Imatges de pÓgina
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Think on our Father Corincius Words,
His Words to us stand always for a Law.
Should Locrine live, that caus'd my Father's Death
Should Locrine live, chat now divorceth you?
The Heav'ns, the Earth, the Air, the Fire reclaims;
And then why should all we deny the same?

Guen. Then henceforth farewel womanith Complaints,
All childish Pity henceforth then farewel :
But cursed Locrine, look unto thy self,
For Nemesis, the Mistress of Revenge,
Sits arm'd at all Points on our difmal Blades,
And cursed Eftrild, that inflam'd his Heart,
Shall, if I live, die a reproachful Death.

Mad. Mother, tho' Nature makes me to lament
My luckless Father's froward Letchery;
Yet for he wrongs my Lady Mother, thus,
I, if I could, my self would work his Death.

Thra. See, Madam, see, the defire of Revenge
Is in the Children of a tender Age.
Forward, brave Soldiers, into Mercia,
Where we shall brave the Coward to his Face. Exeunt.

Enter Locrine, Estrild, Sabren, Aslarachus, and the Soldiers.

Loc. Tell me, Asarachus, are the Cornish Chuffs
In such great number come to Mercia,
And have they pitched there their Host,
So close unto our Royal Mansion?

Asa. They are, my Lord, and mean incontinent
To bid Defiance to your Majesty.

Loc. It makes me laugh, to think that Guendeline
Should have the Heart to come in Arms against me.

Est. Alas, my Lord, the Horse will run amain
When as the Spur doth gall him to the Bone ;
Jealousie, Locrine, hath a wicked sting.

Loc. Sayft thou so, Estrild, Beauty's Paragon?
Well, we will try her Choler to the Proof,
And make her know, Locrine can brook no braves.
March on, Afarachus, thou must lead the way,
And bring us to their proud Pavilion.

[Exeun SCENE

Enter the Ghost of Corineius, with Thunder and Lightning.

Ghost. Behold, the Circuit of the azure Sky
Throws forth fad Throbs, and grievous Suspirs,
Prejudicating Locrine's Overthrow :
The Fire castech forth fharp darts of Flames,
The great Foundation of the triple World
Trembleth and quakech with a mighty Noise,
Presaging bloody Massacres at hand,
The wandring Birds that flutter in the dark,
When hellith Night in cloudy Chariot seated,
Casteth her mists on fhady Tellus Face,
With fable Mantles cov'ring all the Earth,
Now flies abroad amid the chearful Day,
Foretelling fome unwonted Misery.
The snarling Curs of darkned Tartarus,
Sent from Avernus Ponds by Rhadamanth,
With howling Ditties pester ev'ry Wood;
The watry Ladies, and the lightfoot Pawns,
And all the rabble of the woody Nymphs,
All trembling hide themselves in shady Groves,
And shrowd themselves in hideous hollow Pits.
The boisterous Boreas thundreth forth Revenge:
The stony Rocks cry out on sharp Revenge:
The thorny Bush pronounccth dire Revenge.

[Sound the Alarum,
Now Corineius stay and see Revenge,
And feed thy Soul with Locrine's Overthrow,
Behold they come, the Trumpets call them forth:
The roaring Drums summon the Soldiers.
Lo where their Army glistereth on the Plains.
Throw forth thy Lightning, mighty Jupiter,

pour thy Plagues on cursed Locrine's Head. (Stand aside. Enter Locrine, Estrild, Aslarachus, Sabren and their Sol

diers at one Door; Thrasimachus, Guendeline, Madan, and their Followers at another.

Loc. What, is the Tiger started from his Cave?
Is Guendeline come from Cornubia,
That thus the braveth Locrine to the Teeth ?
And halt thou found thine Armour, pretty Boy,


Accompanied with these thy ftragling Mates?
Believe me but this Enterprize was bold,
And well deserveth Commendation.

Guen. Ay, Locrine, Traiterous Locrine, we are come,
With full pretence to seek thine Overthrow.
What have I done that thou shouldīt scorp me thus ?
What have I said that thou shouldst me reje&?
Have I been disobedient to thy Words?
Have I bewray'd thy arcane Secrecy?
Have I dishonoured thy Marriage Bed
With filthy Crimes, or with lascivious Lusts?
Nay it is thou that hast dishonour'd it,

Thy filthy Mind o'ercome with filthy Lulls,
Yieldeth unto Affections filthy Darts.
Unkind, thou wrong'st thy first and truest fear,
Unkind, thou wrong ft thy best and dearest Friend;
Unkind, thou scorn 'It all skilful Brutus Laws,
Forgetting Father, Uncle, and thy self.

Ēx. Believe me, Locrine, but the Girl is wise,
And well would seem to make a Vestal Nun,
How finely frames she her Oration.

Thra. Locrine, we came not here to fight with Words, Words that can never win the Victory, But for you are so merry

in your Frumps, Unsheath your Swords, and try it out by force, That we may see who hath the better hand.

Loc. Think'st thou to dare me, bold Thrafimachus ? Think'st thou to fear me with thy taunting braves, Or do we seem too weak to cope with thee? Soon shall I shew thee my fine cutting Blade, And with my Sword, the Messenger of Death, Seal thee an acquitcance for thy bold attempts. [Exeunt. Sound the Alarum. Enter Locrine, Assarachus, and a Sol

dier at one Door!; Guendeline, Thrasimachus, at another : Locrine and his Followers driven back.

Then Locrine and Estrild enter again in amaze.
Loc. O fair Estrilda, we have lost the Field,
Thrafimachus hath won the Victory,
And we are left to be a Laughing.stock,
Scoft at by those that are our Enemies,
Ten thousand Soldiers arm’d with Sword and Shield,
Pręyail against an hundred thousand Men,


Thrafimachus incenft with fuming Ire,
Rageth amongst the faint-heart Soldiers,
Like to grim Mars, when cover'd with his Targe,
He fought with Diomedes in the Field,
Close by the Banks of filver Simois. [Sound the Alerum.
O lovely Estrild now the Chafe begins,
Ne'er shall we see the stately Trognovant
Mounted with Coursers garnisht all with Pearls,
Ne'er shall we view the fair Concordia,
Unless as Captives we be thither brought.
Shall Locrine then be taken Prisoner,
By such a youngling as Thrafimachus ?
Shall Guendeline captivate my Love?
Ne’er shall mine Eyes behold that dismal hour,
Ne’er will I view iħat ruthful Spe&acle,
For with my Sword, or this sharp Curtle-Axe,
I'll cut in sunder my Accursed Heart.
But you Judges of the ninefold Styt,
Which with inceffant Torments rack the Ghosts
Within the borcom lefs Abysms Pits,
You Gods, Commanders of the Heav'nly Spheres,
Whose Will and Laws irrevocable stand,
Forgive, forgive, this fout accursed Sin;
Forget, O Gods, this foul condemned fault :
And now my Sword, that in so many Fights (Kisses his Sword.
Haft sav'd the Life of Brutus and his Son,
End now his Life chat wisheth ftill for Death,
Work now his Death chat wisheth ftill for Death,
Work now his Death that hateth ftill his Life.
Farewel, fair Estrild, Beauty's Paragon,
Fram'd in the front of forlorn Miferies,
Ne'er shall mine Eyes behold thy Sun-fhine Eyes,
But when we meet in the Elysian Fields,
Thither I


before with haften'd pace. Farewel, vain World, and thy inticing Snares. Farewel, foul Sin, and thy inticing Pleasures, And welcome Death, the end of Morral smart, Welcome to Locrine's over-burthen'd Heart.

[Thrusts himself through with his Sword. Est. Break Heart with Sobs and grievous Suspirs, Stream forth you Tears from forth my watry Eyes, Help me to mourn for warlike Locrine's Death, Pour

Pour down your Tears you watry Regions, ,
For mighty Locrine is bereft of Life.
O fickle Fortune, o unstable World,
What else are all things, that this Globe contains,
But a confused Chaos of milhaps?
Wherein as in a Glass we plainly see,
That all our Life is but a Tragedy,
Since mighty Kings are subje&t to mishap,
Ay, mighty Kings are subject to milhap,
Since martial Locrine is bereft of Life,
Shall Eftrild live then after Locrine's Death?
Shall love of Life bar her from Locrine's Sword?

this Sword that hath bereft his Life,
Shall now deprive me of my fleeting Soul:
Strengthen these Hands, O‘mighty Jupiter,
That I may end my woful Misery,
Lacrine I come, Locrine I follow thee. [Kills her felf.

Sound the Alarum. Enter Sabren.
Sab. What doleful Sight, what ruthful Spectacle
Hath Fortune offer'd to my hapless Heart?
My Father Nain with such a fatal Sword,
My Mother inurthered by a mortal wound?
What Thracian Dog, what barbarous Mirmidon,
Would not relent at fuch a ruthful cafe?
What fierce Achilles, what hard ftony Flipt,
Would not bemoan this mournful Tragedy?
Locrine, the Map of Magnanimity,
Lies Naughter'd 'in his foul accurled Cave;
Estrild, the perfect pattern of Renown,
Nature's sole wonder, in whose beauteous Breasts
All Heav'nly Grace and Virtue was inshrin'd,
Boch massacred are dead within this Cave,
And with them dies fair Pallas and sweet Love.
Here lies a Sword, and Sabren hath a Heart,
This blessed Sword fhall cut my cursed Heart.
And bring my Soul unto my Parents Ghosts,
That they that live and view our Tragedy,
May mourn our case with mournful Plaudites:

[Offers to kill her self.
Ay me, my Virgins Hands are too too weak,
To penetrate the bulwark of my Breast;
My Fingers, us'd to tune the amorous Lute,


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