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Are not of force to hold this steely Glaive,
So I am left to wail my Parents Death.
Not able for to work my proper Death.
Ah Locrine, honour'd for thy Nobleness.
Ah Estrild, famous for thy Constancy.
Ill may they fare that wrought your mortal Ends.
Enter Guendeline, Thrasimachus, Madan, and the Soldiers.
Gnen. Search Soldiers, search, find Locrine and his Love,
Find the proud Strumpet, Humbor's Concubine,
That I may change those her so pleasing Looks,
To pale and ignominious Afpe&.
Find me the issue of their cursed Love,
Find me young Sabren, Locrine's only Joy,
That I may glut my Mind with lukewarm Blood,
Swiftly distilling from the Bastard's breaft.
My Father's Ghost still haunts me for Revenge,
Crying; Revenge my over-haftened Death.
My Brother's Exile, and mine own Divorce,
Banish remorse clean from my brazen Heart,
All Mercy from mine adamantive Breasts.
Thra. Nor doth thy Husband, lovely Guendeline,
That wonted was to guide our starless Steps,
Enjoy this Light; see where he murdred lies :
By luckless Lot and froward frowning Fate,
And by him lies his lovely Paramour
Fair Estrild goared with a dismal Sword,
And as it seems, both murdred by themselves,
Clasping each other in their feebled Arms,
With loving zeal, as if for Company
Their uncontented Corps were yet content
To pass foul Styx in Charon's Ferry-boat.
Guen. And hath proud Estrild then prevented me,
Hath the escaped Guendelina's Wrath,
By violently cutting off her Life?
Would God she had the monstrous Hydra's Lives,
That every hour she might have died a Death
Worse than the swing of old Ixion's Wheel,
And every hour revive to die again,
As Titius bound to housless Carcafon,
Doth feed the Substance of his own mishap,
every Day for want of Food doch die, And every Night doth live again to die.
But stay, methinks, I hear some fainting Voice,
Mournfully weeping for their luckless Death.
Sab. You Mountain Nymphs which in these Desarts reign,
Cease off your hafty chase of Savage Beasts,
Prepare to see a Heart opprest with Care,
Address your Ears to hear a mournful Stile,
No human Strength, no Work can work my
Care in my Heart so Tyrant like doth deal.
You Driades and lightfoot Satyri,
You gracious Fairies, which at Even-tide
Your Closets leave with Heav'nly Beauty ford,
And on your shoulders spread your golden Locks,
You savage Bears in Caves and darken’d Dens,
Come wail with me the martial Locrine's Death.
Come mourn with me, for beauteous Eftrild's Death.
Ah loving Parents little do you know,
What Sorrow Sabren suffers for your thrall.
Guen. But may this be, and is it poffible,
Lives Sabren yet to expiate my Wrath?
Fortune I thank thee for this Courtefie,
And let me never see one profperous hour,
If Sabren die not a reproachful Death.
Sab. Hard-hearted Death, that when the wretched calls Art farthest off, and feldom hear'ft at all, But in the midt of Fortune's good Success, Uncalled comes, and sheers our Life in twain : When will that hour, that bleffed hour draw nigh, When poor diftreffed Sabren may be
gone. Sweet Atropos cut off my fatal Thread. What art thou Death, shall not poor Sabren die?
[Guendeline taking her by the Chir, says
Guen. Yes Damsel, yes, Sabren fhall surely die,
Tho' all the World should seek to save her Life,
And not a common Death fhall Sabren die,
But after strange and grievous Punishments,
Shortly inflicted on thy Bastard's Head,
Thou shalt be cast into the curred Streams,
And feed the Fishes with thy cender Flefh.
Sab. And think it thou then, thou cruel Homicide,
That these thy Deeds shall be unpunished?
No Traitor, no, the Gods will venge these Wrongs,
The Fiends of Hell will mark these Injuries.
Never shall these blood-sucking mafty Curs
Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home.
For I my self, in spite of thee and thine,
Mean to abridge my former Destinies,
And that which Locrine's Sword could not perform,
This present Stream shall present bring to pass.
[She drowns her self.
Guen. One Mischief follows on another's Neck,
Who would have thought so young a Maid as The;
With such a Courage would have lought her Death?
And for because this River was the Place
Where little Sabren resolutely died,
Sabren for ever shall this same be call'd.
And as for Locrine, our deceased Spouse,
Because he was the Son of mighty Brute,
To whom we owe our Country, Lives and Goods,
He shall be buried in a stately Tomb,
Close by his aged Father Brutus Bones,
With such great Pomp and great Solemnity,
As well beseems so brave a Prince as he:
Let Estrild be without the shallow Vaults,
Without the Honour due unto the dead,
Because she was the Author of this War.
Retire brave Followers unto Troynovant,
Where we will celebrate these Exequies,
And place young Locrine in his Father's Tomb. [Exeunt.
Ate. Lo here the end of lawless Treachery,
Of Usurpation and ambitious Pride,
And they that for their private Amours dare
Turmoil our Land, and set their Broils abroach,
Let them be warned by these Premisses,
And as a Woman was the only cause
That civil discord was then itirred
So let us pray for that renowned Maid,
That eight and thirty Years the Scepter (way'd
In quiet Peace and sweet Felicity,
And every Wight that seeks her Grace's Smart,
Would that this Sword were pierced in his Heart. [Exit.
The End of the Sixth and Last Volume.