Internet Shakespeare Editions

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


Scena Secunda.
Enter Locrine, Camber, Assaracus, Thrasimachas.
Assa. But tell me, Cousin, dyed my Brother so?
Now who is left to hapless Albion,
1760That as a pillar might uphold our state,
That might strike terrour to our daring foes?
Now who is left to hapless Britanie,
That might defend her from the barbarous hands
Of those that still desire her ruinous fall,
1765And seek to work her downfall and decay.
Cam. I Uncle, death is our common enemy,
And none but death can match our matchlesse power,
Witnesse the fall of Albioneus crew,
Witnesse the fall of Humber and his Hunnes,
1770And this foul death hath now increas'd our woe,
By taking Corineus from this life,
And in his room leaving us worlds of care.
Thra. But none may more bewaile his mournfull hearse,
Then I that am the issue of his loins,
1775Now foul befall that cursed Humber's throat,
That was the causer of his lingring wound.
Loc. Tears cannot raise him from the dead again,
But where's my Lady Mistris Guendoline?
Thra. In Cornwall, Locrine, is my sister now,
1780Providing for my Father's funeral.
Loc. And let her there provide her mourning weeds,
And mourn for ever her own widdow-hood:
Ne're shall she come within our Palace gate,
To countercheck brave Locrine in his love.
1785Go, boy, to Deucolitum, down the Lee,
Unto the arch where lovely Estrild lies,
Bring her and Sabren straight unto the Court,
She shall be Queen in Guendolinaes room.
Let others waile for Corineus death,
1790I mean not so to macerate my mind,
For him that barr'd me from my hearts desire.
Thra. Hath Locrine then forsook his Guendoline?
Is Corineus death so soon forgot?
If there be gods in heaven, as sure there be,
1795If there be fiends in hell, as needs there must,
They will revenge this thy notorious wrong,
Ande pour their plagues upon thy cursed head.
Loc. What, prat'st thou, pesant, to thy Soveraigne?
Or art thou strucken in some extasie?
1800Do'st thou not tremble at our royal looks?
Do'st thou not quake when mighty Locrine frowns?
Thou beardlesse boy, were't not that Locrine scorns
To vex his mind with such a heartlesse child,
With the sharp point of this my battel-axe,
1805I'de send thy soul to Puryflegiton.
Thra. Though I be young and of a tender age,
Yet will I cope with Locrine when he dares.
My noble father with his conquering sword,
Slew the two gyants Kings of Aquitain.
1810Thrasimachus is not so degenerate,
That he should fear and tremble at the looks
Or taunting words of a venerian squire.
Loc. Menacest thou thy royal Soveraign?
Ucivil, not beseeming such as you.
1815Injurious traitor (for he is no lesse
That at defiance standeth with his King)
Leave these thy taunts, leave these thy bragging words,
Unlesse thou mean'st to leave thy wretched life.
Thra. If Princes stain their glorious dignitie
1820With ugly spots of monstrous infamie,
They leese their former estimation,
And throw themselves into a hell of hate.
Loc. Wilt thou abuse my gentle patience,
As though thou did'st our high displeasure scorne?
1825Proud boy, that thou mast know thy Prince is mov'd,
Yea, greatly mov'd at this thy swelling pride,
We banish thee for ever from our Court.
Thra. Then, losell Locrine, look unto thy self,
Thrasimachus will venge this injurie.
Exit.
1830Loc. Farewell, proud boy, and learn to use thy tongue.
Assa. Alas, my Lord, you should have call'd to mind
The latest words that Brutus spake to you,
How he desir'd you, by the obedience
That children ought to bear their sire,
1835To love and favour Lady Guendoline:
Consider this, that if the injurie
Do move her mind, as certainly it will,
War and dissention follows speedily.
What though her power be not so great as yours,
1840Have you not seen a mighty Elephant
Slain by the biting of a silly Mouse?
Even so the chance of war inconstant is.
Loc. Peace Uncle, peace, and cease to talk hereof,
For he that seeks by whispering this or that,
1845To trouble Locrine in his sweetest life,
Let him perswade himself to die the death.
Enter the Page, with Estrild and Sabren.
Estr. O say me, Page? tell me, where is the King?
Wherefore doth he send for me to the Court?
1850Is it to die? is it to end my life?
Say me, sweet boy? tell me and do not fain.
Page. No, trust me, Madam, if you will credit the
little honestie that is yet left me, there is no such dan-
ger as you fear, but prepare your self, yonder's the
1855King.
Estr. Then, Estrild, lift thy dazled spirits up,
And blesse that blessed time, that day, that hour,
That warlike Locrine first did favour thee.
Peace to the King of Britany, my Love,
1860Peace to all those that love and favour him.
Locrine taking her up.
Doth Estrild fall with such submission
Before her servant King of Albion?
Arise, fair Lady, leave this lowly chear,
1865Lift up those looks that cherish Locrine's heart,
That I may freely view that roseal face,
Which so intangled hath my love-sick brest.
Now to the Court, where we will court it out,
And passe the night and day in Venus sports.
1870Frollick, brave Peers, be joyfull with your King.
Exeunt.