The Tragedy of Locrine (Third Folio, 1664)
Not Peer Reviewed
¶
Scena Quinta.
1195
Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineius, Thrasimachus,
.
¶Whose haughty courage is invincible;
¶Now am I hemm'd with troups of Souldiers,
1200Such as might force Bellona to retire,
¶Now sit I like the mighty god of warre,
¶When armed with his Coat of Adamant,
¶Mounted his Chariot drawn with mighty Bulls,
1205He drove the Argives over Xanthus streames.
¶Now, cursed Humber, doth thy end draw nigh,
¶Down goes the glory of his victories,
¶And all his fame, and all his high renown,
¶Shall in a moment yield to Locrine's sword:
¶The ornaments of thy pavillions,
¶Shall all be captivated with this hand,
¶And thou thy self at Albanactus Tombe
1215Of all the wrongs thou didst him when he liv'd.
¶How far we are distant from Humbers camp?
¶That beares the tokens of our overthrow,
1220This Humber hath intrencht his damned camp.
¶The treacherous Scythians squeltring in their gore.
¶That I may venge my noble Brothers death,
¶I'le build a Temple to thy deitie
¶Of perfect marble, and of Jacinth stones,
¶Which with their top surmount the firmament.
¶Stout Hercules Alcmenas, mighty Son,
¶That tam'd the monsters of the three-fold world,
1235As I will now for noble Albanact.
¶Sometime in warre, sometime in quiet peace,
¶Which hath been painted with my foe-mens brains:
¶And with this Club I'le break the strong array
¶Of Humber and his stragling Souldiers,
1245And die with honour in my latest dayes:
¶What force lies in stout Corineius hand.
1250Let him not boast that Brutus was his Eame,
¶Or that brave Corineius was his Sire.
¶Next for your peace, last for your victory.
Exeunt.
