Early Modern Mythological Texts: Troia Britanica VII (51-105)
Thomas Heywood. Troia Britanica (1609)
CANTO VII (51-105)
Stanzas 51-60 — 61-70 — 71-80 — 81-90 — 91-105 — Heywood’s Endnotes to Canto VII — End poem: the Minotaur
Ed. Gaëlle Ginestet
As brave a general martialled our great fleet,
As that bold Greek that sought the Fleece of Gold,
Hoping by sea an enemy to meet,
Fiercer than Jason’s, and more warlike bold,
Renowned Essex, at whose warlike feet
Spain’s countless spoils and trophies have been told,
Who from Hesperia brought to England’s Greece,
More gold than would have weighed down Jason’s fleece.
Grim terror with the Greeks a ship-board lies
All night: some weep, some rage, the boldest fear,
Soliciting the gods with prayers and cries;
Seeing their fates and hopeless ruins near,
They think on fathers, children, wives, allies,
But whom they fain would see, they wish not there;
Grim terror in the morning forward sped,
The sun begins to wake, the tempest fled.
Who as from forth the Spanish seas he raised
His burnished locks, and ’bout his shoulders shook them,
And, as his custom is, about him gazed
To view fair Tethys’ bounds, and overlook them,
He spies th'embarkèd Greeks, with fear amazed,
So sore the rough tumultuous sea had took them;
He sees their pendants torn, their sheets all rent,
Their hatches broken, and their mainmast spent.
Therefore he, angry Neptune doth entreat,
As he would have him gild his silver streams,
Or thaw his frozen waters with his heat,
Or cheer his cool waves with his gorgeous beams,
Th'adventurous Greeks—his charge—not to defeat,
But they may safe review their native realms;
Neptune is pleased, his trident calms the seas,
And grants them waftage to what coast they please,
Who entering th'Hellespont acquire some shore
Where they may land, their fortunes to repair.
At Tenedos they touch—known long before
By great Alcides, since he battled there—,
Where great Laomedon the sceptre bore,
And to prevent like dangers threatening care,
Re-builds his battered holds, and with supplies,
Mans every sea-scout, that adjacent lies.
These garrisons the Grecian peers deny
Relief or anchorage till the king’s mind
Be fully known, who hears his foes so nigh,
That had so late his forces overthrown;
Therefore enraged, he sends them to defy,
And from his coasts to get them quickly gone,
Or ’mongst them all he’ll leave no living Greek
For golden pillage on the seas to seek.
Undaunted Hercules at this offended,
Swears, by his father Jove, Troy’s second wrack,
And with his Argonauts had then descended
Maugre the king, but Jason kept him back,
Who, being chief commander, hath intended
A golden course: they Colchos first must sack,
Therefore, though much against Alcides’ will,
Put from that shore, the conqueror threatens still,
Vowing if Fate afford him safe return,
In whose adventure all the peers unite,
Troy’s walls to batter and their city burn,
And be the king’s eternal opposite,
To whose disgrace Troy shall in ashes mourn,
Th’ungrateful king be forced to death or flight,
And all these lofty towers, at his next landing,
Not have one stone upon another standing.
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Resolvèd thus, they make to hoise up sail, Weigh anchor, and their tackles hale and pull; Their lofty spleens ’gainst Troy they now avail And only aim at the Phrixean wool, The god of winds affords them a calm gale, Making their wave-washed sheets show swelling full, Whose gentle gusts the Grecian heroes bring To Colchos, welcomed by the Phasian King, |
Phasis, a town in Colchos and a river
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At whose arrive, Medea Jason viewing:
“O heaven”, quoth she, “what passion’s this I feel?
Shall yon fair Grecian youth, his fame pursuing,
Die by enchanted fire, or tempered steel?
Oh, save thy fame, by this attempt eschewing,
Thy arm wants power to make the dragon reel,
Thy amorous hand, alas, too soft and white,
With brass-hoofed bulls that breathe out fire to fight.
More fitter t’were a Lady to embrace,
T’imprison beauty in a crystal fold,
O, why should one that hath so sweet a face,
Made to be loved and love, seek acts so bold?
Too vent’rous Greek, for love’s sake leave this place,
Thou know’st not what thou seek’st, the fleece of gold
A royal prize it is, yet, amorous stranger,
It hath not worth to countervail the danger.
For the least blood shall drop down by thy skin
Or in the combat stain the Colchian grass
Is of more worth than all that thou canst win,
Yet doth the riches of this fleece surpass.
But stay: what blind maze am I entered in?
What loving labyrinth? Forgetful lass!
O, canst thou to a stranger’s grace appeal,
Who comes from far, thy father’s fleece to steal?
This Jason is our foe, dwells in a land
Remote, and of another clime indeed.
If thou wilt love, about thee princes stand
Of thine own nation; let this stranger bleed,
Despise him then, and all his foreign band,
That in thy father’s pillage have agreed;
Instead of love, the amorous Greek defy,
And by th’enchanted monsters let him die.
But shall Medea view that tragic sight?
And see his fair limbs by her monsters rent?
Shall his white fingers with grim hell-hounds fight,
That might Medea in her love content?
Apollo, may I never taste thy light,
Partake thy earthly rise, or low descent,
But by my art I shall so well provide
To be the Gold-Fleece-conquering Jason’s bride.
But how, Medea? Wilt thou then forsake
Thy country, father, friends, all which are great,
And, to thy lord, a roving pirate take,
One that perchance hath no abiding seat?
Fond girl, thou wrong’st him these faint doubts to make,
A royal prince and in all acts complete,
Thy country, father, friends, trifles but small,
And this one warlike Jason worth them all.
That he is lovely, witnesseth mine eye,
And valiant: what can better record bear
Than this attempt, whose fame to heaven will fly,
T’amaze the gods that shall this novel hear?
I leave a barren kingdom to descry
A populous nation, what then should I fear?
In seeking with this amorous Greek to dwell,
I ask Elysium in exchange for Hell,
A land where, if his people him resemble,
Humanity and all good thews are rife,
Who, if they love their lord, cannot dissemble
Their hearts to her that shall safeguard his life.
Th’inchanted bulls whose bellowing made heaven tremble
Shall by their ruins make me Jason’s wife,
Whom all the fair and potent queens of Greece,
Shall better welcome than the conquered Fleece”.
Opinioned thus, at their next interview,
After their diverse oaths between them passed,
That he the famed adventure shall pursue,
Whose conquests with enchantments she binds fast,
And when his hands these monsters shall imbrue,
He to receive her as his bride at last.
Night passeth on, at the next birth of day,
Aurora frights the fearful stars away.
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Much confluence of people throng together, In the large field of Mars they take their places, The princes of the land in scarf and feather And triumph-robes expect the Greeks’ disgraces; The burdened earth groans with spectators; whither The king himself martialled with golden maces In person comes, his barons him invest In a high throne, degreed above the rest. |
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To such prepared joys the Frenchmen came, To see the valiant Montmorency run Against Charles Brandon, who for England’s fame, Vanquished their knight, at which their joy was done. The French, who to disgrace the English came, Saw how bold Charles at one encounter won Their champion’s arms, the French queen to his phere, Which changed their promised mirth to sadder cheer. |
duke of Suffolk |
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Behold where Polymeda’s son, undaunted, Against the brazen-hoofèd beasts appears, How, richly armed, his sword aloft he vaunted, T’encounter with the two infernal steers, Who as he strikes, still breathes out words enchanted, The Grecians stand amazed, Medea fears To see young Jason, lord of her desire, Betwixt two bulls, their nostrils breathing fire. |
Jason, son to Aeson and Polymela
liber 3 Argonauticorum |
And lest her incantations’ force might fail,
She mumbles to herself more powerful charms;
Still doth the dreadless Greek those bulls assail
Ready to scorch him in his twice-gilt arms,
His sharp-edged sword their hornèd crests makes vail,
That fire that scaldeth others, him scarce warms,
Such power hath magic; the fell bulls grow tame,
And Jason tugs with them amidst the flame.
And first he by the dangling dewlaps takes them,
Who, force perforce, his valour must obey;
He twixt his sinewy arms together shakes them,
They, bellowing, yield themselves his glorious prey;
To bow their stubborn neck bold Jason makes them,
On which th’obedient yoke he gently lay.
The Greeks applaud his conquest with shrill cries,
The Colchians show their sorrows in their eyes.
But all’s not furnished yet, he makes them draw
The teamèd plough to furrow up his field,
The rusty iron doth the green verdure flaw,
Quite vanquished now, the conquered oxen yield;
Yet more than this the Colchian princes saw:
The viper’s teeth he cast upon his shield,
And sowed them in the furrows; they straight grew,
To armèd men, and all on Jason flew.
The Greeks dismay, th’encouraged Colchians shout,
Only Medea doth their joy detest,
With magic she assists her champion stout,
Her exorcisms have power to arm his breast,
Those that but late encompassed him about,
And with their steel strook stars out of his crest,
Seek mutual arms, amongst themselves they brawl,
So by seditious weapons perish all.
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It now remains the three-tongued venomous snake, The river-waking serpent to make sleep, Whose horrid crest, blue scales, and unces black Threat everyone a death; unto his keep The fleece is put. Medea bids him take Grass in black Lethe, laid three nights to steep, Uttering such powerful charms as calm the winds, And the moved billows in their channel binds. |
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Those drops being sprinkled on the dragon’s head,
The words thrice spoke, the wakeful serpent lies
Drowned in forgetful slumbers, seeming dead,
And sleep, till now not known, seals up his eyes.
Jason in safety may the mansion tread
Where Colchos long preserved the golden prize,
And now at length fair Polymeda’s son
Enjoys the fleece that he with danger won.
Proud of this purchase, but of her more glad
That by the virtue of a powerful word,
More high command upon these monsters had
Than he in use of his remorseless sword,
Unto his Argo he Medea lad,
Commanding all his merry mates aboard
But secretly, least when King Aeta knew
His daughter’s rape, he might her flight pursue.
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Which to prevent, the negerous lady takes The young Absyrtes, a fair hopeful youth, And when her father after Jason makes, And with rough fury her escape pursueth, She chops the lad’s limbs into bits and flakes, And in the king’s way strews him without ruth, And whilst he gathers up with watery eyes His piecemeal body, she in safety flies. |
Absyrtes brother to Medea
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With triumphs they in Greece are welcomed all, And Jason famous for his royal quest, The bedrid father will his son install In his own kingdom, and with him his guest, Deep-spelled Medea, at whose magic call The seas and winds or travel or find rest: Oh magic, by thy power what cannot they, To whom the seas submit, the winds obey? |
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Amongst those princes that with Jason went
And were at home received, the great Alcide
Amidst this general joy seems discontent;
His spleen to Troy he can no longer hide,
To be revenged he holds his firm intent,
He that to their distress relief denied,
Must know what t’is to scorn his firm alliance,
So through all Greece he breathes ’gainst Troy defiance,
And with a gallant army taking land,
Attains the shore perforce, and in his way,
No village, fortress, town, or tower can stand,
But to his ruthless fury must give way;
This hearing, King Laomedon hath manned
A noble army, to make good the day,
Which ere the sun into the West sea fall,
Must see ten thousand Trojans killed and thrall.
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Laomedon, remembering what great wrack
Twelve-laboured Hercules before time made,
Recounts to them his wrongs, his city’s sack,
Their tyrannies to all whom they invade,
Therefore incites them to repulse those back
That have too long upon his confines stayed:
“Behold”, quoth he, “these would your freedoms bar,
Then with a general shout prepare for war”.
The host of Greeks that hear their exclamation,
Wait but to hear Alcides’ watch-word given,
Who cheers them thus: “You are that warlike nation
Whose fame fills all the climates under heaven,
Since you are strangers, let your salutations
Be with your swords, not words; for yet ere even
Yon standing host in their own bloods we’ll drown,
And part the rich spoil of yon rampired town”.
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Loud cheering instruments on both sides sound,
The battles join, both Greeks and Trojans sink;
They that but late the firm earth proudly bound
Now must below the waves of Lethe drink,
The great Alcides, born to sway the ground,
Against his strength opposed, all mortals shrink;
Who being more than man, must needs have odds
To fight with any that are less than gods.
Him whom th’all-dooming Fates will have to sway,
How can Laomedon in arms subdue?
Though Troy be strong, yet must it Greece obey:
Alcides with his club whole thousands slew,
By his sole strength the Greeks obtain the day,
And to the city gates the foe pursue,
Who mingled with their troops, in this adventure,
Slaughter the bold and with the cowards enter.
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So by th’English was great Cales surprised And entered, with the Spaniards that retire, They that at first the general’s name despised, Now at the last are forced his fame t’admire, English and Dutch in Spanish wealth disguised, Laden their fleet with pillage, whilst bright fire Consumes the town, which twice the English take, As Greece did Troy, great Essex and bold Drake. |
Cales
Cales twice taken once by Sir Francis Drake, since by the earl of Essex. |
Stout Ajax Telamon amongst the rest
Set his first foot in Troy, but him succeed
Ten thousand Greeks, and many a warlike breast,
Pierced with the Argive weapons, freshly bleed:
They sack the populous town from East to West,
Troy’s second sack is by the Fates decreed:
They sack and ransack, spoil, and freely kill,
And all the town with shrieks and clamours fill.
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Amongst the rest that perished in this broil,
Laomedon falls by Alcides’ hand,
Whilst everywhere the conquering Grecians spoil;
No man so bold that dares against them stand,
Great is the booty in so rich a soil,
They pillage all the substance of the land,
Beat down the walls, the temples ruin quite,
And kill poor infants in their mothers’ sight,
The matrons in their husbands’ arms, deflower
The reverent virgins in their parents’ eye,
And such as interdict their awful power,
By their remorseless bloody weapons die.
High-looking Troy is ruined in an hour,
Those towers quite razed, whose sharp spires mocked the sky,
And that proud town, the Asian glory once,
Is now a confused heap of men and stones.
All-conquering Hercules revenged at last
Of Troy’s ungrateful sovereign, takes full seizure
Of Asia’s monarchy: his fury past,
Amongst his host he parts the city’s treasure,
But Telamonus Ajax most he graced,
And gave him her that pleased him above measure,
The bright Hesione, his valour’s meed,
The beauteous virgin from the sea-whale freed.
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Well was it for young Priam, the king’s son, That he was elsewhere in the East employed, The Lybian else, that Asia overrun And conquered Troy, had likewise him destroyed, The laden Greeks, after the conquest won, Are fraught with wealth, with pleasure overjoyed. Poor Troy, whilst they in their full mirth abound, Lives desolate, and levelled with the ground. |
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The monster master having filled the sky
With martial clangour in the loudest strain,
After revenge on Cacus’ tyranny,
And the great Giants of Cremona slain,
King Pricus’ death, King Affer raisèd high,
And the two columns that he reared in Spain,
To include in few his many deeds; we thus
In narrow room, his labours twelve discuss.
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1. The Erymanthian boar; 2. and the fire-breathing bull; 3. The Lernan Hydra; 4. and the winged hind; 5. Stymphalides; 6. the Amazonian trull; 7. Th’Augean stables, the seventh task assigned, 8. The Nemean lion; 9. with the skull Of Diomede, who fed his steeds ‘gainst kind; 10. The golden fruit made ripe by bright Hyperion; |
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These tasks by Juno’s imposition ended,
Whilst he on Iole’s attractive face
Doted, and her desires alone commended,
Fair Deianir’ imputes it her disgrace,
With such great wrongs unto her bed offended,
Because his vassal had supplied her place.
She sends a shirt—and means her husband good—
Dipped in the poison of the Centaur’s blood.
The traitor Nessus passing a deep ford
With Deianir’, away with her he flies,
Alcides cannot reach him with his sword,
But after him his wounding arrow hies,
The dying Centaur speaks this latest word,
“Fair Deianir’, before death close mine eyes,
Receive a gift, in sign I loved thee dearly,
Which though I die, in time may stead thee nearly.
I know thy lord a conqueror, yet subdued
By women’s beauty; therefore when you find
The lustful prince ’mongst foreign queens intrude,
And that their amorous courtships change his mind,
Send him a shirt with this my blood imbrued,
The virtue is to make Alcides kind”.
This said, his life he ended in a trice,
She—for it was his last—trusts his advice.
Hearing fair Iole the heart had seized
Of her dear lord, and that she kept away,
She feels her thoughts within themselves diseased,
And hopes to call him back that went astray,
The Centaur’s dying gift the lady pleased,
Her servant Lichas posts it without stay.
O! Thou weak woman, thou his death mayst vaunt,
Whom Hell-hounds, giants, monsters, could not daunt.
Hoping, alas, his favour to regain,
The innocent lady her dear lord destroyed;
He dons her present, whose envenomed bane
Cleaves to his bones. O! Who can Fate avoid?
More than a man before he would complain
Alcides bears, and no whit seems annoyed
Such tortures as the strongest might strike dead
He brooks, yet no part of his colour fled.
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But when he felt such tortures, anguish, smart,
That gods above nor devils damned could bear,
That stung his breast and pierced his noble heart,
He grows impatient, that could never fear
Infernal pangs, infused in every part,
He strives the poisonous shirt away to tear,
But with the cleaving linens forced to draw
The brawns from off his arms, and leave them raw.
The poison boils, and he that could confound
Giants, so late to his immortal fame,
Now from the head to heel is all one wound,
The raging venom drops his flesh inflame;
Sometimes he grovels on the senseless ground,
Sometimes those powerful hands that monsters tame
Plucks down huge rocks and cleaves them with his strokes,
And sometimes by the roots rends up huge oaks.
Mad with these torments, Oeta Mount he traces,
Where, creeping in a hole, he Lichas spies
When stalking to his cave with leisured paces,
About his head he wheels him in the skies,
And, that being done, the whole mount he defaces,
A grove of trees despoiled about him lies,
A thousand oaks he heaps up on a pile,
And kindling them, says with a scornful smile:
“Whom neither Juno’s wrath, nor Pluto’s hell,
Whom neither lions, bulls, dogs, dragons, whales,
Whom neither tyrants grim, nor giants fell,
Against that spirit a woman’s gift prevails,
Her jealousy hath power that heart to quell,
Whom serpents fear with their envenomed scales,
Since none on earth deserves our blood to spill,
The great Alcides shall Alcides kill”.
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The fire burns bright, he Philoctetes calls, And unto him bequeaths his shafts and bow, Who at his warlike feet, confounded, falls; The club and lion’s case his bold hands throw Into the flame, then he whom nought appals Cries “Jove, I come!”, and boldly leaps in, so That life that mortal did the heavens aspire, Now with immortal wings climbs heaven by fire. |
The death of Hercules |
Alcides dead, and Priam back returned
From his successful battles in the East,
He sees his country spoiled, his city burned,
His father slain, which most his grief increased,
These losses with his sister’s rape he mourned,
Nor are such weighty sorrows soon surceased;
We for a while will leave him to his care,
His sire t’entomb, his city to repair.
[Heywood’s Endnotes to Canto VII]
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Medea, some think to be the daughter of Aeta, some, the daughter of the Sun, some, the daughter of Hecate. Apollodorus (lib. 3) calls her Aeea. Heraclides writes her to be the daughter of Neaera of the Nereides; Dionysius Milesius calls her the daughter of Eurylyte, others of Ipsaea, and that Chalciope was her sister. She had a son called Medus by Aegeas, of whom the country Medea took name. Demodocus, a harper’s name in Homer. Iopas a king of Africa, one of Dido’s wooers, a skilful musician. Jason committed to the charge of his uncle Pelias, in his minority, because Pelias was loath to resign to him his kingdom, devised for his nephew the dangerous enterprise of the golden Fleece, which Jason, contrary to his uncle’s supposition, with his Argonauts valiantly achieved. In memory of Absyrtus, there are still certain islands in the Venetian Sea, called Absyrtides of Absyrtus, there slain by his sister Medea. Phrixus was son to Athamas, and brother to Helle, of whom the Ram that bore the golden fleece, was named Phrixeus: Helle with her brother Phrixus was drowned. Of whom that sea is still called Hellespontus. Because we only remember Theseus and the Minotaur, and have no further traffic in our history with his life, I hold it not much amiss in these annotations to remember that history, and how the Minotaur was begot: Ovid, Arte Amandi. |
Cithara crinitus Iopas personat aurata, docuit quem maximus Atlas. Hic canit errantem lunam solisque labores, unde hominum genus et pecudes, unde imber et ignes. |
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Ida of cedars and tall trees stand full, Where fed the glory of the herd: a bull Snow-white, save ’twixt his horns one spot there grew; Save that one stain, he was of milky hue. This fair steer did the heifers of the groves Desire to bear as prince of all the droves, But most Pasiphae with adulterous breath Envies the wanton heifers to the death. ’Tis said that for this bull the doting lass |
Pasiphae.
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Did use to crop young boughs and mow fresh grass; Nor was the amorous Cretan queen afeared To grow a kind companion to the herd. Thus through the champion she is madly borne And a wild bull to Minos gives the horn; ’Tis not for bravery he can love or loathe thee, Then why, Pasiphae, dost thou richly clothe thee? Why shouldst thou thus thy face and looks prepare? What makest thou with thy glass, ordering thy hair, Unless thy glass could make thee seem a cow? |
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But how can horns grow on that tender brow? If Minos please thee, no adulterer seek thee, Or if thy husband Minos do not like thee, But thy lascivious thoughts are still increased, Deceive him with a man, not with a beast. Thus by the queen the wild woods are frequented, And leaving the king’s bed, she is contented To use the groves, borne by the rage of mind, |
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Her smoking altars their warm bloods imbrue, Whilst by the sacrificing priest she stands, And gripes their trembling entrails in her hands. At length, the captain of the herd beguiled With a cow’s skin, by curious art compiled, The longing queen obtains her full desire, And in her infant’s birth bewrays the sire. |
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This Minotaur, when he came to growth, was enclosed in the labyrinth, which was made by the curious arts-master Daedalus, whose tale likewise we thus pursue:
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When Daedalus the labyrinth had built, In which t'include the queen Pasiphae’s guilt, And that the time was now expirèd full, |
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To enclose the Minotaur, half man, half bull; Kneeling he says: “Just Minos, end my moans, And let my native soil entomb my bones, Or if, dread sovereign, I deserve no grace, Look with a piteous eye on my son’s face, And grant me leave from whence we are exiled, Or pity me, if you deny my child”. This and much more he speaks, but all in vain, The king both son and father will detain, Which he perceiving says: “Now, now, ’tis fit, |
Daedalus and Icarus.
Ovid, De Arte Amandi, II. |
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To give the world cause to admire thy wit, Both land and sea are watched by day and night, Nor land nor sea lie open to our flight: Only the air remains, then let us try To cut a passage through the air and fly; Jove, be auspicious to my enterprise, I covet not to mount above the skies, But make this refuge, since I can prepare No means to fly my lord, but through the air; Make me immortal, bring me to the brim |
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Of the black Stygian water, Styx I’ll swim”. O human wit, thou canst invent much ill! Thou searchest strange arts; who would think, by skill, A heavy man like a light bird should stray, And through the empty heavens find a fit way? He placeth in just order all his quills, Whose bottoms with resolvèd wax he fills, Then binds them with a line, and being fast tied, He placeth them like oars on either side. The tender lad the downy feathers blew, |
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And what his father meant, he nothing knew. The wax he fastened with the strings he played, Not thinking for his shoulders they were made, To whom his father spake, and then looked pale: “With these swift ships, we to our land must sail. All passages doth cruel Minos stop, Only the empty air he still leaves ope. That way must we; the land and the rough deep Doth Minos bar, the air he cannot keep; But in thy way, beware thou set no eye |
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On the sign Virgo, nor Boötes high, Look not the black Orion in the face, That shakes his sword, but just with me keep pace. Thy wings are now in fastening, follow me, I will before thee fly; as thou shalt see Thy father mount, or stoop, so I aread thee, Make me thy guard, and safely I will lead thee. If we should soar too near great Phoebus’ seat, The melting wax will not endure the heat, Or if we fly too near the humid seas, |
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Our moistened wings we cannot shake with ease. Fly between both, and with the gusts that rise, Let thy light body sail amidst the skies”. And ever as his little son he charms, He fits the feathers to his tender arms And shows him how to move his body light, As birds first teach their little young ones flight; By this he calls to counsel all his wits, And his own wings unto his shoulders fits, Being about to rise, he fearful quakes, |
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And in this new way his faint body shakes. First, ere he took his flight, he kissed his son, Whilst by his cheeks the brinish waters ran. There was a hillock not so towering tall As lofty mountains be, nor yet so small To be with valleys even, and yet a hill; From this, thus both attempt their uncouth skill: The father moves his wings, and with respect His eyes upon his wandering son reflect. They bear a spacious course, and the apt boy, |
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Fearless of harm, in his new tract doth joy, And flies more boldly. Now upon them looks The fishermen that angle in the brooks, And with their eyes cast upward, frighted stand. By this, is Samos isle on their left hand, Upon the right Lebinthos they forsake, Astypalen and the fishy lake, Shady Calymne full of woods and groves, When the rash youth too bold in venturing, roves; Loseth his guide, and takes his flight so high |
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That the soft wax against the sun doth fry, And the cords slip that kept the feathers fast, So that his arms have power upon no blast. He fearfully from the high clouds looks down Upon the lower heavens, whose curled waves frown At his ambitious height, and from the skies He sees black night and death before his eyes, Still melts the wax, his naked arms he shakes, And thinking to catch hold, no hold he takes, But now the naked lad down headlong falls, |
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And by the way, he “Father, Father” calls: “Help, Father, help, I die!”, and as he speaks, A violent surge his course of language breaks. Th'unhappy father, but no father now, Cries out aloud, “Son Icarus, where art thou? Where art thou, Icarus, where dost thou fly? Icarus, where art?”. When lo, he may espy The feathers swim, aloud he doth exclaim, The earth his bones, the sea still bears his name. |
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But least we insist too much on these impertinent tales, we will proceed in our proposed history.
The end of the seventh Canto.
Back to Canto VII (1-50)
On to Canto VIII
Notes to Canto VII
How to cite
Gaëlle Ginestet, ed., 2015. Troia Britanica Canto VII (1609), Notes. 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+VII+%2851-105%29
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