Ghost.
Behold, the Circuit of the azure Sky
Throws forth sad Throbs, and grievous Suspirs,
Prejudicating Locrine's Overthrow:
The Fire casteth forth sharp darts of Flames,
The great Foundation of the triple World
Trembleth and quaketh with a mighty Noise,
Presaging bloody Massacres at hand.
The wandring Birds that flutter in the dark,
When hellish Night in cloudy Chariot seated,
Casteth her mists on shady Tellus Face,
With sable Mantles cov'ring all the Earth,
Now flies abroad amid the chearful Day,
Foretelling some 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 Fawns,
And all the rabble of the wo dy 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 pronounceth 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,
And pour thy Plagues on cursed Locrine's Head. [Stand aside. Enter Locrine, Estrild, Assarachus, Sabren, and their Soldiers 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 she braveth Locrine to the Teeth?
And hast thou found thine Armour, pretty Boy,

Accompanied with these thy stragling 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 shouldst scorn me thus?
What have I said that thou shouldst me reject?
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 Lusts,
Yieldeth unto Affections filthy Darts.
Unkind, thou wrong'st thy first and truest fear,
Unkind, thou wrong'st thy best and dearest Friend;
Unkind, thou scorn'st all skilful Brutus Laws,
Forgetting Father, Uncle, and thy self.

Est.
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 Thrasimachus?
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 acquittance for thy bold attempts. [Exeunt. Sound the Alarum. Enter Locrine, Assarachus, and a Soldier 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,
Thrasimachus 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,
Prevail against an hundred thousand Men,

Thrasimachus incenst 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 silver Simois. [Sound the Alarum.
O lovely Estrild now the Chase begins,
Ne'er shall we see the stately Troynovant
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 Thrasimachus?
Shall Guendeline captivate my Love?
Ne'er shall mine Eyes behold that dismal hour,
Ne'er will I view that ruthful Spectacle,
For with my Sword, or this sharp Curtle-Axe,
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 Heav'nly 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 [Kisses his Sword.
Hast sav'd 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.
Farewel, fair Estrild, Beauty's Paragon,
Fram'd in the front of forlorn Miseries,
Ne'er shall mine Eyes behold thy Sun-shine Eyes,
But when we meet in the Elysian Fields,
Thither I go before with hasten'd pace.
Farewel, vain World, and thy inticing Snares.
Farewel, foul Sin, and thy inticing Pleasures,
And welcome Death, the end of Mortal 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 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 mishaps?
Wherein as in a Glass we plainly see,
That all our Life is but a Tragedy,
Since mighty Kings are subject to mishap,
Ay, 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 woful Misery,
Locrine I come, Locrine I follow thee. [Kills her self. Sound the 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 murthered by a mortal wound?
What Thracian Dog, what barbarous Mirmidon,
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,
Lies slaughter'd in his foul accursed Cave;
Estrild, the perfect pattern of Renown,
Nature's sole wonder, in whose beauteous Breasts
All Heav'nly Grace and Virtue was inshrin'd,
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 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,

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.

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-hastened 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 she 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 Caucason,
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 Desarts reign,
Cease off your hasty 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 Weal,
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 stor'd,
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 Courtesie,
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 comes, and sheers 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.
What art thou Death, shall not poor Sabren die? [Guendeline taking her by the Chin, says,

Guen.
Yes Damsel, yes, Sabren shall surely die,
Tho' 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 masty 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 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 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 stirred up,
So let us pray for that renowned Maid,
That eight and thirty Years the Scepter 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. [Exit.

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