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I'll cut in-sunder my accursed heart,
But, O you judges of the ninefold Styx,
Which with incessant torments rack the ghosts
Within the bottomless abyssus' pits;
You gods, commanders of the heavenly spheres,
Whose will and laws irrevocable stand,
Forgive, forgive, this foul accursed sin!
Forget, O gods, this foul condemned fault!
And now, my sword, that in so many fights
Hast saved the life of Brutus and his son,
End now his life that wisheth still for death,
Work now his death that wisheth still for death,
Work now his death that hateth still his life!
Farewell, fair Estrild, beauty's paragon,
Framed in the front of forlorn miseries!
Ne'er shall mine eyes behold thy sunshine eyes,
But when we meet in the Elysian fields.
Thither I go before with hasten'd pace.
Farewell, vain world, and thy enticing snares!
Farewell, foul sin, and thy enticing pleasures;
And welcome, death, the end of mortal smart,
Welcome to Locrine's over-burthened heart!

[Kisses his sword.

[Stabs himself, and dies.

Est. Bre heart, with sobs and grievous suspires!
Stream out, you tears, from forth my wat'ry eyes;
Help me to mourn for warlike Locrine's death!
Pour down your tears, you wat❜ry 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 confuséd chaos of mishaps?
Wherein, as in a glass, we plainly see
That all our life is but a tragedy;
Since mighty kings are subject to mishap,
Since martial Locrine is bereft of life.

Shall Estrild live then after Locrine's death ?
Shall love of life bar her from Locrine's sword?
O no; 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 woeful misery!
Locrine, I come; Locrine, I follow thee!

Alarum. Enter SABREN.

Sab. What doleful sight, what ruthful spectacle
Hath Fortune offer'd to my hapless heart?
My father slain with such a fatal sword,
My mother murder'd by a mortal wound!
What Thracian dog, what barbarous Myrmidon,
Would not relent at such a ruthful case?
What fierce Achilles, what hard stony flint,
Would not bemoan this mournful tragedy?
Locrine, the map of magnanimity.

[Kills herself.

Lies slaughter'd in this foul accursed cave.
Estrild, the perfect pattern of renown,
Nature's sole wonder, in whose beauteous breasts
All heavenly grace and virtue was enshrined,
Both 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 shall 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 plaudits.

[Attempts to kill herself.

Ah me, my virgin hands are too, too weak!
To penetrate the bulwark of my breast.
My fingers, used to tune the amorous lute,
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!


Guen. Search, soldiers, search; 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 aspect.
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 breast.
My father's ghost still haunts me for revenge,
Crying, Revenge my over-hasten'd death.
My brother's exile and mine own divorce
Banish remorse clean from my brazen heart,
All mercy from mine adamantine breasts.

Thra. Nor doth thy husband, lovely Guendolen,
That wonted was guide our stayless steps,
Enjoy this light: see where he murder'd lies
By luckless lot and froward frowning fate;
And by him lies his lovely paramour,
Fair Estrild, goréd with a dismal sword,
And, as it seems, both murder'd 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 she escaped Guendolena's wrath,
By violently cutting off her life?

Would God she had the monstrous Hydra's lives,

*I. e. sword.

+ Own.

+ Anticipated.

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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 Tityus, bound to houseless Caucasus,
Doth feed the substance of his own mishap,
And every day for want of food doth 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 deserts reign,
Cease off your hasty chase of savage beasts!
Prepare to see a heart oppress'd with care;
Address your ears to hear a mournful style!
No human strength, no work can work my weal,
Care in my heart so tyrant-like doth deal.
You Dryades, and light-foot Satyri,
You gracious fairies, which at even-tide
Your closets leave, with heavenly beauty stored,
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 Estrild's death!
Ah! loving parents, little do you know
What sorrow Sabren suffers for your thrall.

Guen. But may this be, and is it possible? Lives Sabren yet to expiate my wrath ? Fortune, I thank thee for this courtesy ; And let me never see one prosperous hour, If Sabren die not a reproachful death.

Sab. Hard-hearted Death, that, when the wretched call,
Art farthest off, and seldom hear'st at all;
But in the midst of fortune's good success
Uncalled com'st, and sheer'st our life in twain;
When will that hour, that blessed hour draw nigh,
When poor distressed Sabren may be gone?
Sweet Atropos, cut off my fatal thread!

Where art thou, Death ? shall not poor Sabren die ?
Guen. Yes, damsel, yes, Sabren shall surely die,
Though all the world should seek to save her life,
And not a common death shall Sabren die,
But, after strange and grievous punishments,
Shortly* inflicted on thy bastard's head,
Thou shalt be cast into the cursed streams,
And feed the fishes with thy tender flesh.

Sab. And think'st 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 mastiff curs
Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home.
For I myself, in spite of thee and thine,

*Soon to be.

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 herself.

Guen. One mischief follows on another's neck.
Who would have thought so young a maid as she
With such a courage would have sought 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 lie 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.

Enter ATE.

Até. 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 premises.
And as a woman was the only cause
That civil discord was then stirred up,
So let us pray for that renowned maid
That eight and thirty years the sceptre sway'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!






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