Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: Anonymous
Not Peer Reviewed

The Tragedy of Locrine (Third Folio, 1664)


Scena Quinta.
1195
Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineius, Thrasimachus,
Assarachus
.
Loc. Now am I guarded with an hoast of men,
Whose haughty courage is invincible;
Now am I hemm'd with troups of Souldiers,
1200Such as might force Bellona to retire,
And make her tremble at their puissance;
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:
1210Thy bragging banners crost with argent streames,
The ornaments of thy pavillions,
Shall all be captivated with this hand,
And thou thy self at Albanactus Tombe
Shalt offered be, in satisfaction
1215Of all the wrongs thou didst him when he liv'd.
But canst thou tell me, brave Thrasimachus,
How far we are distant from Humbers camp?
Thra. My Lord, within your foule accursed Grove
That beares the tokens of our overthrow,
1220This Humber hath intrencht his damned camp.
March on, my Lord, because I long to see
The treacherous Scythians squeltring in their gore.
Locri. Sweet fortune, favour Locrine with a smile,
That I may venge my noble Brothers death,
1225And in the midst of stately Troimovant,
I'le build a Temple to thy deitie
Of perfect marble, and of Jacinth stones,
That it shall passe the high Pyramides,
Which with their top surmount the firmament.
1230Cam. The arm-strong off-spring of the doubted
Stout Hercules Alcmenas, mighty Son,
That tam'd the monsters of the three-fold world,
And rid the oppressed from the tyrants yokes,
Did never shew such valiantnesse in fight,
1235As I will now for noble Albanact.
Cori. Full fourscore yeares hath Corineius liv'd,
Sometime in warre, sometime in quiet peace,
And yet I feel my self to be as strong
As erst I was in summer of mine age,
1240Able to tosse this great unweildy Club,
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,
Or loose my life amongst the thickest presse,
1245And die with honour in my latest dayes:
Yet ere I die they all shall understand,
What force lies in stout Corineius hand.
Thra. And if Thrasimachus detract the fight,
Either for weaknesse or for cowardise,
1250Let him not boast that Brutus was his Eame,
Or that brave Corineius was his Sire.
Loc. Then courage, Souldiers, first for your safety.
Next for your peace, last for your victory.
Exeunt.