Think on our Father Corineius Words,
His Words to us ftand always for a Law.
Should Locrine live, that caus'd my Father's Death?
Should Locrine live, that now divorceth you?
The Heav'ns, the Earth, the Air, the Fire reclaims;
And then why should all we deny the fame ?
Guen. Then henceforth farewel womanish Complaints,
All childish Pity henceforth then farewel:
But curfed Locrine, look unto thy felf,
For Nemefis, the Mistress of Revenge,
Sits arm'd at all Points on our difmal Blades,
And curfed Eftrild, that inflam'd his Heart,
Shall, if I live, die a reproachful Death.
Mad. Mother, tho' Nature makes me to lament
My luckless Father's froward Letchery;
Yet for he wrongs my Lady Mother, thus,
I, if I could, my felf would work his Death.
Thra. See, Madam, fee, the defire of Revenge
Is in the Children of a tender Age.
Forward, brave Soldiers, into Mercia,
Where we shall brave the Coward to his Face.
SCENE IV.
Enter Locrine, Eftrild, Sabren, Affarachus, and the Soldiers.
Loc. Tell me, Affarachus, are the Cornish Chuffs
In fuch great number come to Mercia,
And have they pitched there their Hoft,
So clofe unto our Royal Manfion?
Affa. They are, my Lord, and mean incontinent
To bid Defiance to your Majefty.
Loc. It makes me laugh, to think that Guendeline
Should have the Heart to come in Arms against me..
Eft. Alas, my Lord, the Horfe will run amain
When as the Spur doth gall him to the Bone;
Jealoufie, Locrine, hath a wicked fting.
Loc. Sayft thou fo, Eftrild, Beauty's Paragon?
Well, we will try her Choler to the Proof,
And make her know, Locrine can brook no braves.
March on, Affarachus, thou must lead the way,
And bring us to their proud Pavilion..
Enter the Ghost of Corineius, with Thunder and Lightning.
Ghost. Behold, the Circuit of the azure Sky
Throws forth fad Throbs, and grievous Sufpirs,
Prejudicating Locrine's Overthrow:
The Fire cafteth forth fharp darts of Flames,
The great Foundation of the triple World
Trembleth and quaketh with a mighty Noife,
Prefaging bloody Maffacres at hand,
The wandring Birds that flutter in the dark,
When hellish Night in cloudy Chariot feated,
Cafteth her mifts on fhady Tellus Face,
With fable Mantles cov'ring all the Earth,
Now flies abroad amid the chearful Day,
Foretelling fome unwonted Mifery.
The fnarling Curs of darkned Tartarus,
Sent from Avernus Ponds by Rhadamanth,
With howling Ditties pefter ev'ry Wood;
The watry Ladies, and the lightfoot Fawns,
And all the rabble of the woody Nymphs,
All trembling hide themselves in fhady Groves,
And throwd themselves in hideous hollow Pits.
The boisterous Boreas thundreth forth Revenge:
The ftony Rocks cry out on sharp Revenge:
The thorny Bush pronounceth dire Revenge.
Now Corineius ftay and fee Revenge,
And feed thy Soul with Locrine's Overthrow,
Behold they come, the Trumpets call them forth:
The roaring Drums fummon the Soldiers.
Lo where their Army gliftereth on the Plains.
Throw forth thy Lightning, mighty Jupiter,
And pour thy Plagues on curfed Locrine's Head. [Stand afide. Enter Locrine, Eftrild, Affarachus, Sabren and their Sol diers at one Door; Thrafimachus, Guendeline, Madan, and their Followers at another.
Loc. What, is the Tiger ftarted from his Cave?
Is Guendeline come from Cornubia,
That thus fhe braveth Locrine to the Teeth?
And haft thou found thine Armour, pretty Boy,
Accompanied with these thy ftragling Mates?
Believe me but this Enterprize was bold,
And well deferveth Commendation.
Guen. Ay, Locrine, Traiterous Locrine, we are come,
With full pretence to feek thine Overthrow.
What have I done that thou shouldft fcorn me thus ?
What have I faid that thou fhouldst me reject?
Have I been disobedient to thy Words?
Have I bewray'd thy arcane Secrecy?
Have I dishonoured thy Marriage Bed
With filthy Crimes, or with lafcivious Lufts?
Nay it is thou that haft dishonour'd it,
Thy filthy Mind o'ercome with filthy Lufts,
Yieldeth unto Affections filthy Darts.
Unkind, thou wrong'ft thy firft and truest fear,
Unkind, thou wrong'ft thy beft and dearest Friend;
Unkind, thou fcorn'ft all skilful Brutus Laws,
Forgetting Father, Uncle, and thy felf.
Eft. Believe me, Locrine, but the Girl is wife,
And well would feem to make a Veftal Nun,
How finely frames fhe her Oration.
Thra. Locrine, we came not here to fight with Words, Words that can never win the Victory,
But for you are fo merry in your Frumps,
Unheath your Swords, and try it out by force,
That we may fee who hath the better hand.
Loc. Think'st thou to dare me, bold Thrafimachus?
Think'st thou to fear me with thy taunting braves,
Or do we feem too weak to cope with thee?
Soon fhall I fhew thee my fine cutting Blade,
And with my Sword, the Meffenger of Death,
Seal thee an acquittance for thy bold attempts.
[Exeunt. Sound the Alarum. Enter Locrine, Affarachus, and a Soldier at one Door; Guendeline, Thrafimachus, at another: Locrine and his Followers driven back.
Then Locrine and Eftrild enter again in amaze. Loc. O fair Eftrilda, we have loft the Field,
Thrafimachus hath won the Victory,
And we are left to be a Laughing-stock,
Scoft at by thofe that are our Enemies,
Ten thoufand Soldiers arm'd with Sword and Shield,
Prevail againft an hundred thoufand Men,
Thrafimachus incenft with fuming Ire,
Rageth amongst the faint-heart Soldiers,
Like to grim Mars, when cover'd with his Targe,
He fought with Diomedes in the Field,
Close by the Banks of filver Simois.
O lovely Estrild now the Chafe begins,
Ne'er fhall we fee the ftately Trojnovant
Mounted with Courfers garnifht all with Pearls,
Ne'er fhall we view the fair Concordia,
Unless as Captives we be thither brought.
Shall Locrine then be taken Prifoner,
By fuch a youngling as Thrafimachus ?
Shall Guendeline captivate my Love?
Ne'er fhall mine Eyes behold that dismal hour,
Ne'er will I view that ruthful Spectacle,
For with my Sword, or this fharp Curtle-Axe,
I'll cut in funder my Accurfed Heart.
But O you Judges of the ninefold Styx,
Which with inceffant Torments rack the Ghofts
Within the bottomlefs Abyffus Pits,
You Gods, Commanders of the Heav'nly Spheres,
Whofe Will and Laws irrevocable ftand,
Forgive, forgive, this foul accurfed Sin;
Forget, O Gods, this foul condemned fault :
And now my Sword, that in fo many Fights [Kiffes his Sword. Haft fav'd the Life of Brutus and his Son,
End now his Life that wifheth ftill for Death,
Work now his Death that wifheth ftill for Death,
Work now his Death that hateth ftill his Life.
Farewel, fair Eftrild, Beauty's Paragon,
Fram'd in the front of forlorn Miferies,
Ne'er fhall mine Eyes behold thy Sun-fhine Eyes,
But when we meet in the Elysian Fields,
Thither I go before with haften'd pace.
Farewel, vain World, and thy inticing Snares.
Farewel, foul Sin, and thy inticing Pleafures,
And welcome Death, the end of Mortal fmart,
Welcome to Locrine's over-burthen'd Heart.
[Thrufts himself through with his Sword.
Eft. Break Heart with Sobs and grievous Sufpirs,
Stream forth you Tears from forth my watry Eyes,
Help me to mourn for warlike Locrine's Death,
Pour down your Tears you watry Regions,
For mighty Locrine is bereft of Life.
O fickle Fortune, O unstable World,
What else are all things, that this Globe contains,
But a confufed Chaos of mishaps?
Wherein as in a Glafs we plainly fee,
That all our Life is but a Tragedy,
Since mighty Kings are fubject to mishap,
Ay, mighty Kings are fubject to mishap,
Since martial Locrine is bereft of Life,
Shall Eftrild live then after Locrine's Death?
Shall love of Life bar her from Locrine's Sword?
O no, this Sword that hath bereft his Life,
Shall now deprive me of my fleeting Soul:
Strengthen thefe Hands, O mighty Jupiter,
That I may end my woful Mifery,
Lacrine I come, Locrine I follow thee.
[Kills her felf. Sound the Alarum. Enter Sabren. Sab. What doleful Sight, what ruthful Spectacle Hath Fortune offer'd to my hapless Heart? My Father flain with fuch a fatal Sword, My Mother inurthered by a mortal wound? What Thracian Dog, what barbarous Mirmidon, Would not relent at fuch a ruthful cafe ? What fierce Achilles, what hard ftony Flint, Would not bemoan this mournful Tragedy? Locrine, the Map of Magnanimity, Lies flaughter'd in his foul accurfed Cave; Estrild, the perfect pattern of Renown, Nature's fole wonder, in whose beauteous Breasts All Heav'nly Grace and Virtue was infhrin'd, Both maffacred are dead within this Cave, And with them dies fair Pallas and fweet Love. Here lies a Sword, and Sabren hath a Heart, This bleffed Sword fhall cut my curfed Heart. And bring my Soul unto my Parents Ghosts, That they that live and view our Tragedy, May mourn our cafe with mournful Plaudites:
[Offers to kill her self.
Ay me, my Virgins Hands are too too weak,
To penetrate the bulwark of my Breaft;
My Fingers, us'd to tune the amorous Lute,
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