Até.
Non tam trinacriis exæstuat Ætna cavernis,
Læsæ furtivo quam cor mulieris amore..
Medea seeing Jason leave her love,
And chuse the daughter of the Theban king,

Went to her devilish charms to work revenge;
And raising up the triple Hecate,
With all the rout of the condemned fiends,
Framed a garland by her magick skill,
With which she wrought Jason and Creon's ill.
So Guendolen, seeing herself misus'd,
And Humber's paramour possess her place,
Flies to the dukedom of Cornubia,
And with her brother, stout Thrasimachus,
Gathering a power of Cornish soldiers,
Gives battle to her husband and his host,
Nigh to the river of great Mercia.
The chances of this dismal massacre
That which ensueth shortly will unfold. [Exit. SCENE. I. Enter Locrine, Camber, Assaracus, and Thrasimachus.

Assa.
But tell me, cousin, dy'd my brother so?
Now who is left to helpless Albion,
That as a pillar might uphold our state,
That might strike terror to our daring foes?
Now who is left to hapless Britany,
That might defend her from the barbarous hands
Of those that still desire her ruinous fall,
And seek to work her downfal and decay?

Cam.
Ay uncle, death's our common enemy,
And none but death can match our matchless power,
Witness the fall of Albioneus' crew,
Witness the fall of Humber and his Huns;
And this foul death hath now increas'd our woe,
By taking Corineus from this life,
And in his room leaving us worlds of care.

Thra.
But none may more bewail his mournful hearse,
Than I that am the issue of his loins.
Now foul befal that cursed Humber's throat,
That was the causer of his lingring wound!

Loc.
Tears cannot raise him from the dead again.—
But where's my lady mistress, Guendolen?

Thra.
In Cornwall, Locrine, is my sister now,
Providing for my father's funeral.

Loc.
And let her there provide her mourning weeds,
And mourn for ever her own widow-hood.
Ne'er shall she come within our palace gate,
To countercheck brave Locrine in his love.
Go, boy, to Durolitum, down the Ley,
Unto the arch where lovely Estrild lies;
Bring her and Sabren straight unto the court:
She shall be queen in Guendolena's room.
Let others wail for Corineus' death;
I mean not so to macerate my mind^{2 note},
For him that barr'd me from my heart's desire.

Thra.
Hath Locrine then forsook his Guendolen?
Is Corineus' death so soon forgot?
If there be gods in heaven, as sure there be,
If there be fiends in hell, as needs there must,
They will revenge this thy notorious wrong,
And pour their plagues upon thy cursed head.

Loc.
What, prat'st thou, peasant, to thy sovereign?
Or art thou strucken in some ecstasy?
Dost thou not tremble at our royal looks?
Dost thou not quake, when mighty Locrine frowns?
Thou beardless boy, were't not that Locrine scorns
To vex his mind with such a heartless child,
With the sharp point of this my battle-axe
I'd send thy soul to Pyriphlegethon.

Thra.
Though I be young and of a tender age,
Yet will I cope with Locrine when he dares.
My noble father with his conquering sword
Slew the two giants, kings of Aquitain.
Thrasimachus is not so degenerate,

That he should fear and tremble at the looks
Or taunting words of a Venerean squire^{3 note}.

Loc.
Menacest thou thy royal sovereign?
Uncivil, not beseeming such as you.
Injurious traitor, (for he is no less
That at defiance standeth with his king)
Leave these thy taunts, leave these thy bragging words,
Unless thou mean'st to leave thy wretched life.

Thra.
If princes stain their glorious dignity
With ugly spots of monstrous infamy,
They leese^{4 note} their former estimation,
And throw themselves into a hell of hate.

Loc.
Wilt thou abuse my gentle patience,
As though thou didst our high displeasure scorn?
Proud boy, that thou may'st know thy prince is mov'd,
Yea, greatly mov'd at this thy swelling pride,
We banish thee for ever from our court.

Thra.
Then, losel Locrine^{5 note}, look unto thyself;
Thrasimachus will venge this injury. [Exit.

Loc.
Farewel, proud boy, and learn to use thy tongue^{6 note}.

Assa.
Alas, my lord, you should have call'd to mind
The latest words that Brutus spake to you;
How he desir'd you, by the obedience
That children ought to bear unto their sire,
To love and favour lady Guendolen.
Consider this, that if the injury

Do move her mind, as certainly it will,
War and dissention follows speedily.
What though her power be not so great as yours?
Have you not seen a mighty elephant
Slain by the biting of a silly mouse?
Even so the chance of war inconstant is.

Loc.
Peace, uncle, peace, and cease to talk hereof;
For he that seeks, by whispering this or that,
To trouble Locrine in his sweetest life,
Let him persuade himself to die the death. Enter Estrild, Sabren, and a Page.

Est.
O say me, page^{7 note}, tell me, where is the king.
Wherefore doth he send for me to the court?
Is it to die? is it to end my life?
Say me, sweet boy; tell me and do not feign.

Page.

No, trust me, madam: if you will credit the little honesty that is yet left me, there is no such danger as you fear. But prepare yourself; yonder's the king.

Est.
Then, Estrild, lift thy dazzled spirits up,
And bless that blessed time, that day, that hour,
That warlike Locrine first did favour thee.
Peace to the king of Britany, my love! [Kneeling.
Peace to all those that love and favour him!

Loc.
Doth Estrild fall with such submission
Before her servant, king of Albion?
Arise, fair lady, leave this lowly cheer; [Taking her up.
Lift up those looks that cherish Locrine's heart,
That I may freely view that roseal face,
Which so intangled hath my love-sick breast.
Now to the court, where we will court it out,

And pass the night and day in Venus' sports.
Frolick, brave peers; be joyful with your king. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter Guendolen, Thrasimachus, Madan, and Soldiers.

Guen.
You gentle winds, that with your modest blasts
Pass through the circuit of the heavenly vault,
Enter the clouds, unto the throne of Jove,
And bear my prayers to his all-hearing ears,
For Locrine hath forsaken Guendolen,
And learn'd to love proud Humber's concubine.
You happy sprites, that in the concave sky
With pleasant joy enjoy your sweetest love,
Shed forth those tears with me, which then you shed
When first you woo'd your ladies to your wills:
Those tears are fittest for my woeful case,
Since Locrine shuns my nothing-pleasant face.
Blush heavens, blush sun, and hide thy shining beams;
Shadow thy radiant locks in gloomy clouds;
Deny thy chearful light unto the world,
Where nothing reigns but falshood and deceit.
What said I? falshood? ay, that filthy crime,
For Locrine hath forsaken Guendolen.
Behold the heavens do wail for Guendolen;
The shining sun doth blush for Guendolen;
The liquid air doth weep for Guendolen;
The very ground doth groan for Guendolen.
Ay, they are milder than the Britain king,
For he rejecteth luckless Guendolen.

Thra.
Sister, complaints are bootless in this cause.
This open wrong must have an open plague,
This plague must be repaid with grievous war,
This war must finish with Locrinus' death:
His death must soon extinguish our complaints.

Guen.
O no; his death will more augment my woes:
He was my husband, brave Thrasimachus,
More dear to me than the apple of mine eye;
Nor can I find in heart to work his scathe^{8 note}

Thra.
Madam, if not your proper injuries,
Nor my exile, can move you to revenge,
Think on our father Corineus' words;
His words to us stand always for a law.
Should Locrine live, that caus'd my father's death?
Should Locrine live, that now divorceth you?
The heavens, the earth, the air, the fire reclaims^{9 note};
And then why should all we deny the same?

Guen.
Then henceforth farewel womanish complaints!
All childish pity henceforth then farewel!
But cursed Locrine, look unto thyself;
For Nemesis, the mistress of revenge,
Sits arm'd at all points on our dismal blades:
And cursed Estrild, that inflam'd his heart,
Shall, if I live, die a reproachful death.

Mad.
Mother, though nature makes me to lament
My luckless father's froward lechery,
Yet, for he wrongs my lady mother thus,
I, if I could, myself would work his death.

Thra.
See, madam, see! the desire of revenge
Is in the children of a tender age.
Forward, brave soldiers, into Mercia,
Where we shall brave the coward to his face. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Enter Locrine, Estrild, Sabren, Assaracus, and Soldiers.

Loc.
Tell me, Assaracus, are the Cornish chuffs^{1 note}
In such great number come to Mercia?
And have they pitched there their petty host,
So close unto our royal mansion?

Assa.
They are, my lord, and mean incontinent
To bid defiance to your majesty.

Loc.
It makes me laugh, to think that Guendolen
Should have the heart to come in arms against me.

Est.
Alas, my lord, the horse will run amain,
When as the spur doth gall him to the bone:
Jealousy, Locrine, hath a wicked sting.

Loc.
Sayst thou so, Estrild, beauty's paragon?
Well, we will try her choler to the proof,
And make her know, Locrine can brook no braves.
March on, Assaracus; thou must lead the way,
And bring us to their proud pavilion. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Thunder and lightning. Enter the Ghost of Corineus.

Ghost.
Behold, the circuit of the azure sky
Throws forth sad throbs, and grievous suspires,
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 wandering birds that flutter in the dark,
(When hellish night in cloudy chariot seated* ^note
,

Casteth her mists on shady Tellus' face,
With sable mantles covering all the earth* ^note
)
Now flies abroad amid the chearful day,
Foretelling some unwonted misery.
The snarling curs of darken'd Tartarus,
Sent from Avernus' ponds by Rhadamanth,
With howling ditties pester every wood.
The watry ladies9Q1347^{2 note}, and the lightfoot fawns,
And all the rabble of the woody nymphs,
All trembling hide themselves in shady groves,
And shroud 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. [Alarum.
Now, Corineus, 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! [Stands aside. Enter Locrine, Estrild, Assaracus, Sabren and their Soldiers at one side; Thrasimachus, Guendolen, Madan, and their followers at another.

Loc.
What, is the tiger started from his cave?
Is Guendolen come from Cornubia,
That thus she braveth Locrine to the teeth?
And hast thou found thine armour, pretty boy,
Accompanied with these thy straggling 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^{3 note}?
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 affection's filthy darts.
Unkind, thou wrong'st thy first and truest feere^{4 note}


;
Unkind, thou wrong'st thy best and dearest friend;
Unkind, thou scorn'st all skilful Brutus' laws,
Forgetting father, uncle, and thyself.

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^{5 note},
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. Alarum. Enter Locrine, Assaracus, and Soldiers at one door; Guendolen, Thrasimachus, and his forces at another. They fight. Locrine and his followers are driven back. Then re-enter Locrine and Estrild.

Loc.
O fair Estrilda, we have lost the field;
Thrasimachus hath won the victory,
And we are left to be a laughing-stock,
Scoff'd at by those that are our enemies.
Ten thousand soldiers, arm'd with sword and shield,
Prevail against an hundred thousand men.
Thrasimachus, incens'd 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. [Alarum.
O lovely Estrild, now the chase begins:
Ne'er shall we see the stately Troynovant,
Mounted on coursers garnish'd 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 Guendolena captivate my love?
Ne'er shall mine eyes behold that dismal hour,
Ne'er will I view that ruthful spectacle;
For with my sword, this sharp curtle-axe,
I'll cut in sunder my accursed heart.
But, O you judges of the nine-fold 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! [Stabs himself, and dies.

Est.
Break, heart, with sobs and grievous suspires!
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 woeful misery!
Locrine, I come; Locrine, I follow thee. [Kills herself.

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^{6 note}


,
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 this foul accursed cave.
Estrild, the perfect pattern of renown,
Nature's sole wonder, in whose beauteous breasts
All heavenly grace and virtue was enshrin'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 plaudite. [Attempts to kill herself.
Ah me, my virgin 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^{7 note}
:
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 Guendolen, Thrasimachus, Madan, and 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-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 to 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, gored 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,
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 stile!
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 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 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 out 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* ^note? 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,
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^{8 note}

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. [Exeunt. Enter Até.

Até.
Lo! here the end of lawless treachery^{9 note}

In quiet peace and sweet felicity;
And every wight that seeks her grace's smart,
Would that this sword were pierced in his heart²! [Exit. ²This play is to be regarded as a chronicle in metre, rather than as a story contrived for the purpose of moving the passions or promoting any moral end. There is no intricacy in the plot. The scenes follow the thread of history on which the drama is founded. The serious part is tumid, though not always without poetical merit. The comick intrusions are licentious, and sink alike beneath criticism and contempt. The massacre indeed is more gradual, but almost as general as that in Titus Andronicus, which, in point of style and versication, the tragedy of Locrine will be found to resemble, few dissyllable or trisyllable terminations being admitted from the beginning to the end of the piece. Steevens.9Q1348

Previous section