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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
    Not Peer Reviewed

    The Tragedy of Locrine (Third Folio, 1664)

    84
    The Tragedy of Locrine.
    Like crafty Dames that most of all deny
    That, which they most desire to possesse.
    Brutus turning to Locrine.
    225Locrine kneeling.
    Then now my son thy part is on the stage,
    For thou must bear the person of a King.
    Puts the Crown on his head.
    Locrine stand up, and wear the regal Crown,
    230And think upon the state of Majesty,
    That thou with honour well maist wear the Crown,
    And if thou tendrest these my latest words,
    As thou requir'st my soul to be at rest,
    As thou desirest thine own security,
    235Cherish and love thy new betrothed wife.
    Locrine. No longer let me well enjoy the Crown,
    Then I do peerlesse Guendoline.
    Brut. Camber.
    Cam. My Lord.
    240Brut. The glory of mine age,
    And darling of thy mother Junoger,
    Take thou the South for thy dominion,
    From thee there shall proceed a royal race,
    That shall maintain the honor of this land,
    245That sway the regal scepter with their hands.
    Turning to Alabanact.
    And Albanact thy fathers onely joy,
    Youngest in years, but not the young'st in mind,
    A perfect pattern of all chivalrie,
    250Take thou the North for thy dominion,
    A country full of hills and ragged rocks,
    Replenished with fierce untamed beasts,
    As correspondent to thy martial thoughts.
    Live long my sons with endlesse happinesse,
    255And bear firm concordance among your selves,
    Obey the counsels of these fathers grave,
    That you may better bear out violence,
    But suddenly through weaknesse of my age,
    And the defect of youthfull puissance,
    260My Maladie increaseth more and more,
    And cruel death hasteneth his quickned pace,
    To dispossesse me of my earthly shape,
    Mine eyes wax dim, o're-cast with clouds of age.
    The pangs of death compasse my crazed bones,
    265Thus to you all my blessings I bequeath,
    And with my blessings, this my fleeting soul.
    My glasse is run, and all my miseries
    Do end with life: death closeth up mine eyes,
    My soul in hast flies to the Elisian fields.He dieth.
    270Loc. Accursed starrs, damn'd and accursed starrs,
    To abreviate my noble father's life,
    Hard-hearted gods, and too envious fates,
    Thus to cut off my father's fatal thred,
    Brutus that was a glory to us all,
    275Brutus that was a terror to his foes,
    Alasse too soon by Demagorgon's knife,
    The martial Brutus is bereft of life.
    No sad complaints may move just Lacus.
    Corin. No dreadfull threats can fear judge Rhodomanth,
    280Wert thou as strong as mighty Hercules,
    That tam'd the hugie monsters of the world,
    Plaid'st thou as sweet, on th
    e sweet sounding Lute,
    As did the spouse of fair Euridice,
    That did enchant the waters with his noise,
    285And made the stones, birds, beasts, to lead a dance,
    Constrained the hilly trees to follow him,
    Thou could'st not move the judge of Crebus,
    Nor move compassion in grim Pluto's heart,
    For fatal Mors expecteth all the world,
    290And every man must tread the way of death,
    Brave Tantalus, the valiant Pelops sire,
    Guest to the gods, suffred untimely death,
    And old Fleithonus husband to the morn,
    And eke grim Minos whom just Jupiter
    295Deign'd to admit unto his sacrifice,
    The thundring trumpets of bloud-thirsty Mars.
    The fearfull rage of fell Tisiphoen.
    The boistrous waves of humid Ocean,
    Are instruments and tools of dismal death.
    300Then noble cousin cease to mourn his chance,
    Whose age and years were signes that he should die.
    It resteth now that we interre his bones,
    That was a terror to his enemies.
    Take up his coarse, and Princes hold him dead,
    305Who while he liv'd, upheld the Troyan state.
    Sound drums and trumpets, march to Trinovant,
    There to provide our chieftains funeral.Exeunt.
    Scena Tertia.
    Enter Strumbo above in a gown, with ink and
    310paper in his hand saying.
    Strum. Either the four Elements, the seven Planets
    and all the particular Starrs of the Pole Antastick, are
    adversitive against me, or else I was begotten and born
    in the wain of the Moon, when every thing, as
    315Lactantius in his fourth book of Constultations doth
    say, goeth arsward. I Masters, I, you may laugh, but
    I must weep; you may joy, but I must sorrow; shed-
    ding salt tears from the watry fountains of my moist
    dainty fair eyes, along my comely and smooth cheeks, in as
    320great plenty as the water runneth from the bucking-tubs,
    or red wine out of the Hogs-heads: for trust me gentle-
    men and my very good friends, and so forth: the little
    god, nay the desperate god Cuprit, with one of his
    vengible bird-bolts, hath shot me unto the heel: so not
    325only, but also, oh fine phrase, I burn, I burn, and
    I burn a, in love, in love, and in love a, ah Strum-
    bo, what hast thou seen, not Dina with the Asse Tom?
    Yea with these eyes thou hast seen her, and therefore
    pull them out: for they will work thy bail. Ah Strum-
    330bo,hast thou heard the voice of the Nightingale, but a
    voice sweeter then hers, yea with these ears hast thou
    heard them, and therefore cut them off, for they have
    caus'd thy sorrow. Nay Strumbo, kill thy self, drown
    thy self, hang thy self, starve thy self. Oh but then
    335I shall leave my sweet heart. Oh my heart! Now pate
    for thy Master, I will dite an aliquant love-pistle to her,
    and then she hearing the grand verbosity of my scripture,
    will love me presently,
    Let him write a little, and then read.
    340My pen is naught, Gentlemen lend me a knife, I think
    the more haste the worst speed.
    Then write again, and after read.
    So it is, Mistris Dorothie, and the sole essence of
    my soul, that the little sparkles of affection kindled in
    345me towards your sweet self, hath now increased to a great
    flame, and will ere it be long consume my poor heart,
    except you with the pleasant water of your secret foun-
    tain,
    [F2v]
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