Some say Jove gelded Saturn, and surrendered
His procreative parts into the Ocean,
Of which the goddess Venus was engendered,
Betwixt them and the sea’s continual motion.
I think such superstitious people tendered
Unto these idle dreams too much devotion:
Else by this moral, signify they would,
He ’mongst his soldiers dealt his father’s gold.
And from this plenty surfeits ’mongst them grew,
Lascivious gestures, lust that had no measure,
And in this kind, appears the moral true:
For oft excess begets unlawful pleasure.
And so the froth-born Venus might accrue,
And be begot by Saturn’s gelded treasure.
So sacred spells are writ in parchment tables,
So golden truths are meant, in leaden fables.
Opinion strongly ’mongst the heathen reigns,
And hath continued from the longest season.
I searched the judgments of some idle brains,
That no religion like but built on reason,
To know what strength it hath, when it restrains
Some men in loyal bonds, fills some with treason,
But found their censures vary from the right,
For thus th’irregular profanely wright.
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Opinion judgeth all by apparition, And from Opinion, shame or honour springs, Opinion, thou that art all superstition, Thou makest beggars, or pronouncest kings; For why should man to man make low submission, Since each of us his line from Adam brings? Having at first, one father, and one mother, What duty owes a brother to a brother?
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The opinion of some idle discontents |
What’s wealth to him that nothing doth esteem it?
What’s to the dunghill cock the pearl he found?
Give him a grain of barley and he’ll deem it
A richer prize. What differs gold from ground
To him that hath no judgment to esteem it?
Or diamonds from glass? Search the world round,
Nothing is precious held, but what’s thought best,
Nothing acquired, but what’s in most request.
Opinion’s all. Say, I this man adore:
He is to me a king though but a slave,
Or if a king, of him that bows no more
Or holds him none, the style he cannot have.
Religion is Opinion too. Before
Religion was, man worshipped every grave,
And in these days, through all the world’s dominions,
We see as many churches as opinions.
Opinion first made kings, first founded laws,
First did divide the gentle from the base,
First bounded man in compass for, because
Men thought it good, they gave Opinion place.
From this comes all contempt and all applause,
Reverence to some, and unto some disgrace.
This, peace compounds, or concord turns to odds,
This, first damned devils, first created gods.
This breeds the Atheist’s scorn, the Christian’s fear,
The Arrian’s error, Pagans’ misbelief,
This makes the Turk his Alcoran to hear,
Breeds in the bold presumption: penitent, grief.
This made the Jews their saviour Christ forswear,
Despising him, choose Barrabas the thief.
Hence came the Persian Haly, long agone,
Differing from his the sect of Prester John.
Hence comes the Protestant to be divided
From triple-crownèd Rome: a long-lived war
Not yet by arms or arguments decided.
Hence came the Catholics ’mongst themselves to jar,
Hence, diverse orders, diverse ways are guided.
Some Jacobins, and some Franciscans are;
Templers, Capuccians, friars both black and grey,
Monks and the Jesuits, bearing the most sway.
In our reformèd Church too, a new man
Is in few years crept up, in strange disguise
And called the self-opinioned Puritan,
A fellow that can bear himself precise,
No church supremacy endure he can,
No orders in the bishop’s diocese.
He keeps a starchèd gait, wears a small ruff,
A nosegay, set face and a poted cuff.
Back to Canto III (1-50 & 51-100)
Notes to Canto IV
On to Canto IV (51-119)
How to cite
Nathalie Vienne-Guerrin, ed., 2014. Troia Britanica Canto IV, 1-50 (1609). In A Dictionary of Shakespeare's Classical Mythology: A Textual Companion, ed. Yves Peyré (2009-).
http://www.shakmyth.org/page/Early+Modern+Mythological+Texts%3A+Troia+Britanica+IV
+%281-50%29
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