1197Loc. Now am I guarded with an hoast of men,

1198Whose haughty courage is invincible;

1199Now am I hemm'd with troups of Souldiers,

1200Such as might force Bellona to retire,

1201And make her tremble at their puissance;

1202Now sit I like the mighty god of warre,

1203When armed with his Coat of Adamant,

1204Mounted his Chariot drawn with mighty Bulls,

1205He drove the Argives over Xanthus streames.

1206Now, cursed Humber, doth thy end draw nigh,

1207Down goes the glory of his victories,

1208And all his fame, and all his high renown,

1209Shall in a moment yield to Locrine's sword:

1210Thy bragging banners crost with argent streames,

1211The ornaments of thy pavillions,

1212Shall all be captivated with this hand,

1213And thou thy self at Albanactus Tombe

1214Shalt offered be, in satisfaction

1215Of all the wrongs thou didst him when he liv'd.

1216But canst thou tell me, brave Thrasimachus,

1217How far we are distant from Humbers camp?

1218Thra. My Lord, within your foule accursed Grove

1219That beares the tokens of our overthrow,

1220This Humber hath intrencht his damned camp.

1221 March on, my Lord, because I long to see

1222The treacherous Scythians squeltring in their gore.

1223Locri. Sweet fortune, favour Locrine with a smile,

1224That I may venge my noble Brothers death,

1225And in the midst of stately Troimovant,

1226I'le build a Temple to thy deitie

1227Of perfect marble, and of Jacinth stones,

1228That it shall passe the high Pyramides,

1229Which with their top surmount the firmament.

1231Stout Hercules Alcmenas, mighty Son,

1232That tam'd the monsters of the three-fold world,

1233And rid the oppressed from the tyrants yokes,

1234Did never shew such valiantnesse in fight,

1235As I will now for noble Albanact.

1236Cori. Full fourscore yeares hath Corineius liv'd,

1237Sometime in warre, sometime in quiet peace,

1238And yet I feel my self to be as strong

1239As erst I was in summer of mine age,

1240Able to tosse this great unweildy Club,

1241Which hath been painted with my foe-mens brains:

1242And with this Club I'le break the strong array

1243Of Humber and his stragling Souldiers,

1244Or loose my life amongst the thickest presse,

1245And die with honour in my latest dayes:

1246 Yet ere I die they all shall understand,

1247What force lies in stout Corineius hand.

1248Thra. And if Thrasimachus detract the fight,

1249Either for weaknesse or for cowardise,

1250Let him not boast that Brutus was his Eame,

1251Or that brave Corineius was his Sire.

1252Loc. Then courage, Souldiers, first for your safety.