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For if thou follow sacred virtue’s lore,

       Thou shalt be crowned with a laurel branch,

       And wear a wreath of sempiternal fame,

       Sorted amongst the glorious happy ones.

       LOCRINE.

       If Locrine do not follow your advise,

       And bear himself in all things like a prince

       That seeks to amplify the great renown

       Left unto him for an inheritage

       By those that were his ancestors,

       Let me be flung into the Ocean,

       And swallowed in the bowels of the earth,

       Or let the ruddy lightning of great Jove

       Descend upon this my devoted head.

       BRUTUS.

       [Taking Gwendoline by the hand.]

       But for I see you all to be in doubt,

       Who shall be matched with our royal son,

       Locrine, receive this present at my hand,

       A gift more rich than are the wealthy mines

       Found in the bowels of America.

       Thou shalt be spoused to fair Gwendoline;

       Love her, and take her, for she is thine own,

       If so thy uncle and her self do please.

       CORINEIUS.

       And herein how your highness honors me

       It cannot now be in my speech expressed;

       For careful parents glory not so much

       At their honour and promotion,

       As for to see the issue of their blood

       Seated in honor and prosperity.

       GWENDOLINE.

       And far be it from any maiden’s thoughts

       To contradict her aged father’s will.

       Therefore, since he to whom I must obey

       Hath given me now unto your royal self,

       I will not stand aloof from off the lure,

       Like crafty dames that most of all deny

       That which they most desire to possess.

       BRUTUS.

       [Turning to Locrine. Locrine kneeling.]

       Then now, my son, thy part is on the stage,

       For thou must bear the person of a King.

       [Puts the Crown on his head.]

       Locrine, stand up, and wear the regal Crown,

       And think upon the state of Majesty,

       That thou with honor well mayest wear the crown.

       And if thou tendrest these my latest words,

       As thou requirest my soul to be at rest,

       As thou desirest thine own security,

       Cherish and love thy new betrothed wife.

       LOCRINE.

       No longer let me well enjoy the crown,

       Than I do honour peerless Gwendoline.

       BRUTUS.

       Camber.

       CAMBER.

       My Lord.

       BRUTUS.

       The glory of mine age,

       And darling of thy mother Imogen,

       Take thou the South for thy dominion.

       From thee there shall proceed a royal race,

       That shall maintain the honor of this land,

       And sway the regal scepter with their hands.

       [Turning to Albanact.]

       And Albanact, thy father’s only joy,

       Youngest in years, but not the youngest in mind,

       A perfect pattern of all chivalry,

       Take thou the North for thy dominion,

       A country full of hills and ragged rocks,

       Replenished with fierce untamed beasts,

       As correspondent to thy martial thoughts,

       Live long, my sons, with endless happiness,

       And bear firm concordance amongst your selves.

       Obey the counsels of these fathers grave,

       That you may better bear out violence.—

       But suddenly, through weakness of my age,

       And the defect of youthful puissance,

       My malady increaseth more and more,

       And cruel death hasteneth his quickened pace,

       To dispossess me of my earthly shape.

       Mine eyes wax dim, overcast with clouds of age,

       The pangs of death compass my crazed bones;

       Thus to you all my blessings I bequeath,

       And with my blessings, this my fleeting soul

       My glass is run, and all my miseries

       Do end with life; death closeth up mine eyes,

       My soul in haste flies to the Elysian fields.

       [He dieth.]

       LOCRINE.

       Accursed stars, damned and accursed stars,

       To abbreviate my noble father’s life!

       Hard-hearted gods, and too envious fates,

       Thus to cut off my father’s fatal thread!

       Brutus, that was a glory to us all,

       Brutus, that was a terror to his foes,

       Alas, too soon, by Demagorgon’s knife,

       The martial Brutus is bereft of life!

       CORINEIUS.

       No sad complaints may move just Aeacus,

       No dreadful threats can fear judge Rhodomanth.

       Wert thou as strong as mighty Hercules,

       That tamed the huge monsters of the world,

       Playedst thou as sweet, on the sweet sounding lute,

       As did the spouse of fair Eurydice,

       That did enchant the waters with his noise,

       And made stones, birds, and beasts, to lead a dance,

       Constrained the hilly trees to follow him,

       Thou couldst not move the judge of Erebus,

       Nor move compassion in grim Pluto’s heart;

       For fatal Mors expecteth all the world,

       And every man must tread the way of death.

       Brave Tantalus, the valiant Pelops’ sire,

       Guest to the gods, suffered untimely death,

       And old Tithonus, husband to the morn,

       And eke grim Minos, whom just Jupiter

       Deigned to admit unto his sacrifice.

       The thundering trumpets of bloodthirsty Mars,

       The fearful rage of fell Tisiphone,

       The boistrous waves of humid Ocean,

       Are instruments and tools of dismal death.

       Then, novel cousin, cease to mourn his chance,

       Whose age & years were signs that he should die.

      

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