The Tragedy of Locrine (Third Folio, 1664)
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The Tragedy of Locrine.
¶And with my death must pacifie their mood.
1410O life the harbour of calamaties,
¶O death the haven of all miseries,
¶I could compare my sorrows to thy woe,
¶Thou wretched queen of wretched Pergamus,
¶But that thou viewd'st thy enemies overthrow,
1415Nigh to the rock of high Caphareus,
¶The gods that pittied thy continual grief,
¶Transform'd thy corps, and with thy corps thy care,
¶For friends in trouble are but few and rare.
¶What said I few? I, few or none at all,
¶For cruel death made havock of them all.
1425To end their lives, and with their lives their woes,
¶That cruelly she gave me to my foes.
¶ To be compar'd to fortunes treacherie.
¶Cam. So may we judge by her lamenting words.
1435
Locrine at one side of the stage.
¶Locrine may well bewaile his proper grief,
¶Locrine may move his own peculiar woe,
1440He being conquer'd died a speedy death,
¶And felt not long his lamentable smart,
¶I being a conquerour, live a lingring life,
¶Oh that sweet face painted with natures dye,
1450Are like to snares which wylie fowlers wrought,
¶Wherein my yielding heart is prisoner caught.
¶Which shine like Rubies glittering with the Sun,
1455That from the same no way it can be won.
¶How true is that which oft I heard declar'd,
¶One dram of joy, must have a pound of care.
¶Estr. Hard is their fall, who from a golden Crown
1460Loc. Hard is their thrall, who by Cupid's frown
¶
Let him go into his chair.
¶I found this Lady, and to manifest
¶That earnest zeal I bear unto your Grace,
¶Or with my sword I'le pierce thy cowards loins.
¶Take them hence Jaylor to the dungeon,
¶There let them lie and trie their quarrel out.
¶ But rather joy that Locrine favours thee.
¶Loc. The chance of war (my love) took him from thee.
¶And slew my noble brother Albanact.
¶Estr. But he was link'd to me in marriage bond,
¶And would you have me love his slaughterer?
¶Loc. Better to live, then not to live at all.
¶What would the common sort report of me,
¶If I forget my love, and cleave to thee?
¶Estr. No, but to be a Strumpet to a King.
¶Loc. If thou wilt yield to Locrine's burning love,
¶Thou shalt be Queen of fair Albania.
¶And by the gods, whom thou do'st invocate,
1505By thy right hand, and by thy burning love,
¶ Take pitty on poor Estrilds wretched thrall.
¶Cori. Hath Locrine then forgot his Guendoline,
¶That thus he courts the Scythians paramour?
¶Have I bin faithfull to thy Sire now dead,
¶Have I protected thee from Humber's hands,
¶And do'st thou quit me with ungratitude?
¶Is this the guerdon for my grievous wounds,
1515Is this the honour for my labours past?
¶This injury of thine shall be repaid.
¶As if we stood for cyphers in the Court?
1520Upbraid you me with those your benefits?
¶What you have done for our deceased Sire,
¶We know, and all know, you have your reward.
¶Cam. Pardon my brother, noble Corineus,
¶Pardon this once, and it shall be amended.
¶Bloud and revenge shall light upon thy head.
¶Come, let us back to stately Troynovant,
¶
Locrine to himself.
1540Millions of devils wait upon thy soul.
[G3v]
Legions
