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Is Corineius’ 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 power their plagues upon thy cursed head.

       LOCRINE.

       What! prat’st thou, peasant, to thy sovereign?

       Or art thou strooken in some extasy?

       Doest thou not tremble at our royal looks?

       Dost thou not quake, when mighty Locrine frowns?

       Thou beardless boy, wer’t not that Locrine scorns

       To vex his mind with such a heartless child,

       With the sharp point of this my battle-axe,

       I would send thy soul to Puriflegiton.

       THRASIMACHUS.

       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 Aquitaine.

       Thrasimachus is not so degenerate

       That he should fear and tremble at the looks

       Or taunting words of a venerian squire.

       LOCRINE.

       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 to leave thy wretched life.

       THRASIMACHUS.

       If princes stain their glorious dignity

       With ugly spots of monstrous infamy,

       They leese their former estimation,

       And throw themselves into a hell of hate.

       LOCRINE.

       Wilt thou abuse my gentle patience,

       As though thou didst our high displeasure scorn?

       Proud boy, that thou mayest know thy prince is moved,

       Yea, greatly moved at this thy swelling pride,

       We banish thee for ever from our court.

       THRASIMACHUS.

       Then, losell Locrine, look unto thy self,

       Thrasimachus will venge this injury.

       [Exit.]

       LOCRINE.

       Farewell, proud boy, and learn to use thy tongue.

       ASSARACHUS.

       Alas, my Lord, you should have called to mind

       The latest words that Brutus spake to you:

       How he desired you, by the obedience

       That children ought to bear unto the sire,

       To love and favour Lady Gwendoline.

       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.

       LOCRINE.

       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 the Page, with Estrild and Sabren.]

       ESTRILD.

       O, say me, Page, 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, madame; if you will credit the little honesty that is yet left me, there is no such danger as you fear. But prepare your self; yonder’s the king.

       ESTRILD.

       Then, Estrild, life 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 Brittainy, my love!

       Peace to all those that love and favour him!

       LOCRINE.

       [Taking her up.]

       Doth Estrild fall with such submission

       Before her servant, king of Albion?

       Arise, fair Lady; leave this lowly cheer.

       Life up those looks that cherish Locrine’s heart,

       That I may freely view that roseall face,

       Which so intangled hath my lovesick breast.

       Now to the court, where we will court it out,

       And pass the night and day in Venus’ sports.

       Frolic, brave peers; be joyful with your king.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE II. The camp of Gwendoline.

       [Enter Gwendoline, Thrasimachus, Madan, and the soldiers.]

       GWENDOLINE.

       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 there bear my prayers to his all hearing ears.

       For Locrine hath forsaken Gwendoline,

       And learnt 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 would 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 cheerful light unto the world,

       Where nothing reigns but falsehood and deceit.

       What said I? falsehood? Aye, that filthy crime,

       For Locrine hath forsaken Gwendoline.

       Behold the heavens do wail for Gwendoline.

       The shining sun doth blush for Gwendoline.

       The liquid air doth weep for Gwendoline.

       The very ground doth groan for Gwendoline.

       Aye, they are milder than the Brittain king,

       For he rejecteth luckless Gwendoline.

       THRASIMACHUS.

       Sister, complaints are bootless in this cause;

       This open wrong must have an open plague,

       This plague must be repaid with grievous war,

      

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