THYESTES A Tragedy, Translated out of SENECA.  
To which is Added MOCK-THYESTES, IN BURLESQUE.  
By J. W. Gent.  — Miscentur seria Ludio. 
LONDON, Printed by T. R. and N.T. for Allen Banks, at St. Peter's Head in whitefriars, 1674.   

TO THE Right Honourable, Bennet LORD Sherard.  
MY LORD,  
A Part of Old Seneca presents itself by my Hand to your Lordship's Patronage. I should justly blush at such a mean Return to your Lordships many Favours, had I not read how the Spanish Monarch, who Commands the Indies, accepts the biscain's Homage in the worthless Present of a few Maravidis, nor is the Gift ungrateful to him, since it speaks Subjection: In like manner my Lord, my only Anbition in this Dedication is to appear your Servant. I know your Lordship's Goodness will pardon my Confident Address: 'Tis that Obleiging Nature, so radicated in the Sherards', that Commands the hearts of all men: 'Tis that which makes your Country truly Yours, And thus my Lord, you serve his Majesty both with your own and their Affections. Such is your generous English way of true endearment. But I must despair to speak your full worth in the narrow limits of a few Pages; Should I attempt to blazon your just value, it would extend this small Epistle to a Volume, and swell this lirtle Volume to a Folio. The following Papers I submit to your free Censure; And if they prove so bappy to attain any Degree in your Lordship's favour, I shall despise the malice of all our little Critics, who never exposing any thing of their own, (and so in no danger of Retaliation) make it their business to pique at every thing is published. But how e'er this Book Succeeds, the Author's chief happiness is above their prejudice, which is, to be  
My Lord, Your Lordship's most Humble, and most Obedient Servant, John Wright.   

ADVERTISEMENT.  
WHether Seneca the Philosopher (to whose Pen some abscribe Three other Tragedy's) was the Original Author of this also, or some other Seneca, I know not: nor is it material; since Hensius esteems it Nulli caeterarum inferior. Let it suffice that the Author, in many places, appears much a Stoic, and such was the Philosopher. The following Translation was Writ many Years since, though Corrected, and rendered into something a more Fashionable Garb than its first Dress, at the Intervals of a more profitable Study last long Vacation. And to a few such Idle Hours must I attribute the ensuing Farce, which way of Pass-time was much more agreeable to my Humour, than the continual Glut of Ale and Tobacco, the ordinary Entertainment of vacant time in the Country. I confess it is not now very Modish to Translate any thing of this Nature from the Latin, when there are so many French Play's to be had, and those so well Accepted. Our Modern Dramatiques present us with greater Idaea's both of Vice and Virtue: Yet Ben: Johnson thought a considerable part of Seneca's Thyestes not improper for the English Stage in his time, when he took most of Sylla's Ghost from hence, and so well approved of this way of Introduction, that he served himself of it not only in his Tragedy of Catiline, but also in his devil's an Ass, a Comedy, where he makes a Pug his Home d' Intrigue I know also how much the Atreus and Thyestes of Seneca hath been outdone by our own fletcher's, Rollo, and Otto: Yet I am confident the Comparison will not be ungrateful to them that perceive, in many particulars the Drama of this Age to excel that of Seneca, as much as his was Improved from the time when Thespis, who first offered at Tragedy lead his Original of Actors about the Country in a Cart, which served them both for a Conveyance and a Stage. So homely are all Foundations, though of the fairest Building. Marginal Notes Explanatory of the Poetic Fictions, I have purposely omitted, as Impertinent, knowing that most of those who use this sort of Reading do either sufficiently understand, or despise those little Mysteries of Obsolete Poetry. For those other few who still relish such Chapon Bovilli, I only commend 'em to the next Dictionary, and that will give 'em ample Satisfaction. For a like Reason, I forbear to Pall the Story with the thing called an Argument, the No-Plot of these old Tragedy's being sufficiently Intelligible, and so little needing a Clue, that rather there wants more Labyrinth.   

To my Worthy Friend, Mr. Jo. Wright, on his Translation of Thyestes', with the travesty.  
DId Seneca now live, himself would say  
That your Translation has not wronged his Play;  
But that in every Page, in every Line,  
Your Language does with equal splendour shine.  
His Roman Habit, and your English Dress  
Themselves with a like Elegance express  
Nor from your praise will it at all detract  
To say the Tragedy's unfit to Act.  
And that those Plays can never please the Age,  
That hope for no Acquaintance with the Stage:  
For to all those that judges are of Wit,  
Fancy itself a Theatre will fit.  
Each Scene expose to that Interior Eye,  
And all the want of Actors too supply.  
She can without expenses of Treasure raise  
New Structures still to fit our several Plays,  
For which but at the charges of a thought,  
Nature's and Art's embellishments are bought  
Her Scenes, tho' they exist but in the mind,  
Are ever framed to what the Play designed.  
Nor is she forced by Scarcity to make  
A trifling Buffoon the Regalia take:  
Constraining none whom Nature has designed,  
Only to Ape a Fool, against his kind,  
To manage Sceptres; lest he should appear  
With his ridiculous Grimaces where  
Those lose Impertinences have no share.  
Thus every Requisite is fitted so  
That no dislike can from the Action grow:  
And her Ideal Theatre appears  
With all the Lustre that attends on theirs.  
Pleasant Scarron, whose Mock-Aeneas made  
Virgil himself smile at the Masquerade;  
Too much beyond his power, did justly fear  
Would prove the Works of our Tragdian here.  
But what he feared may now your Glory prove  
Whose Quill runs free where his durst never move:  
And like the Sword that cured the wounds it gave,  
Makes us such pleasure, so much laughter have,  
After the Passions it had made us share!  
That 'tis but Reason to maintain you are  
Favoured in Verse with Ovid's happy Muse,  
Whose Wit did with Success all Subjects use.  
O: Salusbury.   

The Author's Absence not permitting his Inspection, the Press hath suffered many Errors: of which the most Material are,  
Page 5. line 4. deleatur period (.) p. 12. l. 4. read Sun. p. 18. l. 5. r. fortify. p. 20. l. 10. r. Let. p. 21. l. 17. r. vexed p. 29. l. 6. r. Envoy p. 34. l. 6. r. do p. 38. l. 2. r. with p. 41. l. 5. r. till it I left p. 50. l. 15. r. credit p. 51. l. 1. r. Brother p. 55. l. 15. r. Clotho p. 59 l. 3. r. yet p. 64. l. 8. r. vexed p. 68 l. 6. r. No p. 69. l. 15. r. can I tell p. 72. l. 17. r. Dews p. 73. l. 10. read No p. 74. l. 13. r. Belt p. 79. l. 1. r. Ho there p. 86. l. 9 r. Convex p. 89. l. ult. r. this p. 91. l. ult. r. gobets p. 93. l. 15. r. doth p. 96. l. 3. r. You're vexed l. 7. r. I Ignorant. p. 99 l. 10. 1. On then p. 110. l. 13. r. Cooks p. 105. l. 14. r. he. p. 110. l. 1. r. two p. 114. l. 7. r. Cuckoldry p. 126. l. 3. r. Creature p. 133. l. 9 r. Scribbellers p. 134. l. 1. r. Act 5. In the Epilogue l. 4. r. and as a Jest. l. 10. r. Farce.   

Dramatis Personae,  

Tantalus' Ghost.  
Megaera.  
Atreus, King of Argos.  
Thyestes, his Brother.  
Plisthenes, his Son.  
Two other Sons of Thyestes, Mutes.  
A Servant, Attendant to Atreus.  
Nuntius.  
Chorus of Argives.   
The Scene.  
ARGOS:   

PROLOGUE To the Reader.  
wit's, and Wit-Triers, who some Critics Name  
Writers of Play's, and Dammers of the same,  
Advance not farther than this Page; beware,  
Since all that follows is Irregular.  
For though this thing a Tragedy is styled,  
'Tis free from Plot as any Sucking Child.  
Nor Love, nor Honour here the Author showed:  
Nay, what is worse, no Bawd'ry A-la-mode.  
No Amorous Song, nor a more Amorous Jig,  
Where Misses Coats twirl like a Whirligig,  
And such who next the Lamps themselves dispose,  
Think thus to recompense the stink of those,  
While she that Dances jilts the very eyes,  
Allowing only these Discoveri's  
A neat silk Leg, and pair of Holland Thighs.  
Methinks I see some mighty Wit o'th' Town  
At this Express a most judicious frown,  
And huff it thus (cocking his Caudubec)  
S— What a Devil then must we expect?  
Have patience, and I'll tell You what you shall  
Meet here that's still in use Dramatical.  
High Lines, and Rhyme enough Sirs Ye shall have,  
And Sentences most desperately Grave,  
Dull Sense, and sometimes Huffs that Nature brave.  
And ('cause we cannot easily print a Dance)  
A Farce i'th' end out, A-la-mode-de-France.   

THYESTES. A Tragedy, Translated out of SENECA.  

ACT. I.  TANTALUS. MEGAERA. 
WHich of th' Infernal Powers doth thus compel  
The wretched Tantalus to leave his Hell?  
And, as a higher Damnation, show again  
That World where Bodies yet alive remain?  
Is aught found worse than thirsty to abide  
In Streams, and Hunger never satisfied?  
Must I have Sisyphus his Stone, or feel  
The giddy Torments of Ixion's Wheel?  
Or shall to me Tytius' 's pains succeed,  
On whose Immortal Liver Vultures feed:  
For night repairing what was lost by day,  
He a fresh Monster lies, and perfect Prey.  
What Plague comes next? O thou who dost on those  
That suffered have the Old, New Pains impose,  
Remorseless Judge of Souls who ere you be,  
Add if thou canst, add to my misery.  
Invent such horrid Torments that shall make  
Hell's Porter fear, and the dark Regions quake.  
Nay more myself affright. Springing from me  
Doth now arise a Monstrous Progeny.  
Me their Progenitor they shall outact  
In wickedness, and guiltless make my fact  
With Crimes unknown, and truly theirs. Each place  
That's void in Hell, I'll furnish with my Race.  
While our House stands, Minos shall have no need  
Of other Clients.—  Meg. 
Cursed Shade, proceed.  
Their hated Bosoms with new fury fill.  
And make them strive which shall surpass in iii.  
Let an alternate Rage their Souls inflame:  
Such a blind Rage that knows nor Mean nor shame.  
Let the first Root of wickedness in Thee  
Grow to perfection in thy Progeny.  
Nor let their Souls find leisure to repent  
A past offence; but still new Crimes invent:  
Doubling their Gild under their Punishment.  
Unsettled be their Throne, and short their Reign:  
While giddy fortune gives them Crowns in vain.  
Let her the Banished raise to Sovereign place.  
And Kings to the same Banishment debase.  
With constant trouble let their Kingdom burn.  
And when the guilty Exiles shall return,  
Let them afresh to their old mischiefs fall,  
As hateful to themselves, as unto All.  
Let Rage think nought unlawful to be done.  
Let Brother, Brother fear; Mother the Son,  
And Son the Mother's wrath. Let Children die  
By wicked hands, others more wickedly  
Be born. Let Wife her Husband kill. And may  
They o'er the Seas their Enmity convey.  
Let effused blood this and all Lands disdain.  
Let conquering Lust over great Captains Reign  
In their abhorred Courts. Let whoredom be  
Counted no crime. Let hence Right, Amity,  
And all accord of the same blood be gone.  
And may their crimes reach Heaven; for when the Sun  
Smiles on the world with an unclouded Ray  
Let horrid Night eclipse the face of Day.  
Fright hence their Household-gods weak Aid; and fill  
Their Place with Hate, death, murder, every iii.  
Be all this house with Garlands now arrayed  
And genial fires, to speak thy welcome, made.  
Then let the Inhumanity of Thrace  
Out-acted be on this more guilty Place.  
Doth yet the Uncle Innocent remain?  
Nor Father yet lament his Children slain?  
When shall their Limbs be from the Kitchen served  
Up to the Table, and in slices carved?  
Let th' Uncle's hearths blush with his Nephew's blood:  
Whiles feasts are made; Feasts furnished with such food  
As is no Novelty to Thee. Behold  
This day is thine, here banquet uncontrolled.  
Now thy long fasting to the full requite.  
Mingled with Bacchus gift, this day, in sight  
Of thee, shall thine own blood be drunk. I now  
Such diet have invented as even thou,  
Thou Tantalus wouldst fly. Already? stay,  
Whether thus headlong dost thou force thy way?  Tan. 
To the Infernal Lakes, and Streams that slip,  
When I would drink, from my deluded Lip:  
Back to the cheating Fruit I fly again.  
Let me return to my old Place and pain.  
Why am I stayed? If I too happy seem,  
Gladly I'll change my banks: And to thy Stream  
O Phlegeton let me be ever bound,  
In waves of fire, while I both burn and drowned.  
Who ere thou art that dost tormented lie  
By the decree of severe Destiny:  
Who ere thou art, trembling and terrified  
Under a ruinous Cave that dost abide,  
Or fearest a falling Mountains ponderous side.  
Who ere thou art, whether thou fearest more  
The Fury's Lash, or hungry Lions roar:  
Who ere thou art who dost, half burnt defend  
Thyself from flying brands, the Voice attend  
Of Tantalus returning, credit me  
Who am experienced, Love your Misery:  
When shall I fly the hated Light?  Meg. 
Engage  
Thou first this house in discord, and wars Rage:  
War, so much loved of Kings in every Age.  
Thus fire their Savage breasts.—  Tan. 
Fates angry doom  
I'd suffer not inflict: behold I come  
Like a dire-Vapour that has cleft the Ground,  
Or a sad Pestilence dispersing round  
Infection through th'affrighted world.— Must I  
To such black Crimes my Nephew's hearts apply?  
Great King and Parent of the Deities,  
And Ours, although it shames thee, Ours likewise;  
My Tongue will not forbear her Office, though  
She double Torments for it undergo—  
Your hands and Altars with such damned Offence  
Profane not: here I'll stand, and guard it hence.—  
Why frightest thou me with threatened blows? what makes  
Thee menace thus with thy contorted Snakes?  
Why dost increase my hunger? Oh my heart  
Burns with new Thirst: Fire feeds on every part.  
I follow thee.  Meg. 
Seeds of Revenge and hate  
Sow in this house. Let this, this be their fate,  
That imitating thee their Sire they, now  
May thirst each others blood as water thou.  
The house thy presence feels; behold, no less  
Than the whole Fabric shakes at thy access.  
'Tis acted to the full. Now sink to Hell  
Thy proper Place, and Rivers known too well:  
Earth's burdened with thy weight. Dost not perceive  
The Springs shrink inward, and their Fountains leave  
The wind, 'gainst nature hot, few Clouds doth bear  
Trees blasted at thy sight, naked appear,  
Their fruit and leaves fallen off. Two Neighbouring Seas  
This Isthmos doth divide, seest thou how these  
At thy sight ebbing do augment their shore,  
And at a new unusual distance Roar.  
Lerna shrinks back, Inachus in full speed  
Sees thee, and stops his Course: nor doth proceed  
Alphaus sacred wave. Citheron's head  
Is white no more, his snowy Peruque fled.  
Such Thirst as Argos underwent of old  
Is feared again. The Son himself, behold,  
Doubts to go on and mend the fainting Light,  
Or the world bury in perpetual Night.  Chorus, Of Argives. 
If any of the Powers Above  
Doth still Achaean Argo's love,  
Pisa's aspiring Turrets, and  
The Kingdoms of this neck of Land;  
If our Twin-Ports and severed Seas  
Do any blessed Immortal please:  
Or tall Taygetus (whose Snows  
Congeal to Ice when Boreas blows,  
But thaw again when milder weather  
Brings the rich Eastern Traffic hither.  
At whose foot clear Alphaus flows  
Renowned for the Olympic shows:  
Hear us propitious Heaven, and bless  
Us from Alternate-wickedness;  
Let not the Nephew's greater be  
Then Grandsire in Impiety:  
Nor this succeeding Age invent  
Crimes which the former never meant.  
May now at length the Progeny  
Of thirsty Tantalus agree,  
As wearied into Peace again:  
Discord hath had too long a Reign.  
Gild nought avails, nor Innocence;  
Both alike punished as Offence.  
Such faith as to his Lord he bore  
False 
* Myrtilus Charioteer to Oenomaus King of Argos, was by Pelops corrupted to betray his Master's Life in a Chariot-Race. By this means Pelops not only won the Race, but his Mistress, whom Oenomaus her Father had appointed the fair Prize of such a Conquest: But Pelops, now his Son in Law and Successor, allowed the Treacherous Myrtilus no other Reward then to be cast into the Neighbouring Sea, from thence called Mart Myrtoum.  Myrtilus found from his Heir,  
Waves gave him death, and to the same  
He in Exchange did give his Name.  
No story better known then this  
To the Ionian Sailor is.  
Thy Infant-Son met death, while he  
Did run to meet a kiss from thee;  
Inhuman Parent; Tantalus,  
Too immaturely falling thus  
A Sacrifice; each part of him  
Thy hand cut out, and cooked each Limb;  
To make a cursed Feast of these  
For the abhorring Deity's.  
Hunger they gave for this Repast,  
And thirst that shall for ever last:  
Nor could a fit Pain have been  
For the Offender or the Sin.  
Deluded Tantalus remains  
Still vexed with Hunger's innate Pains;  
Rich laden boughs hang near his sight,  
Swifter than Birds of strongest flight;  
These stoop to meet his Lips, but then  
Mock his stretched Jaws, and rise again.  
Often abused with this deceit,  
He now neglects the tempting Cheat:  
And though impatient of delay,  
Turns his sad eye another way,  
And shuts his empty mouth again  
Confining there fierce hunger's pain.  
Her Wealth the Tree then lower bends,  
And the insulting Fruit descends,  
At this his Appetite revives;  
But when once more he vainly strives  
To reach the boughs, once more they rise,  
And all the Autumn upward fly's.  
Now Thirst, great as his hunger is,  
Succeeds; when his Veins burn with this  
He Courts the passing Waves while they  
Are by their Current forced away.  
Their empty Channel these forsake,  
And him that strives to overtake:  
Who snatching at the flying Flood  
In greedy haste drinks sand and Mud.   

ACT. II.  Atreus, a Servant. 
DUll Coward that I am! senseless! (and what  
I count in Majesty the greatest Blot)  
O unrevenged! Do I, when Crimes so great  
Are by a Brother acted, such Deceit,  
Such breach of Justice, poorly thus in vain  
My Anger speak? and nothing but complain?  
All Argos now in Arms should own my side,  
And my proud Navy on these Twin-Seas Ride.  
Country and Town should with my firings shine,  
And brighter than those flames this sword of mine.  
Then let this Land groan with our Cavalry.  
Let not our Foe in the Woods skulking lie,  
Nor on the Hills securely fottifie.  
Empty be Argos walls, in numerous swarms,  
While all her People cry to Arms, to Arms.  
Who hides his head, thinking it so to save,  
May he for ever hid it in the Grave.  
Let Renowned Pelops House upon me fall,  
So it my Brother's Ruin prove withal.  
Courage my Soul! something thou now must act,  
All Ages shall report, none praise the fact:  
A Crime that so transendant wicked is,  
My Brother shall in Envy wish it his.  
His Villainy is not revenged unless  
Outdone: But what can pass his wickedness?  
Doth Exile humble him? did ever he  
Embrace a Mean when in Prosperity,  
Or rest content when low? I him for one  
Not to be tamed, sufficiently have known:  
Broke he may be, not bend. Assault him then  
Before he thee assaults, or leavy's men;  
Kill or be killed: this offered is alike  
To both, but he's most safe who first shall strike.  Ser. 
Fear you not, Sir, the People's  
Tongues?  Air. 
Not I:  
For this I count a King's chief Royalty,  
That his bad Actions, all his Subjects are  
By Fear compelled as well to praise, as bear.  Ser. 
Such who by Fear are Loyal made, even those  
Forced by that fear do first become your Foes;  
But if you would true Glory, Sir, attain,  
You o'er the heart, and not the Tongue must Reign.  Atr. 
False Glory have the Great, the Vulgar true.  
Let 'em dislike it, so my Will they do.  Ser. 
Let Kings Command what's honest, and they must.  Atr. 
Such Kings who only may command what's just  
Rule by precarious Power.  Ser. 
Yet needs must be  
That Throne unsettled, where's nor Piety,  
Nor shame of Wrong, nor care of Rights nor Faith.  Atr. 
These private Virtues are. A Crown who hath  
Should know no Law but his own Royal will.  Ser. 
Can you be guiltless and a Brother kill.  Atr. 
What's on a Brother Villainy to act,  
On him but Justice is. What hellish Fact  
Hath he not tried? what escapes him? he his own  
By Whoredom made my Wife, by Theft my Throne.  
By such base frauds he gained the Ancient Sign  
Of Sovereign Power, and next this house of mine.  
A well-known shy-kept Ram, famed Pelops Fold  
Did, his rich Flocks far richer Leader, hold,  
A fleece he not of Wool but Gold doth wear,  
Sceptres of which our new Kings use to bear;  
Who hath this hath the Crown: with it the fate  
Of our house goes along inseparate.  
Safe fed this sacred Beast in Meads, which high  
Fences of stone enclose and fortify.  
This bold attempting Trayter, having made  
My Wife a Party, hence that beast conveyed.  
From this springs all our mutual strife. Now goes  
He through my Kingdoms, and Sedition sows.  
Where's he not guilty? he corrupted hath  
My Wife, ruined my house, and broke his faith;  
My Issue's doubtful, nothing sure but this,  
That my worst Enemy my Brother is.  
Why stopst thou Atreus? on at length begin  
Thy brave Revenge: Courage; mind what has been  
By Tantalus and Pelops done; thine Eye  
And hand withal unto their Deeds apply.  
Then say what course in my Revenge is best?  Ser. 
Let your just sword, Sir, pierce his guilty breast.  Atr. 
Mild Kings do only kill; You of the end  
Of torment speak, I torment do intent.  
A sued-for favour in my Reign shall be  
Bare death esteemed.  Ser. 
Moves you no piety?  Atr. 
Hence thou vain shadow, Piety, if thou  
Waste ever here? hence, I abjure thee now.  
Ye Furies, Hell's black Missionaries, let  
Me beg your aid to make my Rage complete.  
Bring here two brands of your Infernal fire;  
And in this breast a double hate inspire.  Ser. 
What frenzy drives you thus to unknown Deeds?  Atr. 
Such as the common mean of Grief exceeds.  
I'd use the worst of Cruelties, but fear  
They'd all too slight and innocent appear.  Ser. 
The Sword?  At. 
A trifle.  Ser. 
Fire?  At. 
A trifle still.  Ser. 
What Instrument shall your Revenge fulfil.  Atr. 
Thyestes self.  Ser. 
And wrath itself has less  
Of Plague then him.  Atr. 
Horror, I must confess,  
Invades my trembling Soul: I'm forced but know  
Not whether yet I'm forced, and on must go.—  Here Tantalus and Megaera are supposed to pass over the Stage. 
The Centre groans; the Heavens in Thunder speak;  
And all my house cracks as the Roof would break:  
The Lar turn their looks; be done, be done  
This Crime, whose sight the fearful Gods do shun.  Ser. 
What, Royal Sir, do you at length design?  Atr. 
I know not what great Act, beyond the Line  
Of humane Custom, more than usual swells  
My Soul, and forward my slow hand compels:  
What 'tis I know not; something great it is—  [Pauses a while] 
Thus let it be; my Soul, resolve on this;  
A fit Deed for Thyestes, and for me.  
Let us both act.— Th' * Odrysian house did see  The Story of Tereus' King of Thrace. See the Metamorphosis, Lib. 6. 
Inhuman feasts. I grant, the Crime, though high,  
Yet hath been done already; something I  
Would have as new, as bad Progne! Inspire,  
Thou cruel Parent, in my breast the fire  
Of thy Revenge. Our cause is Parallel.  
Assist me; and to act my hands compel.  
Let the pleased Father on his Children feed,  
And carve their Limbs. I this, I like indeed.  
'tis well; exceeding well. But i'th' mean time  
Where's he? And I, why so long free from Crime?  
Methinks I see the Tragic Scene; and how  
He eats himself no Father, even now.—  
Heart! dost thou faint, before thou hast begun  
The Generous Act? It must, it shall be done.  
On then; since he in his own person shall  
Commit the highest Villainy of all.  Ser. 
But by what Wiles can we ere bring him here,  
Whose caution renders him so full of fear?  At. 
I le bate, then take him, with his own Desires.  
He hopes my Crowns; and while he thus aspires  
He'd meet a flaming Thunderbolt; for them  
The Adriatic Gulf he would contemn;  
And pass the Libyck shelves; nay more he will  
(Which he esteems of all the greatest Ill)  
For them his Brother see.  Ser. 
Yet who shall give  
The pledge of Peace? or who will he believe?  Atr. 
Vain hope is credulous. My Sons shall bear  
From me this envy to their Uncle's ear,  
And sue in winning terms, that he would leave  
His Exile for a Palace, and receive  
A Crown with half my Kingdom. Should he prove  
Obdurate like himself; yet this would move  
His children; who in these affairs untaught  
And tired with miseries, are easily caught,  
And they'll prevail with him. Love of Rule here,  
His ancient frenzy; grief and trouble there,  
Though ne'er so obstinate will conquer him.  Ser. 
Time now hath made his sorrows light to seem.  Atr. 
Time doth augment our miseries, not cure:  
They're light to suffer, heavy to endure.  Ser. 
Yet find some other Messengers for this:  
Youth to ill counsel prone and docile is.  
They may by him to act 'gainst you be led.  
Mischief oft falls on the Contrivers head.  Atr. 
No other Tutor than Ambition needs,  
To teach 'em fraud and such Nefarious, Deeds.  
Dost doubt they'll not be wicked made? they be  
So born. And what you think dire Cruelty,  
Is now, perhaps, by him designed on me.  Ser. 
Should your Sons know the Plot, their Childhood may  
(Unapt for secrecy) the same betray.  Atr. 
Silence I've learned from sorrows not a few.  Ser. 
Must they be strangers then to what they do?  Atr. 
Yes: Be they guiltless still. I see no need  
To make my Sons my Partners in the Deed.  
We our Revenge will act alone— My mind  
Thou now dost shrink from what was first designed:  
Spare them, spare him: Let Agamemnon be  
And Menelaus of my Privicie  
In this Affair. Of their Original,  
Doubtful as yet, the truth thus find I shall.  
If they to act their parts unwilling seem,  
And grieve at our Dissension, calling him  
Their Uncle; he their Father is.— Well go  
They shall: but about what they must not know:  
Their dubious face will what's within reveal:  
Therefore from them, and all else, this conceal.  Ser. 
Sir, I conceive this needs not; Faith and fear,  
But chief Faith will closely keep it here.  Chorus. 
At length the happy time occurs  
That reconciles the Successors  
Of Royal Inachus. What made  
Ye thus each others Life invade,  
Unkindly equal Brothers, why  
Sought ye a Crown in such Impiety?  
Greatness ye do not rightly prise;  
Nor know in what a Kingdom lies.  
Riches cannot inaugurate  
A King, nor Tyrian Robes of State,  
Nor Diadems, nor Roofs that may  
With Golden frets outshine the day;  
He is a King whose mind is free  
From every Passions tyranny;  
Whom, nor th'inconstant Vulgars' praise,  
Nor impotent Ambition, sways.  
Such is the man whose richer breast  
Contemns the Treasures of the West;  
Tagus bright Sands, he doth despise,  
And Lybia's wealthy Graneries.  
Whose Soul no terror feels when Jove  
Dischargeth Lightning from above.  
Or when the Adriatic waves  
Swell to the Clouds, and Eurus raves,  
His great heart shakes or shrinks no more  
Than doth the Neighbouring Rocks or shore.  
Whose Noble soul, nor sword, nor spear  
Can subject to unmanly fear.  
He placed in a secure Estate,  
Looks down on all those sports of Fate,  
Grandeur and Triumphs, and sees there,  
How much below his thoughts they are.  
Nor will he murmur at his End,  
But meet pale death and call him friend.  
None of those Kings can him infest,  
The scattered Dacae who molest;  
Or who by that Red Sea abide  
With Pearls enriched and beautified;  
Him the Armenian cannot harm,  
Who so confides in his own Arm,  
He slites th' advantage of his hills;  
Nor German, who when winter chills  
Other men's veins, sports on the Ice;  
Nor Seres clad in silks of price.  
His Kingdom is within: No force  
He needs to keep his Crown, of Horse;  
No need of Swords, or shafts whereby  
The Parthians Conquer when they fly;  
No need of the Balista's aid  
The walls with Battery to Invade.  
Who fears not is a King. And he  
That will, may have this Royalty.  
While he that loves Ambition's pains,  
On the Courts slippery top remains;  
Let me sweet Peace enjoy: content  
I am to live where none frequent:  
There shall I fill my longing breast  
With the still blessings of soft Rest,  
Free from their Knowledge great who are,  
Free from the noise of business, there  
I'll taste my Life, and thus shall I  
Rich in an humble fortune die.  
But heavy doth that death befall  
To him, who too much known to all  
By fame of his great honours past,  
Dies to himself unknown at last.   

ACT III.  Enter Thyestes, Plisthenes, and his Two other Sons. 
My Countries longed for sight I now possess;  
The greatest good that can sad Exiles bless.  
My Native Soil, and Country-gods I see;  
(If Gods they are who so neglected me;)  
I see the towers the Cyclops work that are,  
No Mortal can raise structures half so fair.  
Oft with applause have I at that famed place  
In Pelops Royal Chariot won the Race.  
Me the whole Town will meet returning home;  
Nay Atreus too, whose sight I hate, will come.  
Then let me back again to woods obscure,  
And wish the Beasts a life like theirs endure.  
A Crowns false splendour shall not me inflame:  
Mind not the Gift, but him that gives the same.  
Cheerful I was when in a low Estate:  
Now I from Exile am recalled, and Fate  
Doth smile, I'm sad. Something within doth cry,  
Turn back again: I move unwillingly.  Plisthenes (aside.) 
What means my Father thus his pace to slack?  
He seems much unresolved, and oft looks back.  Thy. 
Why do I waver thus? why do I strain  
My wits, and dwell on that which is so plain?  
Shall I Two such uncertain things as are  
My Brother, and a Kingdom trust? and fear  
Those Ills which time doth now familiar make?  
And my commodious sufferings forsake?  
My former Life, though wretched, pleaseth me:  
Then let me back retire, while yet I'm free.  Plist. 
Dear Sir, why turn you from your Countries sight?  
And why such Royal Presents do you slight?  
Your Brother's wrath is ended, he to you  
Offers a Peace, and half his Kingdom too.  
You to yourself he will restore.  Thy. 
A kind  
Of strange and unknown Terror chills my mind.  
No cause I have, yet fear. I much desire  
Forward to go, yet forced am to retire.  
So have I seen a raging storm prevail  
Against a ship, spite of her Oar and Sail.  Plist, 
Contemn such idle fears, think how at your  
Courted Return you'll have a King's Grandeur.  Thy. 
That, having power of my own Life, I've got.  Plist. 
Power's the chief thing.  Thy. 
Nothing if valued not.  Plist. 
It may descend to us.  Thy. 
Two cannot sway  
One Sceptre—  Plist. 
— who'd not happy be that may?  Thy- 
Believe me Greatness is an empty Name:  
And hard Fate's vainly feared. Since first I came  
Unto a Throne, till it left, I never  
Was free, but even mine own Guards did fear.  
How sweet it is, to live from strife secure,  
To feed on Dishes wholesome though but poor!  
The humble Cottage knows not villainy,  
And slender diet is from Poison free:  
That's drunk in Plate. With good experience I  
Approve the low estate above the high.  

* Here Seneca by a kind of Antecronism, taxeth the Romans in his Age, in their Buildings, Feasts, Baths, etc. of which particulars see at large, Seneca's Epistles 122.  I own no Castles that on hills do stand,  
And from that height the neighbouring Towns command:  
No Ivory frets adorn my roof: and when  
I sleep I'm guarded by no Halbert-men;  
With no whole fleet I fish: No Rampires I  
Build to prescribe the Sea: Nor banquet by  
The Lands Oppression: Nor beyond the Get  
Or Parthian have I Lands as rich as great:  
I'm not adored stead of neglected Jove:  
Nor doth my Palace roof support a Grove:  
I have no Baths like Seas: nor do I choose  
The day for sleep, the night for drinking use.  
Yet in my abject fortune am secure  
Without a guard, and fearless being poor;  
In it I meet content, and to have this  
Without a Kingdom, the best Kingdom is.  Plist. 
But when the gods to us a Crown commit  
We should not slight the Gift—  Thy. 
— Nor covet it.  Plist. 
That you would Reign your Brorher doth desire.  Thy. 
Doth he? that raiseth my suspicion higher.  Plist. 
True Piety from whence she fled doth use  
Back to return, and her lost strength renews.  Th. 
Atreus' his Brother love? first Arctos will  
Set in the waves; Sicilian Seas be still;  
In the Ionian Ocean Corn will grow;  
Darkness will shine, before he will do so:  
First fire with water, wind with waves, and Life  
With death, will enter League, and end their strife.  Plist. 
What fraud suspect you?  Thy. 
All.  
Nor can I see  
What not to doubt from such an Enemy.  Plist. 
How can his Power hurt you?  Thy. 
Me? I despise  
His Rage: Ye only cause my jealousies.  Plist. 
Fear you deceit when in the Trap? we are  
Cautious too late when taken in the snare  
Then let us on.—  Thy. 
— Witness ye gods to this;  
I follow them, I lead 'em not amiss.  Plist. 
Fearless let us proceed. Prosper th' event  
Kind Heaven, let it be good as is th' Intent.  Enter Atreus, Attended. Atr. 
At length the Game which I so long have sought, (aside)  
With all his Breed, in my spread Toils is caught.  
I have him now; and with him my desire.  
Behold Thyestes comes, he comes entire.  
My or'e-joyd soul will temper scarce admit,  
Nor my unbroke fierce Passion know the Bit;  
So when the Vmbrian Lime-hound through the field  
Hunts on a trail; and in a Leash is held;  
Whilst he perceives the Game far off to be  
Silent and staunch on the dead Scent runs he:  
But when the Quarry's nigh, his gesture speaks  
The welcome News; stiff doth he draw, and breaks  
From his slow Master's hand. Rage never could  
Take a Disguise when once her aim was blood;  
Yet mine shall.— Look: do but observe him there  
How his wild superstuities of Hair  
Hang rudely o'er his sad dejected Eyes:  
His Beard too, how undecently it lies.  goes to Thyestes. 
Brother, i've passed my Faith: doubt me no more.  
Your dearest sight doth my lost joys restore.  
Bless me with your so coveted Embrace.  
Henceforth, all Enmity let us displace  
From our abused breasts; and entertain  
The Piety of Brothers once again.  Thy. 
Your Goodness, Sir, is of such force,  
I can't  
Frame an Excuse; but all my fault must grant.  
Your Goodness makes me worse appear one who  
Have wronged a Brother, and a Brother too  
So eminent for generous Love as you.  Knelt. 
I who never did, do weeping, you implore?  
And with these hands that never begged before  
Thus humbly supplicate that you would please  
to pardon all; and for my faith take these,  
These Infant Hostages:—  Atr. 
— Rise from my feet,  
And as a Brother my Embraces meet.  To the Children. 
Kiss me sweet Innocents', esteemed aright  
Both a support to Parents, and Delight  to Thyestes. 
Off with these Rags, wound not my pitying Eye  
With the sad object of your Poverty,  
And Robes assume like mine. More praise I gain  
To give you half, than a sole Monarch Reign;  
Therefore take half my Realm. A Crown to find  
Speaks Chance, but to bestow the bravest Mind.  Thy. 
Dear Brother, may the bounteous gods above  
Return a blessing great as is your Love.  
But my deformed head no Crown will wear;  
Nor this unhappy hand a Sceptre bear.  
A poor Plebeian let me still remain.—  Atr. 
Not so: this Land may well two Kings contain.  Thy. 
what's yours I mine esteem.  
Brother, take all.  Atr. 
who'd flight the savours that from Fortune fall?  Thy. 
who'd not that knows how slippery they are?  Atr. 
Of so great Glory will ye me debar?  Thy. 
Your Glory Sir, you have already won,  
But mine remains, which is such Gifts to shun.  Atr. 
No more Excuse, I beg. Unless you own  
Part of the Government, I will have none.  Thy. 
Well, I accept. Henceforth the Name be mine;  
But I myself with all the Power thine.  Atr. 
Wear then your Crown: while I, without delay  
Th' intended Sacrifice to Heaven pay.  Chorus. 
who'd Credit this? Atreus, of late  
So cruel, and so obstinate,  
When he his suppliant brother spied,  
Conscious of Gilt, stood stupefied.  
Oh Love; what Power can thine excel?  
Discord with strangers long may dwell,  
But where the Ties of blood and thee  
Conjoin, short is that Enmity.  
Private Affronts, though urged too far,  
Raised a Revenge in Public war.  
While new-raised Troops the Country fright,  
And Swords impatient for a fight:  
Now finding what so long they'd sought,  
Look bright and cheerful with the thought.  
Fraternal Piety takes place,  
Forcing the Brothers to embrace,  
Which of your Powers, kind Heaven, to cease  
Hath caused such war in such a Peace?  
When Civil, the worst sort of Foes,  
Did all Mycenae discompose;  
The Mother feared her Infant's Life;  
Her armed Husband's loss, the Wife.  
The conquering Sword, when first they drew,  
O'ercome with peaceful Rust they view.  
Some dress their Arms: some busy were  
The Forts half ruined, to repair:  
Some had Commission to survey  
The Wall, and make up the Decay.  
By some the Gates were strongly barred;  
Others by Night maintain the Guard.  
The empty Name of War doth bring  
More real terror than the thing.  
But now the happy hour appears,  
That sheaths the Sword, and cures our fears,  
Now is the Martial Trumpet dumb:  
Sweet peace, sweet peace again is come!  
So when the Brutian Sea doth rise,  
By Corus' driven to the Skies;  
When from her Caverns Scylla raves,  
Cuffed by the fury of the waves,  
And ships, though in their Haven, fear  
Dreadful Charybdis even there.  
The sweeting Cyclops when they spy  
Waves o'er their furnace Aetna fly,  
Fear angry Neptune though their Sire,  
Will quench the never dying fire.  
And poor Laertes trembling thinks  
His little Ithara now sinks.  
If the winds fall, the Sea appears  
Smooth as the standing Pools, or Meers.  
The trifling Boat now puts from shore;  
Ships that like Islands seemed, before  
Were not so bold. Why name I these  
Frail Barks? the floating Cyclades  
Islands like ships, for motion thought,  
Feared in the storm to be o'er wrought.  
Yet now that Boat becalmed, a sail  
Puts up to catch the wanton Gale.  
They the past storms effects descry,  
And see where drounded fishes lie.  
Fortune's still alter, none can last:  
Yet is the best the soon past.  
The swift vicissitudes of Fate  
Can in a moment change our state.  
He who doth Crowns dispose, before  
Whose Throne all Nations do adore;  Intending, by a former Antecronisme, the RoMan Emperor. 
At whose bare Nod the Medes disband:  
Nor dare the Indians him withstand:  
Nor Dacae with their Cavalry:  
How full of anxious thoughts lives he?  
What Changes do his fears, the while,  
Presage from Fates inconstant smile?  
Then swell no more; Great Souls of those  
Where Heaven doth Sovereign Rule dispose:  
Since that due Homage which we show  
To you, ye to another owe.  
The greatest Kings but Subjects be  
To a Superior Majesty.  
Some with that Sun have set, whose Ray  
Shined at his Rise less bright than they.  
Ah fading Joys! In such who dare  
Confide, or wanting them, despair?  
Clotho with smiles doth Tears commix,  
And lets no Chance of Fortune fix.  
Heaven's greatest Favourite can't say  
I'll live and laugh another Day.  
All our Affairs Fate troubles, and  
Disorders as whirlwind sand.   

ACT. IU.  Nuncius. Chorus. 
Some Whirlwind snatch me hence: by whose fierce aid  
I to th' obscurest Cloud may be conveyed,  
Whence I no more this cursed House may see:  
By Tantalus himself, abhorred to be.  Cho. 
Ha! what means this?—  Nun. 
— What Country's this I tread?  
Argos, and Sparta is it, that hath bred  
Such bloody Brothers? Live Corinthians here  
'Twixt these two Seas, or what I rather fear,  
Barbarous Alani? No Hycanian Breed  
Of Tiger's sure, nor Scythians these exceed.  Cho. 
What Savage Crime blots our unhappy Land  
With such a Gild? Give us to understand.  Nun. 
Can I my Senses recollect, I will;  
When this cold Sweat shall leave my Limbs. For still  
The horror follows me.— Come storms as strong  
As my Desires, and bear me hence, along  
Whether the Sun flies from this sight away.  Cho. 
You aggravate our fears by this delay.  
Quickly the Deed relate, and Author too.  
Which of the Brothers is't? I ask not who.  Nun. 
In Pelops his chief Palace Southward lies  
A Part, that doth like some tall Mountain rise  
To pierce the Clouds, and o'er the Town doth stand,  
Which should the same Rebel, it can Command:  
There stands the Public Hall, whose Roof of Gold  
Rich spotted Marble-pillars do uphold.  
Besides this, where the Vulgar do repair,  
Several as rich as spacious Rooms there are.  
The privy Court i'th' uttermost Recess  
Doth lie, by a Descent from the no less  
Sacred, then secret Grove divided there  
Nor pleasant Trees nor profitable are,  
But mournful Yew, Cypress, and Holm; ye higher  
Than all the rest the tall Oak doth aspire,  
And like a Prince o'er looks the common Trees.  
Our Kings do here consult their Auguries:  
Here they seek Council when affairs appear  
Doubtful or bad, Their Votive Gifts hang here:  
Trumpets of War, and Trophys of the same,  
With what by Land or Sea we overcame;  
The vanquished wheels, and treacherous Axletree,  
And all our Nations Deeds, here fixed be.  
Here's the Tiara Phrygian Pelops wore:  
Here's what in War we took, or triumph bore.  
Under this shade a Fountain stands, a Wave  
So black and sad Dire Styx is said to have,  
Dire Styx that binds the gods. The Fame's well-known  
How here th' Infernal gods all Night do groan.  
Clinking of Chains, howling of Ghosts, make here  
A horrid noise; while what affrights the Ear  
May there be seen: there haunt a Company  
Of wand'ring souls which far more dreadful be  
Then common Spectres; sudden flames oft dart  
Through all the Grove, and fix i'th' highest part.  
Oft hath from thence three Barks at once been heard,  
And oft the House with monstrous Visions scared.  
Nor can the Day expel such fears; for there  
Is ever Night, and these at Noon appear.  
Oraculous Resolves have here been found  
By them that seek, which with a frightful sound  
That fills the Place, arise from underground.  
When Atreus mad with Rage, was entered here,  
Dragging his Nephews, decked the Altars were.  
(Who with fit words can such black Deeds relate?)  
Their Princely hands behind were pinioned straight,  
Their Heads with purple fillets bound: there lies  
Ready both Incense for the Sacrifice,  
And Wine, and Knife: ready prepared for it  
Lies Salt and Meal. No Rite he doth omit,  
Lest not well done should be such wickedness!  Chorus. 
Who to their Execution dares address?  Nun. 
He is the Priest himself: himself doth Pray;  
The Versicles of Death himself doth say.  
The Victims he in order placeth, and  
Standing at th' Altar, takes the Sword in hand;  
Himself attends, and doth omit no Rite:  
This the Grove sees, and trembles at the sight.  
So doth the Ground, which shakes the House withal,  
Whose Turrets doubtful on which side to fall  
Nod every way; Also a Comet streams  
From Heavens left side, which darts forth dismal beams.  
The Wine as soon as cast into the flame,  
Was Transubstantiated, and blood became.  
Oft his Crown fell: the Ivory Statues wept.  
This all affrights; he still his temper kept;  
And stands withal as if he'd terrify  
The threatening gods.— But all delays laid by,  
He now ascends the Altar, with Obliqne  
Looks and Malevolent; Some Tiger like  
In Ganges Forrest, whom fierce hunger fires,  
Between two Steers that stands, and both desires;  
Yet unresolved which first to seize; her eyes  
That threaten Death, to this, then that applies;  
With doubt as much as hunger next; And thus  
On the Devoted looks Dire Atreus.  
Revolving in his mind which should be he  
That first must fall; and which should Second be.  
It matters not; yet takes he much delight  
So high a Villainy to Marshal right.  Chor. 
Which strikes he then?  Nun. 
— Parental Piety  
Lest he should want, first Tantalus must die.  
T' his Grandsire dedicate.  Cho. 
— Oh say, how took  
The young Prince such a Death, and with what look?  Nun. 
Careless of Life he stands, and doth refuse  
In vain to supplicate, or words to lose.  
But Atreus by the throat, him having ta'en,  
Sheaths in his Breast the sword; which out again  
Being redrawn, awhile the body thinks  
How best to fall, then on his Uncle sinks.  
Next Plisthenes he to the Altar brings,  
And decollated, on his Brother flings:  
Down prostrate falls the Trunk; and (with a sound  
Uncertain) the complaining head to th' ground.  Chor. 
What after this Twin-death doth he begin?  
Spares he the child, or adds he sin to sin?  Nun. 
As a maimed Lion equally   
With rage and hunger, sees a Herd of Neat  
In the Armenian woods, pursues and takes  
Many, whose blood his frowns more frightful makes:  
Bulls do his hunger, not his Rage allay,  
And after them he on the Calves doth prey,  
With wearied Jaws: nor otherwise then so  
Is Atreus cruel, such his Rage; who though  
His sword's distained with double slaughter, yet  
He seeks another murder to commit,  
Careless on whom: In the child's breast he then  
Strikes it, which out at's back appears again.  
He falls, his blood quenches the Altars fires;  
Death enters at both wounds, and he at both expires.  Chor. 
O barbarous act!  Nun. 
— Doth this your horror breed?  
There's more behind, he stops not at this deed.  Cho. 
Is there in Nature greater cruelty?  Nun. 
Think you this all: 'tis but the first degree.  Cho. 
What more? did he to beasts their bodies throw,  
And fire deny?  Nun. 
— Would he had only so▪  
Their Sepulture, and funeral Pile denied,  
And cast them out to birds of prey beside,  
Or with their flesh fed Wolves; what does appear  
The greatest curse, had been a blessing here;  
Their ●i●e to see them unenterred.— O crime  
Nor age will credit! the ensuing time  
Will think this fabulous! their inward parts  
He opens, their veins breathing still, and hearts  
Still panting: thence the fates to recollect  
He the warm veins, & Atteries doth dissect.  
The Victims pleasing, now he time can spare  
His brother's entertainment to prepare.  
He cuts them out in joints; close to their sides  
The shoulders from the body he divides.  
Their tender flesh he from the bones doth pair:  
Yet saves entire the heads, and hands which were  
So lately sacred pledges. Th' Inwards they  
Some spitted fore a slow fire drip away:  
Some in the injured caldron boil: while these  
So horrid meats the very fire displease,  
Oft from the hearth it fell, & when returned  
Back to its place, it murmured as it burned.  
The Livers screek upon the spit, nor well  
Which most, the flesh or flames, groaned, I tell.  
The mournful fire in clouds of smoke consumes:  
And even those heavy clouds and ominous fumes  
Directly not ascend, as wont, but fly  
About the household gods, & there they lie.  
O patiented Phoebus! though day backward flies,  
And though thy lustre at the Zenith dies,  
Thou settest too late.— His Sons the Father eats,  
And his own Limbs are his Inhuman treats:  
While with rich Unguents his hair shines, and he  
Sits full of mighty Wine, unwillingly  
Descends the barbarous diet. Only this  
Of good, Thyestes 'mongst thy Evils is,  
You know 'em not: yet even this will sade.  
Though Titan turns his Chariot, which is made  
To measure batk the way it came; though Night  
With shades unusual hides this deed from sight,  
Which from the East doth rise, and out of time;  
Yet will at last be seen each horrid crime,  Chorus. 
Father of gods and men, at whose  
Uprise Night doth her beauty lose,  
Whether, O whether dost thou stray,  
And at thy Noon benight the day?  
What frights thee, Sun? not yet appears  
Vesper the harbinger of stars:  
Nor Hesper shining in the west  
Bids thy diurnal Chariot rest:  
Nor the third Trumpets sound yet made  
A welcome to th' approaching shade.  
Amazed the Ploughman stands to see  
Day end, untited his Team and he.  
What stops thy Race? what is't does make  
Thy Steeds their beaten Road forsake?  
Do now from bed the Giants rise  
Again to fight the Deitys?  
His old Attempts doth Tytius strive,  
With his first fury, to revive?  
Hath now Typhaeus freed his breast,  
Long with the Mountain's weight oppressed?  
Or do the gods Phlegraean foes  
Ossa on Pelion now impose?—  
Al! the known course of time is done!  
No more will set or rise the Sun.  
Days Mother with Nocturnal dews  
Still wet, while now she Phoebus views  
As to her East he back retires,  
Whence he so lately went, admires.  
How ignorant is she to lave  
His steeds in the refreshing wave!  
He stands surprised too, since to this  
New Inn himself a stranger is.  
The morning Sun now sets, whose light  
Yields to a darkness, yet no night;  
On his Recess no stars appear:  
Nor fire shines in our Hemisphere.  
No Moon adorns these shades. What e'er  
This is, Night would it only were.  
Each heart with sudden fear possessed  
Doth tremble, tremble in each breast,  
Lest all should ruined be; least men  
And even the gods themselves, again  
To their old Chaos fall: lest fire  
And sea, Earth and Heavens gay attire  
Of sparkling stars, should now return  
To their first nothing.— No more burn  
Shall thy bright flames, nor Phoebus, thou  
Be longer chief of Planets, now,  
Summer and winter, nor shall we  
Distinguish by the Course of thee.  
No more shall the pale Queen of shades  
Expel that fear which Night invades,  
While she in a less Circle runs,  
And ends her Race before the Suns.  
Into but one deformed lump shall  
The Elements and Planets fall.  
Heavens bless the Zodiac, whose bright way  
Shines with the Lights of night and day,  
Whose Circle parts the Zones, and we  
Measure the Year by its Degree,  
Shall fall from Heaven, and with it then  
These stars set, ne'er to rise again:  
First shall the Ram, who used to bring  
Soft western Gales with the kind spring,  
Plunge in those waves o'er which he bore  
The trembling Helle heretofore.  
Next shall the Bull descend, between  
Whose bright horns are the Hyads seen;  
And draw the Twins and Crab along  
With him from the Celestial throng.  
The Lion then shall down again  
Return, and no more scorch the Grain.  
Down from her heaven the Virgin shall  
Along with her the balance fall:  
With them shall the fierce Scorpion go,  
And he armed with th' Aemonian bow:  
Old Chiron, in his fall who will  
His Quiver break, and arrows spill.  
The winter-leading Goat must be  
The next, and falling break shall he  
Thy waterpot, who ere thou art:  
With thee the Fishes shall departed  
Last of the Twelve. The Bears that never  
Set in the waves, shall now drowned there.  
The Snake that those two Bears divides,  
And like a crooked River glides,  
Shall as all other Rivers, roll  
Into the sea. While from the Pole  
Cold Cynosure the lesser Bear  
Placed by the greater Dragon there,  
With whom Boötes, slow-paced swain  
Shall fall, and drive from Heaven his Wain.  
Selected from Mankind, do we  
This fatal period live to see?  
Must the world fall on us? O Fate  
Wretched and most unfortunate!  
Whether we lose without offence  
The Sun, or guilty, drive him hence:  
Yet cease to mourn: there is no need.  
He's covetous of Life indeed  
Who longer to survive desires,  
When the whole Universe expires.   

ACT. V.  Atreus. 
Now equal to the stars I walk, now I  
Look down, methinks, on others from the sky.  
My Father's Throne, and Ram, I've now regained,  
I've done with Heaven: and my last wish attained.  
'tis very well; exceeding well; and this  
Revenge even for me sufficient is.—  
But why sufficient? I'll proceed, and fill  
With his own blood Thyestes fuller still.  
Lest I should see, and blush at this black deed  
The day retires: While Heaven invites, proceed.  
Would the fled gods might be forced back by me,  
That they this banquet of Revenge might see!  
Yet shall the Father: and let that suffice.  
This darkness that now hides his miseries  
I will dissolve, though day refuse. Guest mine,  
Thou hast too long careless and cheerful line  
've eat and drunk enough. Thyestes needs  
Be sober rightly to resent such deeds:  
Wine drounds his sense.— So there within, who waits:  
Display the Feast, open the Temple gates.  
I long to see, when his Sons heads he views,  
How he will look, or what expressions use  
To speak his grief; or how (his spirit's lost  
At this) he'll stand as if congealed with frost.  
This is my deed: To see him wretched, no  
Delight take I, but in his making so.  The Scene opens, and Thyestes is Discovered. 
Behold the Room with many Lights arrayed:  
On Gold and Purple he supinely laid;  
On his left hand, his head oppressed with Wine  
He leans, and belches. Now methinks I shine  
Chief of the Gods, and King of Kings! In this  
I have priest my wish.— See, see, he is  
Already full; from a large Goblet he  
Drinks unmixed Wine: Drink on; I've still for thee  
One Cup, the blood of the late sacrifice:  
The colour of Red wine shall this disguise.  
And let this Cup conclude this Feast. He mine  
Did thirst, who now shall drink commixed with Wine  
His children's blood.— Hark; he to sing prepares,  
Unable to contain his Joy, light Airs.  Thyestes. 
Thou that so dulled with sufferings art,  
Cast off thy busy Cares, my heart.  
Hence grief, hence fear, and thou ere while  
My old Companion in Exile  
Sad Poverty; hence thou that late  
Didst vex my soul, of my low state  
A conscious shame; of that no more  
I'll think, but what I was before.  
'Tis brave when fallen from high Command,  
Firm and unmoved below to stand.  
Oppressed with mighty Ills, 'tis rare  
And brave, with neck unbowed to bear,  
Of a lost Kingdom the sad weight;  
Nor conquered, nor degenerate,  
But to stand upright under those  
Unwelcome pressures Fates impose.  
These clouds that now thy soul o'er cast,  
And all the marks of misery past  
Cast off, and to thy face once more  
The smiles of soft content restore:  
From thy grieved memory let pass  
The old Thyestes. But alas!  
'Tis proper to th' unfortunate  
Never to trust the smiles of fate.  
Though happiness return again,  
Joy is to them a kind of pain.—  
What grief is this obstructs my mirth  
From no known cause that takes its birth?  
This day of Festival to keep  
What hinders me, and bids me weep?  
With odorous flowrs my head t'array  
What is't doth thus, doth thus gainsay?  
The Roses from my brows descend,  
And my perfumed hair stands on end  
With sudden horror; while apace  
Sad streams o'er flow a cheerful face.  
My mirth with groans is often checked;  
And my late tears I still affect:  
So fond the wretched ever be  
To dote on their old misery.  
Mournful complaints fain would I vent,  
And tear this purple ornament  
Ofttimes our souls prophetic be,  
And droop with sorrows they foresee.  
So when the Sea to swell doth use,  
And no wind breaths, a storm ensues.—  
Mad man! thy mind why thus dost thou  
Disturb, and discompose thy brow?  
Thy Brother trust: now what ere fate  
Befalls, fears causeless, or too late.  
Thus timorous I would not be  
But a strange terror troubles me  
Within, which through my eyes doth pour  
A causeless, and surprising shower '.  
Sorrows effect is this or fears?  
Or hath great Joy its proper tears?  Atreus (going to him) 
Brother, with joint consent let's celebrate  
This day; that will confirm my Regal state  
And 'twixt us two settle a lasting peace.  Thy. 
I'm cloyed with wine and feasting; 'twould increase  
My pleasure, and no small addition be  
To my full Joy, could I my Children see.  Atreus (ambiguously.) 
Be confident they're in your arms, for here  
They are, and shall be; do not fear.  
Nothing of thine shall be withheld: You shall  
Their desired presence now enjoy, I all  
Of thee with thy so loved Issue will,  
Doubt not, most fully satisfy and fill.  
At present with my Sons they celebrate  
This day of Joy: but I will call 'em strait  
First taste our Family's cup filled with choice wine.  Thy. 
Brother, I kindly take this gift 'cause thine.  
First offer to our Father's deities;  
And then we I drink— How's this? my hand denies  
Her office: still the wine's weight heavier grows,  
And loads my arm; while from my Lips it flows:  
About my mouth it rolls, nor down will go,  
See the ground shakes; the Table too doth so.  
The fire itself scarce shines: on the Sun's flight,  
The Sky stands Neutral betwixt day and night.—  
How's this? Heavens connex sinks still lower and lower:  
To darkness joins a darkness that is more  
condensed, and night itself to this is day.  
Each star is fled. What e'er this means, I pray  
That from my Brother, and my Sons it be  
Averted, and the Omen threaten me.  
Restore me now my Sons.  Atr. 
— I will restore,  
And they from thee shall ne'er be parted more.  Thy. 
What tumult shakes me thus within? My breast  
Is with a sad impatient weight oppressed:  
Sad groans I with a voice not mine respire.  
Appear my Sons, your most unhappy sire  
Bids you appear: your sight alone will cure  
This grief.— Whence answer they?  Atr. 
— Make ready your  (Shows the Heads) 
Embraces: they are come,— Now Sir, do ye know  
Your Sons?—  Atr. 
I know my Brother.— Canst thou undergo,  
Dull earth, such wickedness, & bear it thus?  
And not to Styx sink both thyself and us?  
Wilt thou not open that these Kingdoms may  
And King, through thee to Chaos find a way?  
Wilt thou not all the structures of this Land  
Level with their foundations? We to stand  
Both well deserve in hell with Tantalus,  
And other the Progenitors of us,  
If any there. Open now, open wide  
Thy dislocated Joints on every side,  
Down let us sink through some vast cleft of thee  
To Acheron, and there for ever be.  
While o'er our heads th' Infernal shapes appear,  
Flow hither Phlegeton, and settling here,  
Us wretches in thy flaming waters drowned  
Liest thou unmoved still, dull senseless ground?  Atr. 
Here, take thy Sons, so much desired by thee:  
Enjoy them now, there's no delay in me:  
Each of these three alike embrace and kiss.  Thy. 
Is this thy League? thy amity? is this  
A Brother's faith? Thus dost thou love? To have  
Safe or alive, my Sons, I do not crave:  
This I thy brother beg, which no ways your  
Revenge impleads, allow them sepulture.  
I ask but what I'll burn: 'tis nothing I  
Beg to enjoy, but part with by and by.  Atr. 
All of thy Sons I'll give, that I did save:  
What not remains, that you already have.  Thy. 
Lie they a Feast for Birds of Prey? or are  
They for wild beasts reserved inhuman fare?  Atr. 
Thou of thy Sons hast made that impious feast.  Thy. 
'Twas this that shamed the gods! his to the East  
Forced back the Sun wretch that I am what cries,  
What sad complaints, what words will me suffice?  
Their heads and hands chopped off too plain I see,  
And from their Legs how their feet severed be.  
'Twas the presage of this unheard of meat,  
Though pinched with hunger, would not let me eat.  
My bowels roll about, and seek with pain  
A passage for the horrid food, in vain.  
Lend me thy sword died in my blood, and I  
Will to my Sons with it give liberty.  
Is this denied? yet shall with frequent blows  
This breast resound; ah, no! forbear from those  
Unhappy man, and spare the dead within—  
Hath over such a cursed deed acted been  
By barbarous Heniochan that's bred  
On Caucasus? or the Cecropian dread  
Procrustes? oh! my Sons do me oppress,  
And I my Sons.— No mean in wickedness▪  Atr. 
A mean should be observed when first we act  
A wrong, but not when we revenge a fact.  
This is but small for me. I should have shed  
Gore in thy mouth as from the wound it bled:  
That of thy living Sons, the warm blood thou  
Mightst drink: I've trifled with my anger now.  
In haste I gave the wounds. Of them I made  
A sacrifice, I the vowed slaughter paid  
To my wronged household gods: and jointing all  
Their liveless bodies into goblets small,  
I rend each Limb: and some of them I cast  
Into the boiling Cauldron, some I placed  
By a slow fire to roast. They not yet dead  
I cut their Nerves, and members quartered:  
I heard the Inwards groan upon the spit:  
I myself made the fire and looked to it.  
All this their Father better might have done!  
My Rage is spent in vain. 'Tis true each Son  
Of his, his cursed mouth did tear and eat,  
But both the Eater ignorant, and mear.  Thy. 
Ye Seas with wand'ring shores encompassed,  
Hear this! Here this you gods, wherever fled!  
Hear this hell! Earth hear this! and thou Night made  
More black and horrid by a hellish shade,  
Attend to what I'll say, and what is said:  
Darkness I'm left to thee, and only thou  
Sad as myself, canst view my sorrows now:  
No suppliant vows for my concern I'll make.  
Ah! what is that? Nature 'tis for thy sake.  
Great King of Gods, who the World's Sovereign art,  
Bury the Earth in Clouds from every part  
Bid the winds fight, and thou thy Thunder dart.  
Use not that hand which lesser bolts do throw  
To batter guiltless buildings here below:  
But with that hand that levelled Mountains reared  
Three stories high, & Giants that appeared  
Like other Mountains upon them: on us  
Discharge thy Lightning and thy thunder thus.  
Make good the perished day. Let thy fires fly:  
The light that's lost with lightning now supply.  
Doubt not of us whose cause doth call, they be  
Both bad: if not, yet mine is; aim at me,  
Transfix this breast with thy Artillery.  
To their last fire would I my Sons bestow;  
Myself into those Funeral flames must go.  
If nothing moves the Gods, if sinners they  
Neglect to punish: Night, for ever stay  
And hid our Crime; Titan I'll ne'er complain  
So thy bright flames no more return again.  Atr. 
Now I applaud my hands? the Palm I've won.  
I had lost my glory thus had I not done.  
Now my bed chaste I think, and Children mine.  Thy. 
Why should the Infants die?  Atr. 
For being thine.  Vhy. 
With his own Sons dost thou the Father feast?  Atr. 
Ay, the undoubted Sons, which pleases best.  Thy. 
Witness ye Gods.—  Atr. 
— The Nuptial Powers well may.  Thy. 
With a worse Deed who would a Crime repay?  Atr. 
I know what grieves you. To prevented be  
Your next; not what thou hast devoured moves thee,  
But not t' have dressed the same. Thou didst design,  
Ignorant, such Viands should be mine:  
Their Mother helping, thou didst mean to seize  
My Sons, and butcher them as I did these:  
You'd done't, but that you fancied them your own.  Thy. 
Be present ye just Gods: to them alone  
I give thee up for Punishment.—  Atr. 
— For it  
I to thy children's Manes thee commit.   
FINIS.   

MOCK-THYESTES.  

ACT. I.  TANTALUS. MEGAERA. TAnt. 
What Witch of Endor does thus fret me.  
And when I'd stay in hell won't let me?  
Cannot a man be damned in quiet,  
But Haggs must thus commit a Riot?  
You'll whip me out of Hell-doors we ' ye?  
And firk me up, with a Pox te ' ye?  
I must to earth: but pray let's know  
What I must do there ere I go.  
I cannot teach 'em damning there,  
Nor more debauch 'em than they are,  
To Wench, drink, rook, or be uncivil,  
They scorn to learn of a poor Devil.  
'Tis ten to one the Sons of Whores  
Will either kick me out of doors,  
Or think'me a tame harmless Cully,  
And then I'm gone to Nicker-Bully.  
But should I take a Wenches shape,  
'Tis six to four I get a Clap.  
And then how shamefully 'twill urge one,  
That comes from Hell to use a Surgeon?  
All that I say I can make good  
In mine own proper flesh and blood.  
Two Imps I have as very Rakells  
As ere did cling in Newgate shackles:  
Men call one Atreus, and the other  
Thyestes, Atreus' own Brother.  
Rake Hell, and skim the Devil, if ere  
You match 'em, I'll be hanged; that's fair.  Meg. 
Allons; and stand not thus hum drum:  
Or Faith I'll run this Pin i' your bum.  
d'ye think I'll suffer you, conclude  
Whether the thing be bad or good?  
Yet if you wonder at your Mission,  
And why 'tis with such expedition;  
To give your Nephews a kind Visit,  
If you would know the true cause, is it.  
Oh then, and do just as I tell ye:  
First put two live Eels in their belly,  
Which may so operate, and frisk it,  
As if old Nick were in their Brisket.  
Where Nature's dull, we thus must force her:  
(For Devils may learn of a Horse-Courser)  
Then make 'em hector, huff, and swear,  
Curse, damn, and sink, spit, fire, and stare;  
Snatch Spits and tilt at one another,  
And Brother by't off Nose of Brother.  Tan. 
I, say you so? but if you get me  
To do't, I'll give you leave to eat me.  
Perhaps on earth what you have moved,  
Is often done, and well approved;  
And to debauch ones own Relation  
Counted a Genteil Recreation.  
But soft, you ne'er shall get me to it;  
An honest Devil will not do it.  
Do you my Grandchilds suppose  
Bull-Doggs to run full at the Nose?  
Or think you them Cocks, grown so sullen  
To spit themselves instead of Pullen?  
In fine, I tell you once again,  
Tempt me no more, for 'tis in vain.  Meg. 
Well, since I can't this way prevail,  
I le try now to persuade your Tail.  
Your Toby I'll so feaze with this  
Rod that has lain three weeks in piss,  
That you shall beg the thing to do,  
Before we part, and thank me too.  
Come, come, untruss; or must I force ye,  
And call Tisiphone to horse ye?  Tant. 
Oh lay that frightful Engine by.  Knelt. 
Dred Queen, for if it shakes I die.  
And I will your Commands obey  
Like your most humble— as they say.  
But spare my buttocks, let me beg ye;  
For they are tender, dearest Meg.  Meg. 
Enough; I pardon: do not doubt it,  
But let's shake hands, and so about it.  Tan. 
Like a dire Vapour, which some call  
A Blast Hypocondriacal:  
Or like the steem of Candle snuff  
I come, but peacably enough;  
Then fear not Mortals, I will do  
No harm, but stink, and so adieu.  
Madam, when you confer the Grace  
Next, your Command on me to place,  
Henceforth I'll do it without grudging:  
And like a plain well-meaning Gudgeon.  
What ere you offer me I'll swallow.  
Go on sweet Lady, for I follow.  Exeunt. Chorus. 
If any of the Starry Powers  
Value one pin, or us, or ours:  
If Jupiter or Mars ere saw  
A Miss among us worth a straw,  
If we have aught that's worth their care  
Twixt wind and water, or else where  
I wish with all my heart and Soul  
That they our Quarrels would control.  
For this same Atreus and Thyestes  
Are both stark naught who ere the best is.  
Cat after kind exact: 'Tis plain  
That neither of'em cross the strain.  
Pelops their Father was, and he  
Killed his own Wife's Dad a dadde.  
He loved the Sport so well that rather  
Than want a Wench he'd kill a Father.  
Nay more, the most ungrateful Wooer  
Hanged the poor Pimp that helped him to her.  
Now if the Herald's books don't fail us,  
Pelops was Son of one Tantalus;  
He was, as is reported common,  
Of London Town a Sergeants Yeoman;  
Who to arrest a Cook, once came  
In place Ram Ally called by name:  
Some Clerks and Bullies of the Cloisters  
Were there by chance then opening Oysters:  
These seeing their Cook in woeful danger,  
On whom they lay at Rack and manger:  
Or as some say, 'twas chief 'cause  
They saw a Rupture in the Laws,  
And sacred Franchise of the Ally;  
They never stand ye shally shally,  
But take poor Tant and hurl him in  
To Temple Boghouse up to th' Chin.  
But here the Mischief ends not yet  
(To see a Cooks malicious wit!)  
When Tant had stood there half a day,  
He thought him hungry, as we say,  
His Knife unto the Spit he puts ye,  
And pennyworth six of Roast Beef cuts ye;  
In order then to what his heart meant,  
He runs me straight to Tants apartment.  
There holding it down in the Hole,  
He cries you cursed Dog Catchpole,  
Look what is here, does your Maw crave it?  
Yes, when ye are hanged than you shall have it.  
This said, in an heroic strain,  
His hand he snatches up again.  
Then brings the flagon full of Ale,  
Or as some Authors have it, Stolen.  
For Flagons oft have used been  
Both to fill out, and empty in.  
Or as the plain expression is,  
Either to drink in, or to piss.  
Now (as all Cooks do often try)  
Hot stinks do make men devilish dry.  
The cunning Spit-man therefore, thus  
Brings a full Pot to Tantulus:  
Which which the poor Fool reaches at,  
He empties it upon his Pate.  
And this is briefly the first rising  
Of that which we call Tantalising.   

ACT. II.  Enter Atreus, and a Servant. Atreus'. 
'Tis true, my Brother did seduce  
My Spouse, but that's not all th'abuse.  
For Jack as I was saying, if he  
Had done this out of Amity  
And pure good will unto my Wife,  
It had never grieved me, but, used life!  
To Cuckold me out of mere scorn,  
By flesh and blood cannot be born.  Sei. 
That's very true. But still I say Sir,  
How if it were in a fair way Sir?  Atr. 
Lord Jack, thou art just such another:—  
When the thing's clear to make a pother?  
For look ye, Jenny, had she been  
As beauteous as is any Queen,  
Than it might well have been as you say;  
But she's as ugly as Medusa.  
'Twas therefore done you plainly see,  
In spite, and disrespect to me.  
And now, dear Rogue, let think upon't:  
For I'll not put up the affront.  Ser. 
Must my Dame too be guilty made?  
For she was in the Musquerade—  
Couchant, and did, as I may say,  
Act her own part in the foul Play.  
Must she then share in the Purgation,  
As well as in the Recreation?  Atr. 
No Jack; my Wife's my Wife, and she  
Must be indulged as part of me.  
Besides all Women, if you mind,  
Have weaker Vessels than Mankind,  
More frail, and therefore not a little  
Apt to be cracked, and very brittle.  
On this account your pretty Lasses  
Have been compared to Venice Glasses.  
And should we Husbands fume and fret  
For every Rap our Spouses get;  
'Twould be most redicule, and he  
That does it, not at all jentee.  
Then lastly know, we both dispense  
With one another, in this sense.  
And both have Conscience-Liberty  
By Joint-consent of her and me,  
To solace in a Modish manner,  
And she not Curse me, nor I ban her.  
But though my Wife goes Scotfree here,  
I'll make it cost my Brother dear.  
Now honest Jack, I pray you kindly,  
Advise how I may do it finely.  Ser. 
Ah, Master, I'm but simply learned  
To be in things of Weight concerned.  
But since ye ' are pleased to have my answer,  
To this I'll do the best I can Sirs.  
What if we too, and a third Man  
Should catch him Napping when we can;  
And then e'en geld him for a warning?  
This sure will spoil his Trade of Horning.  Atr. 
But should I mayhem him in this sort,  
And then be bring his Action for it.  
What Damage Juries may impose  
For such a Carving, Heaven knows.  Ser. 
Then let him; since th' offence was done  
In blankets, be well tossed in one.  
And so the business shall be ended  
In the same manner he offended.  Atr. 
Well, should I like your way; but this  
Too violent and open is.  
I would some private trick invent  
To give him a sound punishment,  
And yet he never the wiser for it.  
As for the Triumph, I abhor it.  Ser. 
Why then, Sir thus: you need but stay  
Till he too Marry's, and you may  
By amorous Retaliation,  
Debauch his Wife in the same fashion.  
Thus you shall have Sir, (when you do't)  
Revenge, and a fresh Girl to boot.  Atr. 
I like this better than all yet:  
But, Jonney, here's the Devil of it,  
Delay in these things is so hellish,  
It dulls the Sport, and palls the Relish.  
Revenge and Love should both advance  
Sa, Sa, in the brisk air of France.—  
I feel a rumbling in my belly  
To do a thing which I won't tell ye.  
Sure 'tis some Spirit that thus puts  
Me on, and agitates my Guts.  
Well I will on, and never fear it,  
Since 'tis a motion of the Spirit.  
And Spirits less Fanatique are  
In belly then in brain, by far.  
Jack, run; and send some idle Boy  
To you know who with this Envoy:  
That howsoe'er my Carriage past  
May give him cause of some distaste,  
I humbly beg now to be Friends;  
And for those honest Golden Ends  
Beseech him that he would not fail  
To come and taste of my Wife's Ale;  
And when he comes it shall go hard  
But something else shall be prepared.  
You understand me Jack?  Ser. 
Yes Master.  Atr. 
I prithee run a little faster—  
Yet stay. A lose Boy may betray us;  
I'll send my own Sons Menelaus,  
And Agamemnon with a Letter:  
And that will do a great deal better.  Exeunt. Chorus. 
Methinks these are but odd Caprices  
To make two Brothers fall a pieces,  
And quarrel for so poor a thing  
As is a little Cuckolding.  
And what d'ye think Sirs, all this while,  
Is that which makes so great a Coil?  
But a mere empty Name! For the thing  
Was never seen by any breathing,  
Nor felt, nor heard; and why then should  
This word dare to be understood?  
'Tis but an Embryo miscarriage:  
It is the Maidenhead of Marriage;  
And Maidenheads for aught I can see,  
Only consist in a strong Fancy.  
Then Cuckoldy and Pusillage  
Are but two shadows of the Age.  
Twixt which the difference is not great:  
A single and a double Cheat.  
And yet for this men take the pains  
To beat out one another's brains.  
Nor do they spare the other Sex,  
But often break their Spouses necks.  
Then happy she, whose Husband's wary,  
And keeps her caged like Bird-Canary,  
Giving her once a day, with care,  
Linseed and water, fresh and fair.  
Unknown to Town-wits, and unknowing  
Coaches, she spends her time in sewing.  
Or else in spinning, or in knitting:  
And has her belly full of sitting.  
But she that is for Beauty famous,  
And knows a man, abroad, from a Mouse.  
Whose fine French carriage never wants  
Variety of fresh Gallants.  
Much Love without doors while she gets,  
Causing within more jealous heats,  
May die of Husbands bangs perhaps:  
If not, yet of her Servants Claps.   

ACT. III.  Enter Thyestes, with a Bag in his Hand. 
'TIs good before I further go,  
To think if it were best or no.  
Or (as I read once in a Book)  
Before I take my leap to look.  
The scruples then which in my brain lie  
I'll open legally, and plainly.  
The Case is thus. A. lies with B.  
I. S. 's Wife: I: S. sends C  
To A with formal Invitation  
To come and taste of a Collation.  
A. doubts I S. is double hearted,  
Or (if you'll have it word-of-arted)  
A mere Trapanner, and demurring,  
Is not o'er hasty to be stirring.  
The Points are two. First whether A.  
Should go: or, Secondly, should stay.  
The Case being thus stated, hark ye  
How all the Parts about me argue.  
In the first place, my head cries tarry;  
For should he break me you'd be sorry:  
'Tis more then likely he forgets not  
How you used his head: though he frets not,  
Nor shows resentment by much huffing  
Yet he may pay all off with cuffing.  
My back and sides have the same fears  
For bangs: so have for lugs my ears.  
Now on the other side, my belly  
Says go, or else the Devil quel ye;  
There will be Viands choice and dainty;  
And of good Bub no doubt great plenty.  
My Guts will swim in luscious Seas  
Of Ale as strong as Hercules.  
My Eyes cry, on; and leave your fears:  
Or else we'll drowned ourselves in Tears:  
But if you go, we hope once more  
To see his Wife, that honest Whore.  
And there's another part of mine  
That's mad with the selfsame design.  
My members being thus divided,  
Now hang me if I can decide it.—  
But look: while here I stand and ponder,  
Some body comes to meet me yonder.  
'Tis he himself with a clean Band on.  
This is an honour, and a Grand one!  Enter Atreus. Atr. 
My dear Thyestes!  Thy. 
Dearest Dear! Embrace.  Atr. 
How glad am I to see you here?  Thy. 
And how does all at home Boy?  
Cranky?  Atr. 
All reasonably well, I thank ye—  Thy. 
But how, but how, does your good Wife?  Atr. 
Oh, lusty (as they say) for life:  
As brisk, as jolly, and as airy  
As a young Kitlin, or a Fairy.  Thy. 
And how does all your Children, lastly:  
And honest Towser the old Masty?  Atr. 
All at your Service, my dear Sweeting.  Thy. 
Lord, how ye are altered since last meeting  
Methinks you're grown more tall & bony.  
But for those Breeches, I'd not known ye.  Atr. 
Brother, once more I'm glad to see ye:  
And if ye ' add brought ' your Puss-Cats wiye  
My happiness had been complete.  Thy. 
Sweet Sir, if that will do the Feat;  
They're in this bag, and at your service.  Atr. 
More welcome than Sunshine in Harvest;  
Then nine a clock to Apprentice boys  
In winter nights; or Marriage-Joyes  
To crooked Virgins, is each Puss  
To, Sir, your Servant Atreus.  
But wherefore are they thus conveyed,  
Like Pig in Pocket— Masquerade?  Thy. 
To let 'em beat upon the hoof  
Thus far, had merited reproof.  
For surely Brother, it is fitting  
They ride when they go a Visiting.  
Therefore to save their feet a labour,  
I stole this Cock-bagg of a Neighbour:  
And it as well serves their turn, for aught  
I see, as a guilt Coach or Chariot.  Atr. 
'Tis very true— But see, we are come  
To the Frontier that is, e'en at home.  
Repose a while, pray, in the inner  
Parlour; and I'll go hasten Dinner.  Exeunt. Chorus. 
How suddenly these Brothers twain  
Fell out? how soon they're Friends again?  
Can any man alive imagine  
Peace after such a huff and raging?  
Well: though I say't that should not say't,  
True Love cannot be long in hate.  
So have I seen (as Poets say)  
Domestic Dudgeon in a Fray.  
When Cobbler's Wife 'gainst Cobbler, for  
Prerogative, denounces War.  
Cob calls Tib Bitch, and takes his stirrup  
With which he vows he will firk her up.  
But Tib as valorous as a Lass  
As ere Penthesilea was,  
Scorns to turn Tail on any man,  
But bids him do the worst he can:  
Then snatches up a basting Ladle.  
With which she vows to break his Noddle.  
And to defend herself from him,  
Takes for a buckler her Wheel Rim.  
Thus armed, they both begin the fight  
With all the Conduct requisite.  
Fury had but a while run lose,  
When Cob was glad to beg a Truce:  
And Tib, who was no Jew nor Heathen,  
Cranted a time we call a breathing.  
Now Cob takes up his Awl and Pinser,  
As the best Weapon to convince her.  
Tib changes hers too, and thinks fit  
To play it out at single Spit.  
So skilfully she Fenced and Parryed,  
That the poor Cuckold she soon wearied.  
At length when Female Rage what spent,  
Tib to a Treaty does consent.  
Then over half a dozen of stolen—  
Beer, or perhaps Beer and Ale,  
Which Cob had sacrificed to Peace,  
All's well again; and Discords cease.  
Thus 'twixt the Brothers it has been:  
First they fall out, and then fall in.  
O what a Jilt is Gammer Fortune?  
No Weathercock is more uncertain.  
A Spinster of so rough a hand,  
That when her work seems at a stand,  
She gives her Wheel a whisk o'th' sudden,  
And stirs all round like Hasty Pudden.   

ACT. IU.  Nuncius. Chorus. CHo, 
Pray Master Nuncius, what does vex ye?  
If one may be so bold to axe ' ye.  Nun. 
Oh! heavy News as happened ere yet!  
So heavy I can scarcely bear it.  Cho. 
Ah well away, this does so quell me  
I could even cry, before you tell me.  
But let us hear it, with your favour,  
How bad so ere the Tale does favour.  Nun. 
For Love's sake tarry but a little,  
And you shall know it every tittle.  
I'm one that need but little dunning:  
Only I'm out of breath with running.  
Ay me. Alas, alas, Highoe.—  
Sirs, in the first place you must know,  
There were three dainty Tabby Cats  
Thyestes loved as well as Brats.  
Nay sure no Chuck nor Child could be  
So dear to him as were these three.  
I, and they were such pretty Creatures,  
No Miss could match dear Puss for Features.  
Sweetly they'd pur, and briskly they  
Would lie upon their backs, and play.  
But if by chance they caught a Mouse  
Lord! how they'd dance about the house?  
And having found the little Ceeature,  
They always coarse her ere they eat her.  
While Noble sport Thyestes found  
'Twixt Muss the Hare, & Puss Grayhound,  
Now when our Neighbour Gaffer Atreus  
Seemed to his Brother very gracious:  
Late sending to Thyestes Greeting,  
He bid him to a merry Meeting;  
To which his welcome should be such,  
That even his Dog should have as much:  
His love to him was so sincere,  
That any thing of his was dear.  
This was his Message; and i'th' end on't—  
Pray bring along the Cur appendent.  
At this Thyestes heart was truly,  
Soft as May-Butter is in July:  
And melted down into his breeches,  
To hear his Brother's kind beseeches.  
But being well Educated, he  
Did in this manner Repartee.  
He tells him first that he will come;  
But fears to be too troublesome.  
Next, with due thanks, he does confess  
He keeps no Dog, nor great nor less.  
A Leash of Cats, indeed, he never wants;  
And they are his most humble Servants.  
The Messenger a man of Honour,  
Replied in this obliging manner.  
He loves a Puss as well as any:  
Bring all your Cats though never so many.  
And when you are at Dinner set,  
They shall be into th' Dairy let;  
Where they new Milk & Cream shall lap:  
I, and some Firmity perhaps.  Chor. 
This was all done en Chevalier.  Nun. 
True, but the sad Tale ends not here.  
Thyestes comes, as he was prayed,  
With his Retinue abovesaid.  
Atreus in very civil fashion  
Gives him a kind Accommodation,  
Pray take a seat, quoth he, I'll wait  
Upon you, dearest Brother, straight.  
When out; the door he opening wide,  
Beckons the Kittins a to side.  
Suspecting nought, they follow; whom  
He leads into a Drawing Room,  
Which was a neat convenient place  
Contrived just under the staircase.  
When seeing his advantage pat,  
He snickles up the Eldest Cat.  
While the rest wonder what the man meant,  
Esteeming this corpse Entertainment,  
He hits me one full on the Sconce  
With a Battoon made for the nonce.  
So well the blow he reinforced  
That Puss must needs give up the Ghost;  
Had her Nine Lives been twenty one  
Her Lease was now not worth a bone.  
In fine, he killed the other lastly,  
Though the poor Creature looked most Ghastly.  Cho. 
O Ruthful Act!— Nun. 'Twas sad indeed:  
Put sadder that which did succeed.  Cho. 
Can there be worse than this is still?  Nun. 
Yes, this is but a Peccadill.  Cho. 
Did he for Hawks-meat keep the Carrion?  
Or hang 'em up in the next Warren.  Nun. 
Would it had been as you have said.  
No: he insulted o'er the dead.  
And in a strain most furious,  
Spoke thus to each deceased Puss.  
Butcher's are scarce, and dear their Meat:  
You'll make a most obleiging Treat.  
Delicious Diet, oh how rare!  
Then reckons up his Bill of Fare.  
This shall a roasted Coney be.  
And this shall make a Fricasee.  
And thou, quoth he, that there dost lie,  
Shalt make an excellent Hare-Pye.  
Briefly, he cooked 'em: laid the Cloth:  
Then served them in; but first some broth,  
And now Thyestes (oh sad thought!)  
Eats his own Cats, suspecting nought.  
Methinks 'tis very dark; I think  
I'd best go in and light a Link.  Exit. Chorus. 
Noble Don John of Aries,  
What is it does you thus displease.  
What makes you hid behind a Cloud  
That pretty Face, as if grown proud?  
Has some Star-Gazer wronged your Fame,  
Using, to Vouch a Lie, your Name?  
And we who hate their Impudence  
Are punished thus for their Offence?  
'Tis a sad thing, and to be pitied,  
That where a Felony's committed,  
A Jury of Albumazars  
Find Billa vera of the Stars;  
As Accessarys, scilicet  
By knowing and concealing it.  
Nay some there are who in their writing  
Pronounce 'em guilty by inciting.  
If any miss a Ring or Spoon  
Strait these examine Mistress Moon,  
As Queen of Nimmers, or what's worse,  
Executrix of Moll Cutpurse.  
Never was Bull so bated as is  
Taurus by these wellwilling Asses.  
The Twins cannot embrace in quiet,  
Nor do that thing which they don't pry at.  
Cancer hath been so teazed, and took up,  
That he starts back if they but look up.  
Virgo 've so abused, they force her  
To lose her Name, and take a Coarser.  
For who can think her , with whom  
Men so familiar are become?  
And in the like abusive fashion  
They vex each Star, and Constellation.  
Leo can't fright 'em from it, no  
Nor Saggitare, nor Scorpio:  
But still with their Impertinency's  
They fret the Stars out of their senses.  
Yet must these Almanac Scribblers  
Be to the Planets thought Well-willers.  
So Pedagogues that i'll the Bum,  
In that do the Boy's Friends become.   

ACT. I.  Atreus Solus. SO: 
Now I ve taken a Revenge  
Will be as Famous as stonehenge.  
Succeeding Ages will scarce credit  
What I have done, when they shall read it:  
How kindly I did circumvent,  
And treat him in a Punishment;  
Yet gined him too as home and fully  
As ever Whore gave Clap to Bully.  
To feast my Guest with his own Cat,  
Is Paramount Revenge, that's flat.  
But still to make't more Tragical,  
Thyestes at my feet shall fall;  
Dead drunk with double lanted Ale,  
In which I'll scrape my left Thumb nail.  
Right: that will make a charming potion.  
See where he comes to meet the motion,  
Singing Old Rose, and Jovial Catches.  
But I'll retire a while; and watch his  
Leisure, without like a poor body,  
Lest I disturb the sweet Melody.  Exit. Enter Thyestes, sing. Thighs. 
Come lay by your Care, and— No, no,  
That's not the Key, I am too low.  
Try once more— Come lay by your Care  
And hang up your sorrow— I there!  
What follows? oh— Drink on, he's a Sot  
That ere thinks of to morrow— What,  
Is forecast bad? and is it naught  
To drink a health to one's good Thought?  
Me thinks this Song is too too Frolic;  
I'll try one that's more Melancholic.  
Beneath a Myrtle shade— But mum;  
For now my Tears begin to come.  
And whosoever dares engage her,  
I'll weep with Maudlin for a Wager.  Enter Atreus. Atr. 
Brother, how is't?  Thy. 
Thank ye, good Brother.  
Pray how comes all this smoke & smother?  Atr. 
Smoak? where?  Thy. 
Why all about the Room.  
Ten Chimny's can't make such a Fume.  
Look where it rises at your Feet:  
It makes my Eyes run o'er to see't.  Atr. (aside.) 
See, see, how the poor Baby cries.  
Sure 'tis the Ale works through his Eyes.  
'tis even so, the sottish Drinker  
Is got as Fuddled as a Tinker.  
But that shan't serve: I'll make him ere  
I've done, as drunk as any Bear.—  
Brother, my Wife desires to be  
Remembered to you, and d'ye see;  
Has sent you here a merry Wasail,  
Which is as good as she, or as Ale  
Could make. A taste of Love she meant it,  
And therefore Kissed the Cup, and sent it;  
You understand me?  Thy. 
Very well.  
Thy Wife's an honest Doxy-Dell.—  
Without all doubt, this cunning Gipfy.  aside 
Longs for once more, or I am tipsy—  
Give me the Bowl— (drinks)— Now tell the Quean  
All's off; and she'll know what I mean.  
And hark ye. Tell her that I greet her  
Kindly, and will not fail to meet her.  Atr. 
Good.—  Thy. 
Hark ye, Brother, does your Room  
Here, learn to dance? So I presume:  
It turns upon the Toe so smoothly,  
And quick withal, I tell you sooth,  
It makes me giddy with its wheeling!  
Motion, and sets me to a Reeling—  Atr. 
Reeling, that's my Cue. Now I may  
Discover the Intrigue o'th' Play.  
Since in that door the Wind is got,  
'Tis time to reconcile the Plot.—  
How do you like your Cats my Friend?  Thy. 
Well; but I dare not much commend  
For fear you steal 'em; nor is this same  
Fear vain and Pannique, for I miss 'em.  Atr. 
Alas 've miscarried all to day,  
Some hanged, some drowned, as one may say  
And 'cause they should not basely fall,  
'Twas I, dear heart, that killed 'em all.  Thy. 
Was this done like a loving Brother?  
Or like a Friend? Sure neither nother.  
But let that pass. I'll spare my Curses—  
Their skins will make me three good purses  
I'll go and flea 'em.  Atr. 
But the Jest is  
You have dined upon 'em, dear Thyestes.  
And I both Butcher was, and Cook  
To serve you Sir.  Thy. 
Now I could puke▪  
O Cuckold Cook to Treat me thus!  
O hated Hang-dog to hang Puss!  
O Son of an old rotten Whore!  
In fine— I'll sleep and tell you more.  Lies down. Atr. 
Io, Victoria! now at last  
By me, and Fortune thou art cast.  
Lie there. Such Victories as these are  
Will swell me up as big as Caesar.  
When the High Germans he bombasted.  
Less Triumph and content he tasted.  
Even now, since thus my Brother fell,  
I seem as tall as a High Constable.   
FINIS.   

EPILOGUE.  
THus, Readers, have ye seen Thyestes Feast,  
Both as a History, and a Jest:  
The substance and the shadow of the Play.  
No doubt you are great Judges now— Faith say  
Which Diet likes ye best, as 'tis before ye?  
Or which of these you think the truest Story?  
Whether Heroic Fustian dressed in Meeter,  
Or Mimmick Far in Jingling Rhyme sounds sweeter?  
Which raises most Concern, which most surprise,  
No Plot, no Characters, or no Disguise?  
Say what you please of Seneca, it is  
All one to him whether you Clap or Hiss.  
But know, th' applause which Stationers desire  
Is not so much to praise a Muse as buy her.  
What e'er your Authors, or your Actors think,  
Your Man of Trade admires not Claps, but Chink.