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  • Title: The Tragedy of Locrine (Third Folio, 1664)

  • Copyright Digital Renaissance Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Authors: Anonymous, William Shakespeare
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    The Tragedy of Locrine (Third Folio, 1664)

    The Tragedy of Locrine.
    1180Strum. I but hear you, goodman Oliver? it will not
    be for my ease to have my head broken every day, therefore
    remedy this, and we shall agree.
    Oli. Well, Zon, well, for you are my Zon now, all
    shall be remedied, Daughter be friends with him.
    Shake hands.
    Strum. You are a sweet Nut, the Devil crack you.
    Masters, I think it be my luck, my first wife was a loving
    quiet wench, but this I think would weary the Devil. I
    would she might be burnt as my other Wife was; if not,
    1190I must run to the Halter for help. O Codpiece, thou hast
    undone thy Master, this it is to be medling with warm

    Scena Quinta.

    Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineius, Thrasimachus,

    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.

    Sound the Alarm. Enter Hubba and Segar at one door,
    1255and Corineius at the other

    Cori. Art thou that Humber, Prince of Fugitives,
    That by thy treason slew'st young Albanact?
    Hub. I am his Son that slew young Albanact,
    And if thou take not heed proud Phrigian,
    1260I'le send thy soule unto the Stigian lake,
    There to complain of Humber's injuries.
    Cori. You triumph, sir, before the victory,
    For Corineius is not so soon slain.
    But, cursed Scythians, you shall rue the day,
    1265That e're you came into Albania.
    So perish they that envy Britains wealth,
    So let them die with endlesse infamy,
    And he that seeks his Soveraigns overthrow,
    Would this my Club might aggravate his woe.
    Strikes them both down with his Club.

    Enter Humber.
    Hum. Where may I find some desart wildernesse,
    Where I may breathe out curses as I would,
    And scare the earth with my condemning voyce,
    1275 Where every ecchoes repercussion
    May help me to bewaile mine overthrow,
    And aid me in my sorrowfull laments?
    Where may I find some hollow uncoth rock,
    Where I may damn, condemn, and ban my fill?
    1280The heavens, the hell, the earth, the aire, the fire,
    And utter curses to the concave skie,
    Which may infect the aiery regions,
    And light upon the Britain Locrine's head.
    You ugly sprites that in Cocitus mourn,
    1285And gnash your teeth with dolorous laments,
    You fearfull dogs that in black Læthe howle,
    And scare the Ghosts with your wide open throats,
    You ugly Ghosts that flying from these dogs,
    Do plunge your selves in Puryflegiton,
    1290Come all of you, and with your shrieking notes
    Accompany the Britains conquering hoast.
    Come fierce Erinnis, horrible with Snakes,
    Come ugly Furies, armed with your whips,
    You threefold judges of black Tartarus,
    1295And all the army of you hellish fiends,
    With new found torments rack proud Locrine's bones.
    O gods and starres, damn'd be the gods and starres,
    That did not drown me in fair Thetis plains.
    Curst be the sea that with outragious waves,
    1300 With surging billowes did not rive my ships
    Against the rocks of high Cerannia,
    Or swallowed me into her watry gulf.