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 Eftrild, famous for thy Conftancy.

Ill may they fare that wrought your mortal Ends.
Enter Guendeline, Thrafimachus, Madan, and the Soldiers.
Guen. Search Soldiers, fearch, find Locrine and his Love,
Find the proud Strumpet, Humber's Concubine,
That I may change those her so pleasing Looks,
To pale and ignominious Afpe&.

Find me the Iffue of their curfed Love,
Find me young Sabren, Locrine's only Joy,
That I may glut my Mind with lukewarm Blood,
Swiftly diftilling from the Baftard's breaft.
My Father's Ghoft ftill haunts me for Revenge,
Crying; Revenge my over-haftened Death.
My Brother's Exile, and mine own Divorce,
Banish remorfe clean from my brazen Heart,
All Mercy from mine adamantive Breafts.

Thra. Nor doth thy Husband, lovely Guendeline,
That wonted was to guide our ftarless Steps,
Enjoy this Light; fee where he murdred lies:
By lucklefs Lot and froward frowning Fate,
And by him lies his lovely Paramour
Fair Eftrild goared with a difmal Sword,
And as it seems, both murdred by themselves,
Clafping each other in their feebled Arms,
With loving zeal, as if for Company
Their uncontented Corps were yet content
To pafs foul Styx in Charon's Ferry-boat.

Guen. And hath proud Eftrild then prevented me,
Hath the escaped Guendelina's Wrath,

By violently cutting off her Life?

Would God fhe had the monftrous Hydra's Lives,
That every hour she might have died a Death
Worfe than the fwing of old Ixion's Wheel,
And every hour revive to die again,
As Titius bound to houflefs Caucafon,
Doth feed the Subftance of his own mishap,
And every Day for want of Food doth die,
And every Night doth live again to die.

But ftay, methinks, I hear fome fainting Voice,
Mournfully weeping for their lucklefs Death.

Sab. You Mountain Nymphs which in these Defarts reign, Cease off your hafty chase of Savage Beasts,

Prepare to see a Heart oppreft with Care,
Address your Ears to hear a mournful Stile,
No human Strength, no Work can work my Wea',
Care in my Heart fo Tyrant like doth deal.
You Driades and lightfoot Satyri,

You gracious Fairies, which at Even-tide
Your Closets leave with Heav'nly Beauty ftor'd,
And on your Shoulders fpread your golden Locks,
You favage 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 fuffers 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 fee one profperous hour,
If Sabren die not a reproachful Death.

Sab. Hard-hearted Death, that when the wretched call
Art fartheft off, and feldom hear'ft at all,

But in the midst of Fortune's good Succefs,

Uncalled comes, and fheers 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, fhall not poor Sabren die?

[Guendeline taking her by the Chin, fays, Guen. Yes Damfel, yes, Sabren fhall furely die, Tho' all the World fhould feek to fave her Life, And not a common Death fhall Sabren die, But after strange and grievous Punishments, Shortly inflicted on thy Baftard's Head, Thou shalt be caft into the curfed Streams, And feed the Fishes with thy tender Flefh.

Sab. And think'ft thou then, thou cruel Homicide,

That these thy Deeds fhall be unpunished?
No Traitor, no, the Gods will venge thefe Wrongs,

The

The Fiends of Hell will mark thefe Injuries.
Never shall these blood-fucking mafty Curs
Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home.
For I my felf, in fpite of thee and thine,
Mean to abridge my former Deftinies,
And that which Locrine's Sword could not perform,
This prefent Stream fhall present bring to pass.
[She drowns her felf.
Guen. One Mischief follows on another's Neck,
Who would have thought fo young a Maid as the,
With fuch a Courage would have fought her Death?
And for because this River was the Place
Where little Sabren resolutely died,
Sabren for ever fhall this fame 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 fhall be buried in a ftately Tomb,
Clofe by his aged Father Brutus Bones,
With fuch great Pomp and great Solemnity,
As well befeems fo brave a Prince as he:
Let Eftrild be without the fhallow Vaults,
Without the Honour due unto the dead,
Because he was the Author of this War.
Retire brave Followers unto Troynovant,
Where we will celebrate thefe Exequies,
And place young Locrine in his Father's Tomb.
Ate. Lo here the end of lawless Treachery,
Of Ufurpation and ambitious Pride,
And they that for their private Amours dare
Turmoil our Land, and fet their Broils abroach,
Let them be warned by thefe Premiffes,
And as a Woman was the only caufe
That civil difcord was then itirred up,
So let us pray for that renowned Maid,
That eight and thirty Years the Scepter sway'd
In quiet Peace and fweet Felicity,

And every Wight that feeks her Grace's Smart,
Would that this Sword were pierced in his Heart.

[Exeunt.

The End of the Sixth and Laft Volume.

[Exit.