Ate.
Scelera in authorem cadunt.
High on a Bank by Nilus boisterous Streams,
Fearfully sat th' Egyptian Crocodile,
Dreadfully grinding in her sharp long Teeth
The broken Bowels of a silly Fish,
His Back was arm'd against the dint of Spear,
With Shields of Brass that shin'd like burnisht Gold,
And as he stretched forth his cruel Paws,
A subtil Adder creeping closely near,
Thrusting his forked Sting into his Claws,
Privily shed his Poison through his Bones,
Which made him swell that there his Bowels burst,
That did so much in his own greatness trust.
So Humber having conquer'd Albanact,
Doth yield his Glory unto Locrine's Sword.
Mark what ensues, and you may easily see,
That all our Life is but a Tragedy. [Exit. SCENE II. Enter Locrine, Guendeline, Corineius, Assaracus, Thrasimachus, and Camber.

Loc.
And is this true, is Albanactus slain?
Hath cursed Humber with his stragling Host,
With that his Army made of mungrel Curs,
Brought our redoubted Brother to his end?
O that I had the Thracian Orpheus Harp,
For to awake out of th' infernal Shade
Those ugly Devils of black Erebus,
That might torment the damned Traitor's Soul:
O that I had Amphion's Instrument

To quicken with his vital Notes and Tunes
The flinty Joints of every stony Rock,
By which the Scythians might be punished;
For, by the lightning of almighty Jove,
The Hunn shall die, had he ten thousand Lives:
And would to God he had ten thousand Lives,
That I might with the arm-strong Hercules
Crop off so vile an Hydra's hissing Heads.
But say me, Cousin, for I long to hear,
How Albanact came by untimely Death.

Thra.
After the traiterous Host of Scythians
Entred the Field with Martial Equipage,
Young Albanact, impatient of delay,
Led forth his Army 'gainst the stragling Mates,
Whose multitude did daunt our Soldiers Minds,
Yet nothing could dismay the forward Prince;
But with a Courage most heroical,
Like to a Lion 'mongst a flock of Lambs,
Made havock of the faint-heart Fugitives,
Hewing a passage through them with his Sword;
Yea we had almost giv'n them the Repulse,
When suddenly from out the silent Wood
Hubba with twenty thousand Soldiers,
Cowardly came upon our weakned Backs,
And murthered all with fatal Massacre;
Amongst the which old Debon, martial Knight,
With many wounds was brought unto the Death:
And Albanact opprest with multitude,
Whilst valiantly he feld his Enemies,
Yielded his life and honour to the Dust,
He being dead, the Soldiers fled amain,
And I alone escaped them by flight,
To bring you Tidings of these accidents.

Loc.
Not aged Priam, King of stately Troy,
Grand Emperour of barb'rous Asia,
When he beheld his noble-minded Sons
Slain traiterously by all the Mirmidons,
Lamented more than I for Albanact.

Guen.
Not Hecuba the Queen of Ilium,
When she beheld the Town of Pergamus,
Her Palace burnt, with all-devouring flames,
Her fifty Sons and Daughters fresh of hue,

Murther'd by wicked Pyrrhus bloody Sword,
Shed such sad Tears as I for Albanact.

Cam.
The grief of Niobe, fair Athens Queen,
For her seven Sons magnanimous in Field,
For her seven Daughters fairer than the fairest,
Is not to be compar'd with my laments.

Cor.
In vain you sorrow for the slaughter'd Prince,
In vain you sorrow for his overthrow;
He loves not most that doth lament the most,
But he that seeks to venge the Injury.
Think you to quell the Enemies warlike Train,
With childish Sobs and womanish Laments?
Unsheath your Swords, unsheath your conqu'ring Swords,
And seek revenge, the comfort for this sore:
In Cornwall, where I hold my Regiment,
Even just ten thousand valiant Men at Arms
Hath Corineius ready at command:
All these and more, if need shall more require,
Hath Corineius ready at command.

Cam.
And in the Fields of martial Cambria,
Close by the boistrous Iscan's Silver streams,
Where light-foot Fairies skip from Bank to Bank,
Full twenty thousand brave couragious Knights
Well exercis'd in feats of Chivalry,
In manly manner most invincible,
Young Camber hath with Gold and Victual.
All these and more, if need shall more require,
I offer up to venge my Brother's Death,

Loc.
Thanks, loving Uncle, and good Brother too,
For this revenge, for this sweet Word revenge
Must ease and cease my wrongful Injuries;
And by the Sword of bloody Mars I swear,
Ne'er shall sweet quiet enter this my Front,
'Till I be venged on his traiterous Head
That slew my noble Brother Albanact.
Sound Drums and Trumpets, muster up the Camp,
For we will straight march to Albania. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Enter Humber, Estrild, Hubba, Thrassier, and the Soldiers.

Hum.
Thus are we come, victorious Conqueror,
Unto the flowing Current's Silver streams,

Which, in memorial of our Victory,
Shall be agnominated by our Name,
And talked of by our Posterity:
For sure I hope before the Golden Sun
Posteth his Horses to fair Thetis Plains,
To see the Waters turned into Blood,
And change his blueish Hue to rueful red,
By reason of the fatal Massacre,
Which shall be made upon the virent Plains. Enter the Ghost of Albanact.

Ghost.
See how the Traitor doth presage his harm,
See how he glories at his own decay,
See how he triumphs at his proper Loss,
O Fortune vile, unstable, fickle, frail!

Hum.
Methinks I see both Armies in the Field,
The broken Lances climb the Crystal Skies,
Some headless lye, some breathless on the Ground,
And every place is strew'd with carcasses,
Behold the Grass hath lost his pleasant green,
The sweetest Sight that ever might be seen.

Ghost.
Ay, Traiterous Humber, thou shalt find it so,
Yea to thy cost thou shalt the same behold,
With Anguish, Sorrow, and with sad Laments;
The grassie Plains, that now do please thine Eyes,
Shall e'er the Night be colour'd all with Blood;
The shady Groves that now inclose thy Camp,
And yield sweet savour to thy damned Corps,
Shall e'er the Night be figured all with Blood;
The profound Stream that passeth by thy Tents,
And with his Moisture serveth all thy Camp,
Shall e'er the Night converted be to Blood,
Yea with the Blood of those thy stragling Boys:
For now revenge shall ease my lingring Grief,
And now revenge shall glut my longing Soul.

Hub.
Let come what will, I mean to bear it out,
And either live with glorious Victory,
Or die with Fame renown'd for Chivalry:
He is not worthy of the Honey-comb,
That shuns the Hives because the Bees have stings;
That likes me best that is not got with ease,
Which thousand Dangers do accompany;

For nothing can dismay our regal Mind;
Which aims at nothing but a Golden Crown,
The only upshot of mine enterprises.
Were they inchanted in grim Pluto's Court,
And kept for treasure 'mongst his hellish Crew,
I would either quell the triple Cerberus
And all the Army of his hateful Hags,
Or roll the Stone with wretched Sysiphus.

Hum.
Right martial be thy Thoughts, my noble Son,
And all thy words savour of Chivalry. [Enter Segar.
But, warlike Segar, what strange Accidents
Make you to leave the warding of the Camp?

Segar.
To Arms, my Lord, to honourable Arms;
Take helm and targe in Hand, the Britons come
With greater Multitude than erst the Greeks
Brought to the Ports of Phrygian Tenedos.

Hum.
But what saith Segar to these Accidents?
What Counsel gives he in Extremities?

Segar.
Why this, my Lord, experience teacheth us,
That Resolution's a sole help at need.
And this, my Lord, our honour teacheth us,
That we be bold in every enterprise;
Then since there is no way but fight or die,
Be resolute, my Lord, for Victory.

Hum.
And resolute, Segar, I mean to be,
Perhaps some blissful Star will favour us,
And comfort bring to our perplexed State:
Come let us in and fortifie our Camp,
So to withstand their strong Invasion. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Enter Strumbo, Trompart, Oliver, and his Son William following them.

Strum.

Nay Neighbour Oliver, if you be so whot, come prepare your self, you shall find two as stout Fellows of us, as any in all the North.

Oliv.

No by my dorth Neighbour Strumbo, Ich zee dat you are a Man of small zideration, dat will zeek to injure your old vreends, one of your vamiliar guests, and derefore zeeing your pinion is to deal withouten reazon, Ich and my zonne William will take dat course, dat shall

be fardest vrom reason; how zay you, will you have my Daughter or no?

Strum.

A very hard question, Neighbour, but I will solve it as I may; what reason have you to demand it of me?

Will.

Marry Sir, what reason had you when my Sister was in the barn to tumble her upon the Hay, and to fish her Belly?

Strum.

Mass thou say'st true; well, but would you have me marry her therefore? No, I scorn her, and you, and you: Ay, I scorn you all.

Oliv.

You will not have her then?

Strum.

No, as I am a true Gentleman.

Will.

Then will we School you, e'er you and we part hence.

Strum.

Ay, you come in Pudding time, or else I had drest them.

Mar.

You Master Sawcebox, Lobcocks, Cockscomb, you Slopsawce, Lickfingers, will you not hear?

Strum.

Who speak you to, me?

Mar.

Ay, Sir, to you, John Lack-honesty, little Wit, is it you that will have none of me?

Strum.

No by my troth, Mistress Nicebice, how fine you can Nick-name me; I think you were brought up in the University of Bridewell, you have your Rhetorick so ready at your Tongues end, as if you were never well warn'd when you were young.

Mar.

Why then Goodman cods-head, if you will have none of me, farewel.

Strum.

If you be so plain, Mistress Driggle-draggle, fare you well.

Mar.

Nay, Master Strumbo, e'er you go from hence we must have more words, you will have none of me?

Strum.

Oh my Head, my Head, leave, leave, leave, I will, I will, I will.

Mar.

Upon that condition I let thee alone.

Oliv.

How now Master Strumbo, hath my Daughter taught you a new Lesson?

Strum.

Ay but hear you, Goodman Oliver, it will not be for my ease to have my Head broken every Day, therefore remedy this, and we shall agree.

Oliv.

Well, Zon, well, for you are my Zon now, all shall be remedied, Daughter be Friends with him.

Strum.

You are a sweet Nut, the Devil crack you. Masters, I think it be my luck, my first Wife was a loving quiet Wench, but this I think would weary the Devil. I would she might be burnt as my other Wife was; if not, I must run to the Halter for help. O Codpiece, thou hast undone thy Master, this it is to be medling with warm Plackets.