To spaces hygh I wyll bee borne
of hawghtye skyes abdue:

Let th’ayre be skaelde, my father dooth
me promyse starrs t’obtayne.

What yf he it denyde? all th’earthe
can Hercles not contayne,

And geeves at length to godds. me calls
of owne accorde beholde

The whole assembly of the godds,
and dooth theyr gates unfolde,

Whyle one forbydds. receyuste thou me,
and openest thou the skye,

Or els the gate of stubborne heaven
drawe after me doo I?

Do I yet doubte? I even the bondes
from Saturne wyll undoe,

And even agaynst the kyngdome prowde
of wycked father loe,

My grandsyre loase. let Titans nowe
prepare agayne theyr fyght

With me theyr captayne ragyng: stones
with woodes I wyll downe smyght,

And hye hylles topps with Centaures full
in ryght hande wyll I take.

With double mountayne nowe I wyll
a stayre to godds up make.

Let Chiron under Ossa see
his Pelion mowntayne grette:

Olympus up to heaven above
in thyrde degree then sette

Shall come it selfe, or ells bee caste.
AM. Put farre awaye from thee

The thowghts that owght not to be spoake:
of mynde unsownde to see,

But yet full great, the furyows rage
asswage and laye awaye.

HER. What meaneth this? the gyantes doe
pestiferous armes assaye,

And Tityus from the sprights is fledde,
and bearyng torne to see

And empty bosome, lo howe neere
to heaven it selfe stoode hee?

Cythaeron falles, the mountayne hye
Pallene shakes for feare,

And torne are Tempe. he the toppes
of Pindus cawght hathe here,

And Oethen he, some dredfull thyng
threatnyng doothe rage abowt

Erinnys bryngyng flames: with strypes
she soundes nowe shaken out,

And burned brandes in funeralls,
loe yet more neare and neare

Throwes in my face: fearce Tisyphone
with head and ugly heare

With serpents sette, nowe after dogge
fet owt with Hercles hande,

That emptye gate she hathe shette up,
with bolte of fyry brande.

But loe the stocke of enmiows kyng
doothe hydden yet remayne,

The wycked Lycus seede: but to
your hatefull father slayne

Even nowe this ryght hande shall you sende
let nowe his arrowes lyght

My bowe owt shoote: it seemes the shaftes
to goe with suche a flyght

Of Hercles. AM. Whether doothe the rage
and fury blynde yet goe?

His myghty bowe he drewe with hornes
togyther dryven loe,

And quyver loaste: great noyese makes
with vyolence sente owt

The shafte, and quyght the weapon flewe
his myddle necke throwghowt,

The wownd yet left. HER. His other broode
I overthrowe wyll quyght,

And corners all. What stay I yet?
to me a greater fyght

Remaynes then all Mycenes loe,
that rockye stones shoulde all

Of Cyclops beeyng ouertnrnde
with hande of myne, downe fall.

Let shake bothe here: and there the house,
with all staves overthrowne,

Let breake the poasts: and quight let shrinke
the shaken pyller downe:

Let all the palayce fall at once.
I here yet hydden see

The sonne of wycked father. AM. Loe
his flattryng handes to thee

Applyeng to thy knees doothe crave
his lyfe with pyteous mone.

O wycked gylte, full sadde, and eke
abhorde to looke uppone,