Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: Anonymous
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The Tragedy of Locrine (Third Folio, 1664)


100
The Tragedy of Locrine.
All mercy from mine adamantive brests.
Thra. Nor doth thy husband, lovely Guendoline,
That wonted was to guide our stailesse steps,
Enjoy this light; see where he murdred lies:
2140By lucklesse lot and froward frowning fate,
And by him lies his lovely paramour
Fair Estrild goared with a dismal sword,
And as it seems, both murdred by themselves,
Clasping each other in their feebled armes,
2145With loving zeal, as if for company
Their uncontented corps were yet content
To passe foul Stix in Charon's ferry-boat.
Guen. And hath proud Estrild then prevented me,
Hath she escaped Guendolina's wrath,
2150Violently by cutting off her life?
Would God she had the monstrous Hidra's lives,
That every hour she might have died a death
Worse then the swing of old Ixions wheel,
And every hour revive to die again,
2155As Titius bound to housles Caucason,
Doth feed the substance of his own mishap,
And every day for want of food doth die,
And every night doth live again to die.
But stay, me thinks I hear some fainting voice,
2160Mournfully weeping for their lucklesse death.
Sa. You mountain nimphs which in these desarts raign,
Cease off your hasty chase of savage beasts,
Prepare to see a heart opprest with care,
Addresse your ears to hear a mournfull stile,
2165No humane strength, no work can work my weal,
Care in my heart so tyrant like doth deal.
You Driades and lightfoot Satiri,
You gracious Fairies which at evening tide,
Your closets leave with heavenly beauty stor'd,
2170And on your shoulders spread your golden locks,
You savage bears in Caves and darkned Denns,
Come wail with me the martial Locrine's death.
Come mourn with me, for beateous Estrilds death.
Ah loving parents little do you know,
2175What sorrow Sabren suffers for your thrall.
Guen. But may this be, and is it possible,
Lives Sabren yet to expiate my wrath?
Fortune I thank thee for this curtesie,
And let me never see one prosperous hour,
2180If Sabren die not a reproachfull death.
Sa. Hard hearted death, that when the wretched call.
Art farthest off, and seldome hear'st at all.
But in the mid'st of fortunes good successe,
Uncalled comes, and sheers our life in twain:
2185When will that hour, that blessed hour draw nigh,
When poor distressed Sabren may be gone.
Sweet Atropos cut off my fatal thred.
What art thou death, shall not poor Sabren die?
Guendoline taking her by the chin, shall say thus.
2190Guen. Yes damsel, yes, Sabren shall surely die,
Though all the world should seek to save her life,
And not a common death shall Sabren die,
But after strange and grievous punishments,
Shortly inflicted upon thy bastards head,
2195Thou shalt be cast into the cursed streams,
And feed the fishes with thy tender flesh.
Sab. And think'st thou then, thou cruel homicid,
That these thy deeds shall be unpunished?
No traitor, no, the gods will venge these wrongs,
2200The fiends of hell will mark these injuries.
Never shall these bloud-sucking masty currs,
Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home.
For I my self in spite of thee and thine,
Mean to abridge my former destinies,
2205And that which Locrine's sword could not perform,
This present streame shall present bring to passe.
She drowneth her self.
Guen. One michief follows anothers neck,
Who would have thought so young a maid as she
2210With such a courage would have sought her death.
And for because this River was the place
Where little Sabren resolutely died,
Sabren for ever shall this same be call'd.
And as for Locrine our deceased spouse,
2215Because he was the son of mighty Brute,
To whom we owe our country, lives and goods,
He shall be buried in a stately tombe,
Close by his aged father Brutus bones,
With such great pomp and great solemnity,
2220As well beseems so b ave a Prince as he.
Let Estrild lie without the shallow vaults,
Without the honour due unto the dead,
Because she was the authour of this War.
Retire brave followers unto Troynovant,
2225Where we will celebrate these exequies,
And place young Locrine in his father's Tombe.
Exeunt omnes.
Atey. Lo here the end of lawlesse treachery,
Of Usurpation and ambitious pride,
2230And they that for their private amours dare
Turmoile our land, and set their broils abroach,
Let them be warned by these premisses,
And as a woman was the onely cause
That civil discord was then stirred up,
2235So let us pray for that renowned maid,
That eight and thirty years the Scepter sway'd
In quiet peace and sweet felicitie,
And every wight that seeks her graces smart,
Would that this sword were pierced in his heart.
Exit.

2240
FINIS.

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