_1 Qu._ We are three Queens, whose Sovereigns fell before The wrath of cruel _Creon_; who endur'd The Beaks of Ravens, Tallents of the Kites, And pecks of Crows in the foul field[s] of _Thebs_. He will not suffer us to burn their bones, To urne their ashes, nor to take th' offence Of mortal loathsomness from the blest eye Of holy _Phoebus_, but infects the winds With stench of our slain Lords. Oh pity Duke, Thou purger of the earth, draw thy fear'd Sword That does good turns to th' world; give us the Bones Of our dead Kings, that we may Chappel them; And of thy boundless goodness take some note That for our crowned heads we have no roof; Save this which is the Lions and the Bears, And vault to every thing. _Thes._ Pray you kneel not, I was transported with your Speech, and suffer'd Your knees to wrong themselves; I have heard the fortunes Of your dead Lords, which gives me such lamenting As wakes my vengeance, and revenge for 'em: King _Capaneus_, was your Lord the day That he should marry you, at such a season, As now it is with me, I met your Groom, By _Mars's Altar_; you were that time fair; Not _Juno's Mantle_, fairer than your Tresses, Nor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreath Was then not thrash'd, nor blasted; Fortune at you Dimpled her Cheek with smiles: _Hercules_ our kinsman (Then weaker than your eyes) laid by his Club, He tumbled down upon his Nenuan hide And swore his sinews thaw'd: Oh grief, and time, Fearful consumers, you will all devour. _1 Qu._ Oh I hope some God, Some God hath put his mercy in your manhood Whereto he'll infuse power, and press you forth Our undertaker. _Thes._ Oh no knees, none Widow, Unto the Helmeted-_Belona_ use them, And pray for me your Soldier. Troubl'd I am. [_Turns away._