Loc.
Thus from the fury of Bellona's broils,
With sound of drum, and trumpets' melody,
The Britain king returns triumphantly.
The Scythians slain with great occision^{6 note}

Do mow the wither'd grass from off the earth,
Or as the ploughman with his piercing share
Renteth the bowels of the fertile fields,
And rippeth up the roots with razors keen,
So Locrine, with his mighty curtle-axe
Hath cropped off the heads of all thy Huns:
So Locrine's peers have daunted all thy peers,
And drove thine host unto confusion,
That thou may'st suffer penance for thy fault,
And die for murdering valiant Albanact.

Cori.
And thus, yea thus, shall all the rest be serv'd
That seek to enter Albion 'gainst our wills.
If the brave nation of the Troglodytes,
If all the coal-black Æthiopians,
If all the forces of the Amazons,
If all the hosts of the Barbarian lands,
Should dare to enter this our little world,
Soon should they rue their over-bold attempts;
That after us our progeny may say,
There lie the beasts that sought to usurp our land.

Loc.
Ay, they are beasts that seek to usurp our land,
And like to brutish beasts they shall be serv'd.
For, mighty Jove, the supreme king of heaven,
That guides the concourse of the meteors,
And rules the motion of the azure sky,
Fights always for the Britons' safety* ^note.
But stay; methinks I hear some shrieking noise,
That draweth near to our pavilion. Enter Soldiers, leading in Estrild.

Est.
What prince soe'er† ^note, adorn'd with golden crown,
Doth sway the regal sceptre in his hand,
And thinks no chance can ever throw him down,
Or that his state shall everlasting stand,
Let him behold poor Estrild in this plight,

The perfect platform of a troubled wight^{7 note}.
Once was I guarded with Mavortial bands^{8 note},
Compass'd with princes of the noble blood;
Now am I fallen into my foe-men's hands,
And with my death must pacify their mood^{9 note}
.
O life, the harbour of calamities!
O death, the haven of all miseries!
I could compare my sorrows to thy woe,
Thou wretched queen of wretched Pergamus,
But that thou viewd'st thy enemies' overthrow.
Nigh to the rock of high Caphareus
Thou saw'st their death, and then departed'st thence:
I must abide the victors' insolence.
The gods that pitied thy continual grief,
Transform'd thy corps, and with thy corps thy care:
Poor Estrild lives, despairing of relief,
For friends in trouble are but few and rare.
What, said I, few? ay, few, or none at all,
For cruel Death made havock of them all.
Thrice happy they, whose fortune was so good
To end their lives, and with their lives their woes!
Thrice hapless I, whom Fortune so withstood,
That cruelly she gave me to my foes!
O soldiers, is there any misery
To be compar'd to fortune's treachery?

Loc.
Camber, this same should be the Scythian queen.

Cam.
So may we judge by her lamenting words.

Loc.
So fair a dame mine eyes did never see;
With floods of woes she seems o'erwhelm'd to be.

Cam.
O, hath she not a cause for to be sad?

Loc. [Aside.]
If she have cause to weep for Humber's death,

And shed salt tears for her overthrow,
Locrine may well bewail his proper grief,
Locrine may move his own peculiar woe.
He, being conquer'd, died a speedy death,
And felt not long his lamentable smart:
I, being conqueror, live a lingering life,
And feel the force of Cupid's sudden stroke^{1 note}.
I gave him cause to die a speedy death;
He left me cause to wish a speedy death.
O, that sweet face, painted with nature's dye,
Those roseal cheeks mix'd with a snowy white,
That decent neck surpassing ivory,
Those comely breasts which Venus well might spite,
Are like to snares which wily fowlers wrought,
Wherein my yielding heart is prisoner caught!
The golden tresses of her dainty hair,
Which shine like rubies glittering with the sun,
Have so entrapp'd poor Locrine's love-sick heart,
That from the same no way it can be won.
How true is that which oft I heard declar'd,
One dram of joy must have a pound of care.

Est.
Hard is their fall, who from a golden crown
Are cast into a sea of wretchedness.

Loc.
Hard is their thrall, who by Cupido's frown
Are wrapp'd in waves of endless carefulness. [Aside.

Est.
O kingdom, object to all miseries^{2 note}!

Loc.
O love, the extream'st of all extremities! [Aside. [Goes into his chair.

Sold.
My lord, in ransacking the Scythian tents,
I found this lady, and to manifest
That earnest zeal I bear unto your grace,
I here present her to your majesty.

2 Sold.
He lies, my lord; I found the lady first,
And here present her to your majesty.

1 Sold.
Presumptuous villain, wilt thou take my prize?

2 Sold.
Nay, rather thou depriv'st me of my right.

1 Sold.
Resign thy title, caitiff, unto me,
Or with my sword I'll pierce thy coward's loins.

2 Sold.
Soft words, good sir; 'tis not enough to speak:
A barking dog doth seldom strangers bite.

Loc.
Unreverent villains, strive you in our sight?
Take them hence, jailor, to the dungeon;
There let them lie, and try their quarrel out.
But thou, fair princess, be no whit dismay'd,
But rather joy that Locrine favours thee.

Est.
How can he favour me that slew my spouse?

Loc.
The chance of war, my love, took him from thee.

Est.
But Locrine was the causer of his death.

Loc.
He was an enemy to Locrine's state,
And slew my noble brother Albanact.

Est.
But he was link'd to me in marriage-bond,
And would you have me love his slaughterer?

Loc.
Better to live, than not to live at all^{3 note}

Est.
Better to die renown'd for chastity,
Than live with shame and endless infamy.
What would the common sort report of me,
If I forget my love, and cleave to thee?

Loc.
Kings need not fear the vulgar sentences.

Est.
But ladies must regard their honest name.

Loc.
Is it a shame to live in marriage-bonds?

Est.
No, but to be a strumpet to a king.

Loc.
If thou wilt yield to Locrine's burning love,
Thou shalt be queen of fair Albania.

Est.
But Guendolen will undermine my state.

Loc.
Upon mine honour thou shalt have no harm.

Est.
Then lo! brave Locrine, Estrild yields to thee;
And, by the gods, whom thou dost invocate,
By the dread ghost of thy deceased sire,
By thy right-hand, and by thy burning love,
Take pity on poor Estrild's wretched thrall.

Cori.
Hath Locrine then forgot his Guendolen,
That thus he courts the Scythian's paramour?
What, are the words of Brute so soon forgot?
Are my deserts so quickly out of mind?
Have I been faithful to thy sire now dead?
Have I protected thee from Humber's hand,
And do'st thou quit me with ingratitude?
Is this the guerdon^{4 note} for my grievous wounds?
Is this the honour for my labours past?
Now, by my sword, Locrine, I swear to thee,
This injury of thine shall be repaid.

Loc.
Uncle, scorn you your royal sovereign,
As if we stood for cyphers in the court?
Upbraid you me with those your benefits?
Why, 'twas a subject's duty so to do.
What you have done for our deceased sire,
We know; and all know, you have your reward.

Cori.
Avaunt, proud princox^{5 note}! brav'st thou me withal?
Assure thyself, though thou be emperor,
Thou ne'er shalt carry this unpunished.

Camb.
Pardon, my brother, noble Corineus,
Pardon this once, and it shall be amended.

Assa.
Cousin, remember Brutus' latest words,
How he desired you to cherish them:

Let not this fault so much incense your mind,
Which is not yet passed all remedy.

Cori.
Then, Locrine, lo I reconcile myself;
But as thou lov'st thy life, so love thy wife.
But if thou violate those promises,
Blood and revenge shall light upon thy head.
Come, let us back to stately Troynovant,
Where all these matters shall be setteled.

Loc.
Millions of devils wait upon thy soul! [Aside.
Legions of spirits vex thy impious ghost!
Ten thousand torments rack thy cursed bones!
Let every thing that hath the use of breath,
Be instruments and workers of thy death! [Exeunt.

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