Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TALE OF TROY, by GEORGE PEELE


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THE TALE OF TROY, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In that world's wounded part, whose waves yet swell
Last Line: I cannot tell, but may imagine so.
Subject(s): Trojan War


IN that world's wounded part, whose waves yet swell
With everlasting showers of tears that fell,
And bosom bleeds with great effuse of blood
That long war shed,—Troy, Neptune's city, stood,
Gorgeously built, like to the House of Fame,
Or Court of Jove, as some describe the same;
Under a prince whom, for his happy state,
That age surnam'd Priam the Fortunate,
So honour'd for his royal progeny,
Blest in his queen, his offspring, and his country:
Y-clyppèd Stately Hecuba was she,
A goodly creature of such majesty
As well became her princely personage;
And, long before she tasted fortune's rage,
With twenty sons and daughters, wondrous thing,
This lusty lady did enrich her king,
Fruit not unlike the tree whereof they sprung;
The daughters lovely, modest, wise, and young;
The sons, as doth my story well unfold,
All knights-at-arms, gay, gallant, brave, and bold,
Of wit and manhood such as might suffice
To venture on the highest piece of service:
His peers as loyal to their royal lord
As might ne tainted be for deed or word;
His court presenting to our human eyes
An earthly heaven or shining paradise,
Where ladies troop'd in rich disguis'd attire,
Glistering like stars of pure immortal fire.
Thus happy, Priam, didst thou live of yore,
That to thy hap could naught be added more
Till 'mong the gods I wot not which was he
Envýing tho this happiness to thee,
Or goddess, or accursèd fiend below,
Conspiring thy Troy's wreck and overthrow,—
Alack, that happiness may not long last,
That all our braveries been so brief a blast!—
Till one, I say, revengeful power or other
Buzz'd in the brain of the unhappy mother
A dreadful dream, and, as it did befall,
To Priam's Troy a dream deadly and fatal.
For when the time of mother's pain drew nigh,
And now the load that in her womb did lie
Began to stir and move with proper strength,
Ready to leave his place; behold, at length
She dreams, and gives her lord to understand
That she should soon bring forth a fire-brand,
Whose flame and fatal smoke would grow so great
As Ilium's towers it should consume with heat:
And, counsel taken of her troublous dream,
The soothsayers said that not swift Simois' stream
Nor Xanthus' icy waves might quench the fire
That did this brand 'gainst Troy's proud walls conspire.
Which to prevent (a piteous tale to tell)
Both sire and dame 'gainst law and kind rebel;
And, that this fear might soon be overblown,
This babe from Troy withouten ruth is thrown.
But tempted may the gods, not mockèd be:
It is thy fate, nor mayst thou, Troy, foresee
What must befall, thou mayst it not foreknow:
Yet Paris lives, and men him callèd so;
He lives a shepherd's lad on Ida hills,
And breathes a man 'gainst Troy and Trojans' wills,
That threatens fire to Troy, a jolly swain.
And here me list leave Priam and his train,
And tell of Paris yet another while;
How he can nymphs and shepherds' trulls beguile,
And pipen songs, and whet his wits on books,
And rape poor maids with sweet-alluring looks:
So couth he sing his lays among them all,
And tune his pipe unto the water's fall,
And wear his coat of grey and lusty green,
That had the fair Œnone never seen
His ticing curlèd hair, his front of ivory,
The careless nymph had ne'er been so unhappy.
Then was the time when Flora dight with flowers,

Like Iris in her pride and parti-colours,
Sate in her summer arbours like a queen,
And deck'd the earth with yellow, blue, and green;
Then Phœbe gan a solemn hunting make,
A feast for Pallas', Juno['s], Venus' sake;
And on that Ida, where King Priam's son,
Paris, this lovely shepherd's swain, did won,
A sudden strife and variance did befall
Among those goddesses for a golden ball,
That Ate brought from hell, a fatal fruit,
And threw among them at Dame Tellus' suit,
That, all too weak her burden to sustain,
To Saturn's sons did of her load complain,
Whose swelling womb the gods agreed to ease
By slaughtering war a-land and wrecks by seas.
And fatal was it to this shepherd's boy,
That in his bosom bare the bane of Troy,
To wander by that sacred place alone
(Belike his nymph and walking-mate was gone);
And there was chosen judge to end the strife
That after cost full many a man his life.
And thus this doughty daysman, as I read,
Did crankly venture on this thankless deed:
Whom Juno first, that proud and stately goddess,
Entic'd with offer of much wealth and richess;
And certes gold hath store of eloquence.
Him Pallas eke, the queen of sapience,
Tempted with wisdom and with chivalry,
To win the golden ball bequeath'd to beauty.
But neither wealth nor wisdom might him move,
When Venus gan t' encounter him with love.
So, led away with over-vain conceit,
And surfeiting belike on pleasure's bait,
As men are wont to let the better go
And choose the worse, this jolly herd-groom, lo,
In hope to win the flower of gallant Greece,
Fair Helena, that brave and peerless piece,
Giveth the prize to Lady Venus' grace,
And ends with endless war this doubtful case.
Ah Paris! hadst thou had but equal eyes,
Indifferent in bestowing of the prize,
Thy human wits might have discernèd well
Where the true beauty of the mind did dwell:
But men must err, because that men they be,
And men with love y-blinded cannot see.
Throughout the world the rumour being blown
Of this event, the man was quickly known,
And homewards comes, forsooth, to luckless Troy,
Of yore a shepherd's lad, King Priam's boy;
And in his bosom lodg'd an uncouth heat,
The strength whereof began to grow so great
That needly Paris must prepare to see
What might the substance of the shadow be
That yet his fancy wrought upon so fast.
So, furnishèd with men and ships, at last
To Lacedæmon doth this minion come;
The winds made way, the sea affording room:
In fine, the cut and voyage seeming short,
The knight arrives at Menelaus' court,
Where such his entertainment was, I find,
As justly might content a princely mind;
For she was there to give him welcome tho,
Who more his inward sense than eyes did know:
A lusty, brave, and lovely dame was she,
A lass well worthy to be Paris' fee,
The queen herself that hight fair Helena,
Whom yet unseen his thoughts did all obey;
And by the hand she takes this gallant guest,
And gives him entertainment of the best.
Yet stately Troy did flourish in her pride,
And Priam, whom no king might mate beside,
Till love and hate together did conspire
To waste this town with swift-devouring fire.
The Prince of Troy gan easily now to see
How well her person with her fame did gree;
When calling on Dame Venus for his due,
The King of Sparta with a lordly crew
Must post from home, and leave his wife, forsooth,
To give Sir Paris welcome for his tooth:
Thus Venus first, to help love's policy,
Advantag'd him with opportunity.
And now, as lovers wont their time t' espy,
This lover can his task full well apply,
And strives to court his mistress cunningly,
(No whit in fear of women's surquedry,)
Whose tender breast the conquering god of love,
As will'd his dame, with arrow gan to prove,
And found it fit for love's impression.
No sooner was King Menelaus gone
But Helen's heart had ta'en so great a flame
As love increas'd with Paris' only name:
And now she doth survey his lovely face,
And curiously observe each courtly grace;
And after large disputes of right and wrong,
What did to love and womanhood belong,—
Ah, that this love will not be over-rul'd,
Ah, that these lovers nill be better school'd!—
After sweet lines, that from this stranger's pen
Came swiftly to her reading now and then,
Regard of honour thrown aside by this,
She arms her boldly to this great amiss;
And, for her heart was from her body hent,
To Troy this Helen with her lover went,
Thinking, perdy, a part contráry kind,
Her heart so raught, herself to stay behind.
And thus hath Paris with his cunning caught
The dainty bird that all so far he sought.
No sooner were they started thus away
But that the king, yet all too late a day,
Had news of this unworthy treacherous deed,
And after (says my story) makes some speed;
But hardy Love, that hath no leaden heels,
Tied wings belike unto the Trojan's keels.
Away flies Paris with his chased prey,
As blithe as bird of morning's light in May,
And lands in Troy the beauteous Helena;
Whom agèd Priam and Queen Hecuba,
And all their noble sons and daughters too,
Welcome with royal feasts and great ado,
And every lovely dame and courtly knight
Salute, to do their sovereign honour's right.
The peers, the princes, and the lords of Greece,
Touch'd with the rape of this reproachful piece,
Not able to endure this villany,
Dishonour to their state and country,
In fury gan the quarrel undertake;
Not all alone for Menelaus' sake,
But to rebuke and to avenge beside
Helen's revolt, Paris' adulterous pride;
Making provision for a long-liv'd war,
That wounded all so deep as yet the scar
Remains, and will abide from day to day,
That teeth of fretting Time shall never wear away.
In Aulis' gulf they mightily assemble,
Whose power might make the proudest Troy to tremble:

Lord Agamemnon there among them all,
With Greeks' consent, was chosen general.
Before this time a while, as I do read,
Ulysses, by the wit of Palamede,
Unhappy man, was fetch'd from Ithaca,
Yet well could counterfeit a cause of stay
To tarry with his wife Penelope;
But private cause must common cause obey,
And though he feigned madness for the nonce,
Yet could Sir Palamedes all at once,
To sift his wile, lay down his tender son,
Whom while the sire refus'd to over-run,
That play'd the frantic ploughman there in vain,
He roundly brought him to the Argive train;
Who, for the hate he harbour'd in his head,
Nill cease till this Sir Palamede was dead.
So Peleus' valiant son, the great Achilles,
That lately with the Grecians went to seas,
Restrain'd a while in habit of a woman,
Unworthy wrong done to so brave a man,
Ulysses with his toys and trifles trim,
In pedler's base array, decipher'd him.
The flower of Greece and armies all by this,
For want of wind, had hover'd long in Aulis:
What mighty men misdo the meaner rue;
So great an ill by lingering did ensue.
So far enrag'd was angry Artemis
With Agamemnon's sin and small amiss
For striking in the chase a gentle hind,
The Grecians pine, Phœbe restrains the wind:
And, will he, nill he, Agamemnon must,
If he will termèd be a general just,
Despatch some trusty messenger or page,
Under pretext of love and marriage,
To fetch to Aulis' strand the Argive queen
To see the spousals of fair Iphigen;
And Prince Achilles was her fere misnam'd:
But all untowardly the business fram'd;
For Clytemnestra had espied ere long,
At their arrive, the fetch and fatal wrong.
In few, the virgin slain in sacrifice,
The Greeks have wind at will, the waters rise.
How many ills do follow one annoy!
Now merrily sail these gallant Greeks to Troy,
And scour the seas, and keep their compass right:
Away they fly, their tackling toft and tight,
As shoots a streaming star in winter's night;
A thousand ships well-rigg'd, a glorious sight,
Waving ten thousand flags, they leave the port;
And, as ye wot, this war and tragic sport
It was for Helena.
The King of Troy gan quickly understand
How Greeks with all their power were hard at hand;
And sadly do the peers their prince advise,
The while in rage Cassandra calls and cries,
"Render, ye Trojans, to these madding Greeks
The dame that all this expedition seeks."
And to this battle, bruited far by fame,
Great aid of arms on either party came:
From Tyber and the quaking Tanais,
To Troy, the queen of Amazons by this,
Penthesilea, with her warlike band,
Arrives in honour of King Priam's land.
And over-long it were for me to tell
In fury of this war what hap befell;
How many Greeks, how many Trojan knights,
As chivalry by kind in love delights,
Upon their helmets can their plumes advance,
And twist their ladies' colours on their lance.
So doth this love make men adventurous:
So hardy was the true knight Troilus,
And all for love of the unconstant Cressed,
T' encounter with th' unworthy Diomed.
But leave I here of Troilus to say,
Whose passions for the ranging Cressida,
Read as fair England's Chaucer doth unfold,
Would tears exhale from eyes of iron mould.
And that I may give every man his right,
Sir Paris mounted, in his armour bright,
Pricks forth, and on his helm his mistress' sleeve:
How could that sight but Menelaus grieve?
And now the Greeks, and now the Trojans may,
As pleaseth Fortune, bear away the day.
The time of truce set down by martial law,
The dames of Troy with lovely looks do draw
The hearts of many Greeks and, lo, at last
The great Achilles is enthrallèd fast,
That night ne day he might his rest enjoy;
So was his heart engagèd whole to Troy,
That now no more of arms this warrior would,
Or, mought I say, no more for love he could:
The camp complains upon his love and sloth,
And charge him with his knighthood and his oath.
Now rides out Hector, call'd the scourge of Greeks,
And, like the untam'd panther, pries and seeks
Where he may prove his strength, and, storming thus,
He lights upon Achilles' friend, Patroclus.
King Peleus' son, thus rous'd, soon gan him greet,
And, lion-like, runs fiercely him to meet,
For rescue of his friend, as he were wood,
And charging so his staff in furious mood,
As falcon wonts to stoop upon his prey,
Forgetful of the fair Polyxena,
As Hector had unhors'd Patroclus tho,
Despoiling him in field, the more the woe,
Unwares to wreak Patroclus' death beleek,
He slays a peerless Trojan for a Greek;
And having thus perform'd this piece of treason,
He triumphs in the spoils of Priam's son.
The Grecians now do clap their hands for glee;
But blood will blood, so ever mought it be.
The Trojans' glory now gan waxen dim,
And cold their hope, sith death had seizèd him
That gave them hope and happy fortune too.
The mother-queen withouten more ado
Gins whet her wits to wreak this malice done
And traitorous murder of her valiant son.
When Hector's death was more than half forgot,
Or at the least dissembled well, I wot,
Right wisely doth this lady offer make,
That if the Prince Achilles list to take
His love, her daughter Polyxene, to spouse,
In Pallas' temple should they make their vows:
And this the queen, that reck'd no law of arms,
Vow'd clear to him and void of further harms.
But when the Greek did little think of guile,
To work revenge for Hector's death the while,
Even in the fatal place Sir Paris than
With poison'd arrow rid the heedless man;
And where his mother Thetis had him hent,
Close to the heel th' envenom'd shaft was sent.
Now lies the great Achilles dead in Troy;
The Greeks make moan, the Trojans leap for joy,
And Priam doth bestow his bloodless bones
Upon his discontented Myrmidons.
Immediately began an irksome brawl
Among the lords and Grecian princes all
About the armour of this valiant knight.
Sir Ajax first doth claim it as his right;
So doth the gracious Lord of Ithaca
Look for desert to bear the prize away;
And of the two but one might it enjoy;
And plead they must upon the strand of Troy
Before their ships, where Ajax in a heat,
For that the stomach of the man was great,
Lays open to the Greeks his service done
In their affairs since first this war begun,
And twits Ulysses with his cowardice:
But, Ajax, this for thee may not suffice,
For though the targe were over-huge to bear,
And great Achilles'casque unfit to wear
For wise Laertes' son, yet policy,
The sinews and true strength of chivalry,
Is that whereof this knight might chiefly vaunt;
So with his words he can their wits enchant,
That, when he must conclude and say no more,
He shows the fatal sign that to the shore
He stole by night from Troy, and then quoth he,
"Bestow it here, ye Greeks, if ye nill give it me."
Wherewith he won their hearts, and charm'd their eyes,
And from Sir Ajax got the martial prize:
The man, whom wrath and fury overcame,
Not able to endure this open shame,
Foully sought violent means to stint this strife,
And with a deadly stab reav'd his own life.
And now this wasteful war that lasted long,
To dames of Troy and Greece a tedious wrong,
With hot encounter and unhappy fight,
And tragic end of many a hardy knight,
Gan sort to this, that Greeks, to blear the eyes
Of Trojans, gin take counsel and advice
To rear by art a huge unwieldy frame.
Much like a horse; and having fraught the same
With men of war, they make a cunning show,
As if from Troy they homewards meant to go,
And raise the siege, and leave the prize behind,
But gods do know they nothing less did mind;
For, as I ween, my history doth say,
To Tenedos the Grecians slunk away,
An isle that gave them harbour and abode:
Now leave we there these Greeks to lie at road.
Amidst this hurly-burly and uproar,
King Priam sends away young Polydore,
With store of treasure and with mickle muck,
His youngest son, to Thrace: but little luck
Ensu'd hereof; for Pylymnestor, lo,
The thirst of Priam's pillage working so,
A woful tale, as I have heard it told,
Murders this prince for lucre of his gold.
The traitorous Sinon, for his villany
Th' infámous author of Troy's tragedy,
While subtle Grecians lurk'd in Tenedos,
Gan with the silly Trojans highly glose,
And tell a tale that sounded like a truth,
A tale that mov'd the hearers' hearts to ruth;
And so bewitch'd King Priam and his court,
That now at last, to Trojans' fatal hurt,
Instead of that might most their states advance,
They greed to hoise this engine of mischance,
And make a breach, like fools, and never lin
Till their own hands had pull'd their enemies in.
Thus riot, rape, and vain credulity,
Bin nam'd chief causes of Troy's tragedy.
This monstrous horse, that in his spacious sides
A traitorous troop of armed Grecians hides,
Gan now discharge his vast and hideous load,
And spread his bloody bowels all abroad.
It was the time when midnight's sleep and rest
With quiet pause the town of Troy possess'd;
The Greeks forsake their ships and make return:
Now Troy, as was foretold, began to burn,
And Ilium's lofty towers to smoke apace;
The conquering foe begins amain to chase
Th' affrighted Phrygians, that now unawares
False Sinon had entrapped in his snares.
Ah, what a piercing sight it was to see
So fair a town as Troy was said to be,
By quenchless fire laid level with the soil,
The prince and people made the soldiers' spoil!
Th' unhappy Priam maz'd with frights and fears,
Seeing his palace flame about his ears,
Out of his wretched slumber hastily start,
And, weening to have play'd a young man's part,
Girts-to his arming-sword with trembling hand;
But she that erst brought forth the fatal brand
That fir'd the town, the most unhappy queen,
Whose like for wretchedness was never seen,
Said, "Leave, my lord; becomes not us to strive,
Whom would no morning sun might see alive!
And fly from aid of men to powers divine,
And so with me lay hold on Phœbus' shrine."
But he, whose bloody mind and murdering rage
Nor awe of gods nor reverence of age
Could temper from a deed so tyrannous,
Achilles' son, the fierce unbridled Pyrrhus,
His father's angry ghost enticing him,
With slaughtering hand, with visage pale and grim,
Hath hent this agèd Priam by the hair,
Like butcher bent to slay; and even there,
The man that liv'd so many golden years,
The great commander of such lordly peers,
The King of Troy, the mighty King of Troy,
With cruel iron this cursèd Greekish boy
Rids of his life, as whilom he had done
With poison'd shaft Paris, old Priam's son.
Thus souls by swarms do press to Pluto's hall;
Thus, naked Troy, or now not Troy at all,
Done is thy pride, dim is thy glorious gite,
Slain is thy prince in this unhappy fight.
My pen, forbear to write of Hecuba,
That made the sun his glistering chariot stay,
And raining tears his golden face to hide,
For ruth of that did after her betide;
Sith this thrice-wretched lady liv'd the last,
Till Fortune's spite and malice all was past,
And, worn with sorrows, wexen fell and mad:
And all the happiness that Priam had
In his mishap and bloody funeral,
Was that he saw not yet the end of all,—
His daughters ravish'd, slain in sacrifice,
Astyanax, before his mother's eyes,
Hector's sweet boy, thrown from the highest tower:
Thus to our end there needeth but an hour.
Short tale to make, when thus the town of Troy
The Greeks had sack'd to Asia's great annoy,
When Pyrrhus had the guilty Paris slain,
Lo, now at last the Greeks have home again,
With loss of many a Greek and Trojan's life,
Their wither'd flower, King Menelaus' wife.
The good Æneas, whom the gods beleek
Reserv'd some better future hap to seek,
With old Anchises, leaves this conquer'd town,
And, on the seas y-tossèd up and down,
Arrives at Lavine land, when he had seen
The bounty of the famous Carthage queen,
Whom, forc'd by fate, this wandering knight deceiv'd,
That him and his so royally receiv'd.
My author says, to honour Helen's name,
That through the world hath been belied by fame,
How when the king her fere was absent thence,
(A tale that well may lessen her offence,)
Sir Paris took the town by arms and skill,
And carried her to Troy against her will;
Whom whether afterward she lov'd or no,
I cannot tell, but may imagine so.





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