The Complete Apocryphal Works of William Shakespeare - All 17 Rare Plays in One Edition. William Shakespeare
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must finish with Locrine’s death;
His death will soon extinguish our complaints.
GWENDOLINE.
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.
THRASIMACHUS.
Madame, if not your proper injuries,
Nor my exile, can move you to revenge,
Think on our father Corineius’ words;
His words to us stands always for a law.
Should Locrine live that caused my father’s death?
Should Locrine live that now divorceth you?
The heavens, the earth, the air, the fire reclaims,
And then why should all we deny the same?
GWENDOLINE.
Then henceforth, farewell womanish complaints!
All childish pity henceforth, then, farewell!
But, cursed Locrine, look unto thy self,
For Nemesis, the mistress of revenge,
Sits armed at all points on our dismal blades;
And cursed Estrild, that inflamed his heart,
Shall, if I live, die a reproachful death.
MADAN.
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, my self would work his death.
THRASIMACHUS.
See, madame, see, the desire of revenge
Is in the children of a tender age!
Forward, brave soldiers, into Mertia,
Where we shall brave the coward to his face.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. The camp of Locrine.
[Enter Locrine, Estrild, Sabren, Assarachus, and the soldiers.]
LOCRINE.
Tell me, Assarachus, are the Cornish chuffes
In such great number come to Mertia?
And have they pitched there their petty host,
So close unto our royal mansion?
ASSARACHUS.
They are, my Lord, and mean incontinent
To bid defiance to your majesty.
LOCRINE.
It makes me laugh, to think that Gwendoline
Should have the heart to come in arms gainst me.
ESTRILD.
Alas, my Lord, the horse will run amain,
When as the spur doth gall him to the bone.
Jealousy, Locrine, hath a wicked sting.
LOCRINE.
Sayest 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, Assarachus; thou must lead the way,
And bring us to their proud pavilion.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. The field of battle.
[Enter the ghost of Corineius, with thunder and lightening.]
CORINEIUS’ 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,
Casteth her mists on shady Tellus’ face,
With sable mantles covering all the earth,
Now flies abroad amid the cheerful day,
Foretelling some unwonted misery.
The snarling curs of darkened Tartarus,
Sent from Avernus’ ponds by Radamanth,
With howling ditties pester every wood.
The watery ladies 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.
[Sound the alarm.]
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 power thy plagues on cursed Locrine’s head.
[Stand aside.]
[Enter Locrine, Estrild, Assarachus, Sabren and their soldiers at one door: Thrasimachus, Gwendoline, Madan and their followers at an other.]
LOCRINE.
What, is the tiger started from his cave?
Is Gwendoline 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 enterprise was bold,
And well deserveth commendation.
GWENDOLINE.
Aye, Locrine, traitorous 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 bewrayed thy Arcane secrecy?
Have I dishonoured thy marriage bed
With filthy crimes, or with lascivious lusts?
Nay, it is thou that hast dishonoured it:
Thy filthy minds, o’ercome with filthy lusts,
Yieldeth unto affections filthy darts.
Unkind, thou wrongst thy first and truest feer;
Unkind, thou wrongst thy best and dearest friend;
Unkind, thou scornst all skilfull Brutus’ laws,
Forgetting father, uncle, and thy self.
ESTRILD.
Believe me, Locrine, but the girl is wise,