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A59190
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L. Annaeus Seneca's Troas a tragedy / translated from the Latine by J. Ta.; Troades. English
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Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, ca. 4 B.C.-65 A.D.; Talbot, James, d. 1708.
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1686
(1686)
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Wing S2529; ESTC R10479
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20,823
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53
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L. Annaeus Seneca's TROAS A TRAGEDY Translated from the Latine by J. T. Conamur tenues grandia Horat. LONDON Printed for Jacob Tonson at the Judges-Head in Chancery-lane near Fleetstreet 1686. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES EARL OF Shrewsbury c. My Lord I Should never have ventured to expose this Trifle to the Censures of the World had I not at the same time an Ambition to express though not in the Work it self at least in the Dedication of it the ardent Desires I had to lay both It and My Self at your Lordships Feet being very well assured that the sweetness of Your Disposition will pardon the many Imperfections which the Acuteness of Your Judgment cannot but discern This Play my Lord being neither written by the Author nor fitted ' by the Translator to the Humour and Relish of the present Age and consequently having never stood the Test of a publick Theatre would have small Encouragement to appear abroad were it not sufficiently warranted by the Protection of Your Lordships Name a Name that as it has been the Terror of France so it is the Pride of England a Name that having in your Victorious Ancestors so bravely maintain'd the Honour and Reputation of Your Family and Your Country cannot but cherish as well as defend whatever flies to Its great Protection With these Hopes my Lord I have presumed to inscribe the following Translation to your Lordship hoping that as it was the Fruit of my vacant Hours so it will be the Diversion of yours which is the utmost Ambition of Your Lordship 's most Obedient Humble Servant J. T. TO THE READER Reader I Was informed since the finishing of this Translation that Seneca has been taught some time since to speak such Language as the Times afforded But I know not why That should dischurage Me or some better Genius that I hope will continue what I have but imperfectly begun from the like Attempt any more than Hopkins and Sternhold's Translation of David's Psalms how blindly soever admitted and retained by the Vulgar should deter a modern Pen from teaching him better English and Sence than They have done I should not have presumed after the late Earl of Rochester to have translated the Second Chorus of this Play had I either seen it or heard of it before I had finish'd this but since my Lord's is a Paraphrase and Mine only a Translation I have ventured to place my Own with all its Imperfections among the rest that the whole Work may be of a Piece neither shall I blush to own my self out-done by a Person so much better than the Best of this Age. The Stile of the Author through this whole Play is so noble and the Moral part of it for the generality so good that it is supposed by those Learned Criticks Scaliger and Heinsius to have been written by Seneca the Philosopher I have endeavoured for the most part to render Him into English as faithfully as I could being very sensible that to diminish any thing from so perfect a Piece would be a great wrong to my Author and to add any thing to it no less presumption in my self only where his Sentences were more pithy and concise than either the Defect of our Tongue or of my Self would permit me to be I have been forced to render Him more at large the closeness of his Language in several places being such that what an Eminent Author has lately said of Virgil may justly be applied to Him that he seems to have laboured not to be Translated The Third Chorus I was forced to shorten the endless and fruitless Enumeration of so many several Countries being a fitter Work for a Geographer than a Poet. For the rest Courteous Reader for such I hope to find you I shall be very glad if the many Perfections of the Author can reconcile you to all the Failings of the Translator who as he wrote it at first to please Himself now prints it to gratifie his Friends and for them that are not such he neither begs their Candor nor fears their Censure Dramatis Personae Grecians Agamemnon General of the Grecian Army Pyrrhus Son to Achilles Ulysses a Grecian Commander Talthybius an Officer in the Army Calchas a Priest Helena Wife to Menelaus and Mistress to Paris Trojans Hecuba Wife to Priam. Andromache Wife to Hector Astyanax Son to Hector and Andromache Polyxena Muta Persona Daughter to Priam and Hecuba An old Trojan A Messenger Chorus Seneca's Troas ACT I. Enter Hecuba sola WHO e're thou art that trustest to a Crown And slight'st th' inconstant Deities look down On Troy and Me for ne'r did angry Fate Shew truer Emblems of th' incertain State The short liv'd Power and Downfall of the Great In th' humble Dust rich Asia's Pride does lie Nor could its Builders give It Immortality In vain did Memnon and bold Rhesus come Not to prevent but sadly share our Doom In her own Ashes Troy a Grave has found And her proud Tow'rs are levell'd with the ground The greedy Flamens invade the ambient Skies As if they w'd reach the cruel Deities Nor will their rage her very Ruines spare But preys upon her Ashes See! the Air In Clouds of Smoak has lost its native light And Troy must suffer an eternal Night With cruel Joy they view their helpless Prey Too great a Recompence for Ten years stay They fear her still and scarce believe their Eye Proud of so great so quick a Victory See how rich Ilium's wealthy Spoils they tear More Trophies than their Thousand Ships can bear Witness ye Gods ye Authors of our Woe Ye dear Remains of my poor Country too And Thou poor Prince whose cruel Destiny Prevented Age and buried Troy with Thee Witness my Hector's Ghost the Fate of Troy The Grecian's Terror and his Countrey 's Joy And ye unhappy Off-spring of my Womb Ye lesser Shades whatever fatal Doom From my ill-boding Daughters mouth could come I saw it first and did my sears express Nor was Cassandra only avain Prophetess 'T was not Tydide's Sword Ulysses skill Unhappy Ilium's richest blood could spill Nor could the perjur'd Sinon's crafty wile The credulous King with specious Lyes beguile In Me O Troy those fatal seeds were sown I bore thy Funeral Torch Oh that it were my own But why thus long do I deplore the Fate Of Troy Her sufferings are grown out of date And yield to fresher sorrows I saw Old Priam's blood at th' Altar spilt The Altar blush'd at cruel Pyrrhus guilt I saw him twist those silver hairs a round His cursed hand and drag him on the ground Then Oh! why live I to speak out the rest He sheath'd his Sword in Priam's willing breast Nor Fear nor Pity could withhold his hands From shaking out the few remaining sands Of his short life though all the Gods stood by But They too triumph'd in our Misery Troy's better Genius and great Hector's Sire Amidst those Flames must want a Funeral Fire Nor