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1. The Lamentable Tragedy of Locrine

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That cruelly she gave me to my foes!
Oh, soldiers, is there any misery,
To be compared to fortune's treachery.

Camber, this same should be the Scithian queen.

So may we judge by her lamenting words.

So fair a dame mine eyes did never see;
With floods of woe she seems overwhelmed to be.

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


[At one side of the stage.]

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 conquered, 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.
I gave him cause to die a speedy death,
He left me cause to wish a speedy death.
Oh that sweet face painted with nature's dye,
Those roseall cheeks mixed 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 entrapt poor Locrine's lovesick heart,
That from the same no way it can be won.
How true is that which oft I heard declared,
One dram of joy, must have a pound of care.

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

Hard is their thrall who by Cupid's frown
Are wrapt in waves of endless carefulness.

Oh kingdom, object to all miseries.

Oh love, the extremest of all extremities.

[Let him go into his chair.]

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

He lies, my Lord; I found the Lady first,
And here present her to your majesty.

Presumptuous villain, wilt thou take my prize?

Nay, rather thou deprivest me of my right.

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

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

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 dismayed,
But rather joy that Locrine favours thee.

How can he favor me that slew my spouse?

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

But Locrine was the causer of his death.

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

But he was linked to me in marriage bond,
And would you have me love his slaughterer?

Better to live, than not to live at all.

Better to die renowned 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?

Kings need not fear the vulgar sentences.

But Ladies must regard their honest name.

Is it a shame to live in marriage bonds?

No, but to be a strumpet to a king.

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

But Gwendoline will undermine my state.

Upon mine honor, thou shalt have no harm.

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

Hath Locrine then forgot his Gwendoline,
That thus he courts the Scithian'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 hands,
And doest thou quite me with ungratitude?
Is this the guerdon for my grievous wounds,
Is this the honour for my labor's past?
Now, by my sword, Locrine, I swear to thee,
This injury of thine shall be repaid.

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

Avaunt, proud princox; bravest thou me withall?
Assure thy self, though thou be Emperor,
Thou ne'er shalt carry this unpunished.

Pardon my brother, noble Corineius;
Pardon this once and it shall be amended.

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.

Then, Locrine, lo, I reconcile my self;
But as thou lovest 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 Troinouant,
Where all these matters shall be settled.


[To himself.]

Millions of devils wait upon thy soul!
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!


ACT IV. SCENE II. A forest.

[Enter Humber alone, his hair hanging over his
shoulders, his arms all bloody, and a dart in one

What basilisk was hatched in this place,
Where every thing consumed is to nought?
What fearful Fury haunts these cursed groves,
Where not a root is left for Humber's meat?
Hath fell Alecto, with invenomed blasts,
Breathed forth poison in these tender plains?
Hath triple Cerberus, with contagious foam,
Sowed Aconitum mongst these withered herbs?
Hath dreadful Fames with her charming rods
Brought barrenness on every fruitful tree?
What, not a root, no fruit, no beast, no bird,
To nourish Humber in this wilderness?
What would you more, you fiends of Erebus?
My very entrails burn for want of drink,
My bowels cry, Humber, give us some meat.
But wretched Humber can give you no meat;
These foul accursed groves afford no meat,
This fruitless soil, this ground, brings forth no meat.
The gods, hard hearted gods, yield me no meat.
Then how can Humber give you any meat?

[Enter Strumbo with a pitchfork, and a scotch-cap,

How do you, masters, how do you? how have you
scaped hanging this long time? Yfaith, I have scaped
many a scouring this year; but I thank God I have past
them all with a good couragio, couragio, & my wife
& I are in great love and charity now, I thank my
manhood & my strength. For I will tell you, masters:
upon a certain day at night I came home, to say the
very truth, with my stomach full of wine, and ran up
into the chamber where my wife soberly sat rocking
my little baby, leaning her back against the bed,
singing lullaby. Now, when she saw me come with
my nose foremost, thinking that I had been drunk, as
I was indeed, she snatched up a faggot stick in her
hand, and came furiously marching towards me with
a big face, as though she would have eaten me at a
bit; thundering out these words unto me: Thou
drunken knave, where hast thou been so long? I shall
teach thee how to beknight me an other time; and so
she began to play knaves' trumps. Now, although I
trembled, fearing she would set her ten commandments
in my face, I ran within her, and taking her lustily by
the middle, I carried her valiantly to the bed, and
flinging her upon it, flung my self upon her; and there
I delighted her so with the sport I made, that ever after
she would call me sweet husband, and so banished
brawling for ever. And to see the good will of the
wench! she bought with her portion a yard of land, and
by that I am now become one of the richest men in our
parish. Well, masters, what's a clock? is it now
breakfast time; you shall see what meat I have here for
my breakfast.

[Let him sit down and pull out his vittails.]

Was ever land so fruitless as this land?
Was ever grove so graceless as this grove?
Was ever soil so barren as this soil?
Oh no: the land where hungry Fames dwelt
May no wise equalize this cursed land;
No, even the climate of the torrid zone
Brings forth more fruit than this accursed grove.
Ne'er came sweet Ceres, ne'er came Venus here;
Triptolemus, the god of husbandmen,
Ne'er sowed his seed in this foul wilderness.
The hunger-bitten dogs of Acheron,
Chased from the ninefold Puriflegiton,
Have set their footsteps in this damned ground.
The iron hearted Furies, armed with snakes,
Scattered huge Hydras over all the plains,
Which have consumed the grass, the herbs, the trees;
Which have drunk up the flowing water springs.

[Strumbo, hearing his voice, shall start up and put
meat in his pocket, seeking to hide himself.]

Thou great commander of the starry sky,
That guidest the life of every mortal wight,
From the inclosures of the fleeting clouds
Fain down some food, or else I faint and die:
Pour down some drink, or else I faint and die.
O Jupiter, hast thou sent Mercury
In clownish shape to minister some food?
Some meat! some meat! some meat!

O, alas, sir, ye are deceived. I am not Mercury;
I am Strumbo.

Give me some meat, villain; give me some meat,
Or gainst this rock I'll dash thy cursed brains,
And rent thy bowels with my bloody hands.
Give me some meat, villain; give me some meat!

By the faith of my body, good fellow, I had rather
give an whole oxe than that thou shouldst serve me
in that sort. Dash out my brains? O horrible!
terrible! I think I have a quarry of stones in my

[Let him make as though he would give him some,
and as he putteth out his hand, enter the ghost of
Albanact, and strike him on the hand: and so
Strumbo runs out, Humber following him. Exit.]

Lo, here the gift of fell ambition,
Of usurpation and of treachery!
Lo, here the harms that wait upon all those
That do intrude themselves in other's lands,
Which are not under their dominion.


ACT IV. SCENE III. A chamber in the Royal Palace.

[Enter Locrine alone.]

Seven years hath aged Corineius lived,
To Locrine's grief, and fair Estrild's woe,
And seven years more he hopeth yet to live.
Oh supreme Jove, annihilate this thought!
Should he enjoy the air's fruition?
Should he enjoy the benefit of life?
Should he contemplate the radiant sun,
That makes my life equal to dreadful death?
Venus, convey this monster fro the earth,
That disobeyeth thus thy sacred hests!
Cupid, convey this monster to dark hell,
That disanulls thy mother's sugared laws!
Mars, with thy target all beset with flames,
With murthering blade bereave him of his life,
That hindreth Locrine in his sweetest joys!
And yet, for all his diligent aspect,
His wrathful eyes, piercing like Linces' eyes,
Well have I overmatched his subtilty.
Nigh Deurolitum, by the pleasant Lee,
Where brackish Thamis slides with silver streams,
Making a breach into the grassy downs,
A curious arch, of costly marble fraught,
Hath Locrine framed underneath the ground;
The walls whereof, garnished with diamonds,
With ophirs, rubies, glistering emeralds,
And interlast with sun-bright carbuncles,
Lighten the room with artificial day:
And from the Lee with water-flowing pipes
The moisture is derived into this arch,
Where I have placed fair Estrild secretly.
Thither eftsoons, accompanied with my page,
I covertly visit my heart's desire,
Without suspicion of the meanest eye;
For love aboundeth still with policy:
And thither still means Locrine to repair,
Till Atropos cut off mine uncle's life.


ACT IV. SCENE IV. The entrance of a cave,
near which runs the river, afterward the Humber.]

[Enter Humber alone, saying:]

O vita misero longa, foelici brevis,
Eheu! malorum fames extremum malum.

Long have I lived in this desert cave,
With eating haws and miserable roots,
Devouring leaves and beastly excrements.
Caves were my beds, and stones my pillow-bears,
Fear was my sleep, and horror was my dream,
For still me thought, at every boisterous blast,
Now Locrine comes, now, Humber, thou must die:
So that for fear and hunger, Humber's mind
Can never rest, but always trembling stands,
O, what Danubius now may quench my thirst?
What Euphrates, what lightfoot Euripus,
May now allay the fury of that heat,
Which, raging in my entrails, eats me up?
You ghastly devils of the ninefold Styx,
You damned ghosts of joyless Acheron,
You mournful souls, vexed in Abyss' vaults,
You coalblack devils of Avernus' pond,
Come, with your fleshhooks rent my famished arms,
These arms that have sustained their master's life.
Come, with your razors rip my bowels up,
With your sharp fireforks crack my sterved bones:
Use me as you will, so Humber may not live.
Accursed gods, that rule the starry poles,
Accursed Jove, king of the cursed gods,
Cast down your lightning on poor Humber's head,
That I may leave this deathlike life of mine!
What, hear you not? and shall not Humber die?
Nay, I will die, though all the gods say nay!
And, gentle Aby, take my troubled corps,
Take it and keep it from all mortal eyes,
That none may say, when I have lost my breath,
The very floods conspired gainst Humber's death.

[Fling himself into the river.]

[Enter the ghost of Albanact.]

En coedem sequitur coedes, in coede quiesco.
Humber is dead! joy heavens! leap earth! dance trees!
Now mayest thou reach thy apples, Tantalus,
And with them feed thy hunger-bitten limbs!
Now, Sisiphus, leave tumbling of thy rock,
And rest thy restless bones upon the same!
Unbind Ixion, cruel Rhadamanth,
And lay proud Humber on the whirling wheel.
Back will I post to hell mouth Taenarus,
And pass Cocitus, to the Elysian fields,
And tell my father Brutus of these news.



[Enter Ate as before. Jason, leading Creon's
daughter. Medea, following, hath a garland in
her hand, and putting it on Creon's daughter's
head, setteth it on fire, and then, killing Jason
and her, departeth.]

Non tam Tinacriis exaestuat Aetna cavernis,
Laesae furtivo quam cor mulieris amore.

Medea, seeing Jason leave her love,
And choose 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 magic skill,
With which she wrought Jason and Creons.
So Gwendoline, seeing her self misused,
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 Mertia.
The chances of this dismal massacre
That which insueth shortly will unfold.


ACT V. SCENE I. A chamber in the Royal Palace.

[Enter Locrine, Camber, Assarachus, Thrasimachus.]

But tell me, cousin, died 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 Brittain,
That might defend her from the barbarous hands
Of those that still desire her ruinous fall,
And seek to work her downfall and decay?

Aye, uncle, death is 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 increased our woe,
By taking Corineius from this life,
And in his room leaving us worlds of care.

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

Tears cannot raise him from the dead again.
But where's my Lady, mistress Gwendoline?

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

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 Devrolitum, down the Lee,
Unto the arch where lovely Estrild lies.
Bring her and Sabren straight unto the court;
She shall be queen in Gwendoline's room.
Let others wail for Corineius' death;
I mean not so to macerate my mind
For him that barred me from my heart's desire.

Hath Locrine, then, forsook his Gwendoline?
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Then, losell Locrine, look unto thy self,
Thrasimachus will venge this injury.


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

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.

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.]

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!

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.

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!


[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.


ACT V. SCENE II. The camp of Gwendoline.

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

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.

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 Locrine's death;
His death will soon extinguish our complaints.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.


ACT V. SCENE III. The camp of Locrine.

[Enter Locrine, Estrild, Sabren, Assarachus, and
the soldiers.]

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?

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

It makes me laugh, to think that Gwendoline
Should have the heart to come in arms gainst me.

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

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.


ACT V. SCENE IV. The field of battle.

[Enter the ghost of Corineius, with thunder and

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.]

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.

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.

Believe me, Locrine, but the girl is wise,
And well would seem to make a vestal Nun.
How finely frames she her oration!

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,
Unsheath your swords, and try it out by force,
That we may see who hath the better hand.

Thinkst thou to dare me, bold Thrasimachus?
Thinkst 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 acquitance for thy bold attempts.


[Sound the alarm. Enter Locrine, Assarachus, and a
soldier at one door; Gwendoline, Thrasimachus, at
an other; Locrine and his followers driven back.
Then let Locrine & Estrild enter again in a maze.]

O fair Estrild, we have lost the field;
Thrasimachus hath won the victory,
And we are left to be a laughing stock,
Scoft at by those that are our enemies.
Ten thousand soldiers, armed with sword & shield,
prevail against an hundreth thousand men;
Thrasimachus, incensed with fuming ire,
Rageth amongst the faintheart soldiers,
Like to grim Mars, when covered with his targe
He fought with Diomedes in the field,
Close by the banks of silver Simois.

[Sound the alarm.]

O lovely Estrild, now the chase begins;
Ne'er shall we see the stately Troynouant,
Mounted on the coursers garnished all with pearls;
Nor 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 Gwendoline 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 curtleaxe,
I'll cut in sunder my accursed heart.
But O! you judges of the ninefold Styx,
Which with incessant torments rack the ghosts
Within the bottomless Abissus' pits,
You gods, commanders of the heavenly spheres,
Whose will and laws irrevocable stands,
Forgive, forgive, this foul accursed sin!
Forget, O gods, this foul condemned fault!
And now, my sword, that in so many fights

[Kiss his sword.]

Hast saved 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.
Farewell, fair Estrild, beauty's paragon,
Framed in the front of forlorn miseries!
Ne'er shall mine eyes behold thy sunshine eyes,
But when we meet in the Elysian fields;
Thither I go before with hastened pace.
Farewell, vain world, and thy inticing snares!
Farewell, foul sin, and thy inticing pleasures!
And welcome, death, the end of mortal smart,
Welcome to Locrine's overburthened heart!

[Thrust himself through with his sword.]

Break, heart, with sobs and grievous suspires!
Stream forth, you tears, from forth my watery eyes;
Help me to mourn for warlike Locrine's death!
Pour down your tears, you watery 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--
Aye, 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.

[Kill her self.]

[Sound the alarm. Enter Sabren.]

What doleful sight, what ruthful spectacle
Hath fortune offered to my hapless heart?
My father slain with such a fatal sword,
My mother murthered by a mortal wound?
What Thracian dog, what barbarous Mirmidon,
Would not relent at such a rueful case?
What fierce Achilles, what had stony flint,
Would not bemoan this mournful Tragedy?
Locrine, the map of magnanimity,
Lies slaughtered 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 inshrined:
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 plaudities.

[Let her offer to kill her self.]

Ay me, my virgin's hands are too too weak,
To penetrate the bulwark of my breast;
My fingers, used to tune the amorous lute,
Are not of force to hold this steely glaive.
So I am left to wail my parents' death,
Not able for to work my proper death.
Ah, Locrine, honored for thy nobleness!
Ah, Estrild, famous for thy constancy!
Ill may they fare that wrought your mortal ends!

[Enter Gwendoline, Thrasimachus, Madan, and the

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 overhastened death.
My brother's exile and mine own divorce
Banish remorse clean from my brazen heart,
All mercy from mine adamantine breasts.

Nor doth thy husband, lovely Gwendoline,
That wonted was to guide our stailess steps,
Enjoy this light; see where he murdered 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 murdered 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 Stix in Charon's ferry-boat.

And hath proud Estrild then prevented me?
Hath she escaped Gwendoline's wrath
Violently, by 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 Titius, bound to housles Caucason,
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.

You mountain nymphs, which in these deserts reign,
Cease off your hasty chase of savage beasts;
Prepare to see a heart oppressed with care;
Address your ears to hear a mournful style!
No humane strength, no work can work my weal,
Care in my heart so tyrant like doth deal.
You Dryads and lightfoot Satyri,
You gracious Faries which, at evening tide,
Your closets leave with heavenly beauty stored,
And on your shoulders spread your golden locks;
You savage bears in caves and darkened 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.

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.

Hard hearted death, that, when the wretched call,
Art furthest off, and seldom hearest at all;
But, in the midst of fortune's good success,
Uncalled comes, and sheers our 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? shall not poor Sabren die?


[Taking her by the chin shall say thus.]

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 upon thy bastard's head,
Thou shalt be cast into the cursed streams,
And feed the fishes with thy tender flesh.

And thinkst 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 masty curs,
Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home;
For I my self, in spite of thee and thine,
Mean to abridge my former destinies,
And that which Locrine's sword could not perform,
This pleasant stream shall present bring to pass.

[She drowneth her self.]

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 called.
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 Troynouant,
Where we shall celebrate these exequies,
And place young Locrine in his father's tomb.

[Exeunt omnes.]

[Enter Ate.]

Lo here the end of lawless treachery,
Of usurpation and ambitious pride;
And they that for their private amours dare
Turmoil our land, and set their broils abroach,
Let them be warned by these premises.
And as a woman was the only cause
That civil discord was then stirred up,
So let us pray for that renowned maid,
That eight and thirty years the scepter swayed,
In quiet peace and sweet felicity;
And every wight that seeks her grace's smart,
Would that this sword were pierced in his heart!





Most sacred Majesty, whose great deserts
Thy Subject England, nay, the World, admires:
Which Heaven grant still increase: O may your Praise,
Multiplying with your hours, your Fame still raise;
Embrace your Counsel; Love, with Faith, them guide,
That both, as one, bench by each other's side.
So may your life pass on and run so even,
That your firm zeal plant you a Throne in Heaven,
Where smiling Angels shall your guardians be
From blemished Traitors, stained with Perjury:
And as the night's inferiour to the day,
So be all earthly Regions to your sway.
Be as the Sun to Day, the Day to Night;
For, from your Beams, Europe shall borrow light.
Mirth drown your bosom, fair Delight your mind,
And may our Pastime your Contentment find.



Eight persons may easily play it.

THE KING and ROMBELO, for one.
MUCEDORUS the prince of Valencia, for one.
ANSELMO, for one.
AMADINE the King's daughter of Arragon, for one.
SEGASTO a Noble man, for one.
ENVY; TREMELIO a Captain; BREMO a wild
man, for one.
Amadine's maid, for one.
COLLEN a Counselor, a MESSENGER, for one.
MOUSE the Clown, for one.


[Enter Comedy joyful with a garland of bays in
her hand.]

Why so! thus do I hope to please:
Music revives, and mirth is tolerable,
Comedy, play thy part and please,
Make merry them that comes to joy with thee:
Joy, then, good gentles; I hope to make you laugh.
Sound forth Bellona's silver tuned strings.
Time fits us well, the day and place is ours.

[Enter Envy, his arms naked, besmeared with blood.]

Nay, stay, minion, there lies a block.
What, all on mirth! I'll interrupt your tale
And mix your music with a tragic end.

What monstrous ugly hag is this,
That dares control the pleasures of our will?
Vaunt, churlish cur, besmeared with gory blood,
That seemst to check the blossoms of delight,
And stifle the sound of sweet Bellona's breath:
Blush, monster, blush, and post away with shame,
That seekst disturbance of a goddess' deeds.

Post hence thy self, thou counter-checking trull;
I will possess this habit, spite of thee,
And gain the glory of thy wished port:
I'll thunder music shall appall the nymphs,
And make them shiver their clattering strings:
Flying for succour to their dankish caves.

[Sound drums within and cry, 'stab! stab!']

Hearken, thou shalt hear a noise
Shall fill the air with a shrilling sound,
And thunder music to the gods above:
Mars shall himself breathe down
A peerless crown upon brave envy's head,
And raise his chivall with a lasting fame.
In this brave music Envy takes delight,
Where I may see them wallow in their blood,
To spurn at arms and legs quite shivered off,
And hear the cries of many thousand slain.
How likst thou this, my trull? this sport alone for me!

Vaunt, bloody cur, nurst up with tiger's sap,
That so dost seek to quail a woman's mind.
Comedy is mild, gentle, willing for to please,
And seeks to gain the love of all estates:
Delighting in mirth, mixt all with lovely tales,
And bringeth things with treble joy to pass.
Thou, bloody, Envious, disdainer of men's joy,
Whose name is fraught with bloody stratagems,
Delights in nothing but in spoil and death,
Where thou maist trample in their luke warm blood,
And grasp their hearts within thy cursed paws:
Yet vail thy mind, revenge thou not on me;
A silly woman begs it at thy hands:
Give me the leave to utter out my play,
Forbear this place, I humbly crave thee: hence,
And mix not death amongst pleasing comedies,
That treats naught else but pleasure and delight.
If any spark of human rests in thee,
Forbear, be gone, tender the suite of me.

Why so I will; forbearance shall be such
As treble death shall cross thee with despite,
And make thee mourn where most thou joyest,
Turning thy mirth into a deadly dole,
Whirling thy pleasures with a peal of death,
And drench thy methods in a sea of blood:
This will I do, thus shall I bear with thee;
And more to vex thee with a deeper spite,
I will with threats of blood begin thy play,
Favoring thee with envy and with hate.

Then, ugly monster, do thy worst,
I will defend them in despite of thee:
And though thou thinkst with tragic fumes
To brave my play unto my deep disgrace,
I force it not, I scorn what thou canst do;
I'll grace it so, thy self shall it confess
From tragic stuff to be a pleasant comedy.

Why then, Comedy, send thy actors forth
And I will cross the first steps of their tread:
Making them fear the very dart of death.

And I'll defend them maugre all thy spite:
So, ugly fiend, farewell, till time shall serve,
That we may meet to parle for the best.

Content, Comedy; I'll go spread my branch,
And scattered blossoms from mine envious tree
Shall prove to monsters, spoiling of their joys.


ACT I. SCENE I. Valentia. The Court.

[Sound. Enter Mucedorus and Anselmo his friend.]


My Lord and friend.

True, my Anselmo, both thy Lord and friend
Whose dear affections bosom with my heart,
And keep their domination in one orb.

Whence near disloyalty shall root it forth,
But faith plant firmer in your choice respect.

Much blame were mine, if I should other deem,
Nor can coy Fortune contrary allow:
But, my Anselmo, loth I am to say
I must estrange that friendship--
Misconsture not, tis from the Realm, not thee:
Though Lands part Bodies, Hearts keep company.
Thou knowst that I imparted often have
Private relations with my royal Sire,
Had as concerning beautious Amadine,
Rich Aragon's bright Jewel, whose face (some say)
That blooming Lilies never shone so gay,
Excelling, not excelled: yet least Report
Does mangle Verity, boasting of what is not,
Wing'd with Desire, thither I'll straight repair,
And be my Fortunes, as my Thoughts are, fair.

Will you forsake Valencia, leave the Court,
Absent you from the eye of Sovereignty?
Do not, sweet Prince, adventure on that task,
Since danger lurks each where: be won from it.

Desist dissuasion,
My resolution brooks no battery;
Therefore, if thou retain thy wonted form,
Assist what I intend.

Your miss will breed a blemish in the Court,
And throw a frosty dew upon that Beard,
Whose front Valencia stoops to.

If thou my welfare tender, then no more;
Let Love's strong magic charm thy trivial phrase,
Wasted as vainly as to gripe the Sun:
Augment not then more answers; lock thy lips,
Unless thy wisdom suite me with disguise,
According to my purpose.

That action craves no counsel,
Since what you rightly are will more command,
Than best usurped shape.

Thou still art opposite is disposition:
A more obscure servile habillament
Beseems this enterprise.

Than like a Florentine or Mountebank?

Tis much too tedious; I dislike thy judgement:
My mind is grafted on an humbler stock.

Within my Closet does there hang a Cassock,
Though base the weed is; twas a Shepherds,
Which I presented in Lord Julio's Mask.

That, my Anselmo, and none else but that,
Mask Mucedorus from the vulgar view!
That habit suits my mind; fetch me that weed.

[Exit Anselmo.]

Better than Kings have not disdained that state,
And much inferiour, to obtain their mate.

[Enter Anselmo with a Shepherd's coat.]

Let our respect command thy secrecy.
At once a brief farewell:
Delay to lovers is a second hell.

[Exit Mucedorus.]

Prosperity forerun thee; Awkward chance
Never be neighbour to thy wishes' venture:
Content and Fame advance thee; ever thrive,
And Glory thy mortality survive.


ACT I. SCENE II. A Forest in Arragon.

[Enter Mouse with a bottle of Hay.]

O horrible, terrible! Was ever poor Gentleman
so scared out of his seven Senses? A Bear? nay,
sure it cannot be a Bear, but some Devil in a
Bear's Doublet: for a Bear could never have had
that agility to have frighted em. Well, I'll see my
Father hanged, before I'll serve his Horse any more:
Well, I'll carry home my Bottle of Hay, and for
once make my Father's Horse turn puritan and
observe Fasting days, for he gets not a bit. But
soft! this way she followed me, therefore I'll take
the other Path; and because I'll be sure to have an
eye on him, I will take hands with some foolish
Creditor, and make every step backward.

[As he goes backwards the Bear comes in, and he
tumbles over, and runs away and leaves his bottle
of Hay behind him.]

ACT I. SCENE III. The same.

[Enter Segasto running and Amadine after him,
being pursued by a bear.]

Oh fly, Madam, fly or else we are but dead.

Help, Segasto, help! help, sweet Segasto, or else
I die.

Alas, madam, there is no way but flight;
Then haste and save your self.

[Segasto runs away.]

Why then I die; ah help me in distress!

[Enter Mucedorus like a shepherd with a sword
drawn and a bear's head in his hand.]

Stay, Lady, stay, and be no more dismayed.
That cruel beast most merciless and fell,
Which hath bereaved thousands of their lives,
Affrighted many with his hard pursues,
Prying from place to place to find his prey,
Prolonging thus his life by others' death,
His carcass now lies headless, void of breath.

That foul deformed monster, is he dead?

Assure your self thereof, behold his head:
Which if it please you, Lady, to accept,
With willing heart I yield it to your majesty.

Thanks, worthy shepherd, thanks a thousand times.
This gift, assure thy self, contents me more
Than greatest bounty of a mighty prince,
Although he were the monarch of the world.

Most gracious goddess, more than mortal wight,
Your heavenly hue of right imports no less,
Most glad am I in that it was my chance
To undertake this enterprise in hand,
Which doth so greatly glad your princely mind.

No goddess, shepherd, but a mortal wight,
A mortal wight distressed as thou seest:
My father here is king of Arragon.
I Amadine his only daughter am,
And after him sole heir unto the crown.
Now, where as it is my father's will
To marry me unto Segasto, one,
Whose wealth through father's former usury
Is known to be no less than wonderful,
We both of custom oftentimes did use,
Leaving the court, to walk within the fields
For recreation, especially in the spring,
In that it yields great store of rare delights:
And passing further than our wonted walks,
Scarce were entered within these luckless woods,
But right before us down a steep fall hill
A monstrous ugly bear did hie him fast,
To meet us both. I faint to tell the rest,
Good shepherd, but suppose the ghastly looks,
The hideous fears, the thousand hundred woes,
Which at this instant Amadine sustained.

Yet, worthy princess, let thy sorrow cease,
And let this sight your former joys revive.

Believe me, shepherd, so it doth no less.

Long may they last unto your heart's content.
But tell me, Lady, what is become of him,
Segasto called, what is become of him?

I know not, I; that know the powers divine,
But God grant this: that sweet Segasto live.

Yet hard hearted he in such a case,
So cowardly to save himself by flight:
And leave so brave a princess to the spoil.

Well, shepherd, for thy worthy valour tried,
Endangering thy self to set me free,
Unrecompensed, sure, thou shalt not be.
In court thy courage shall be plainly known:
Throughout the Kingdom will I spread thy name,
To thy renown and never dying fame:
And that thy courage may be better known,
Bear thou the head of this most monstrous beast
In open sight to every courtiers view:
So will the king my father thee reward.
Come, let's away, and guard me to the court.

With all my heart.


ACT I. SCENE IV. Outskirts of the Forest.

[Enter Segasto solus.]

When heaps of harms to hover over head,
Tis time as then, some say, to look about,
And of ensuing harms to choose the least:
But hard, yea hapless, is that wretches chance,
Luckless his lot and caytiffe like acourste,
At whose proceedings fortune ever frowns.
My self I mean, most subject unto thrall,
For I, the more I seek to shun the worst,
The more by proof I find myself accurst:
Ere whiles assaulted with an ugly bear,
Fair Amadine in company all alone,
Forthwith by flight I thought to save my self,
Leaving my Amadine unto her shifts:
For death it was for to resist the bear,
And death no less of Amadine's harms to hear.
Accursed I in lingering life thus long!
In living thus, each minute of an hour
Doth pierce my heart with darts of thousand deaths:
If she by flight her fury do escape,
What will she think?
Will she not say--yea, flatly to my face,
Accusing me of mere disloyalty--
A trusty friend is tried in time of need,
But I, when she in danger was of death
And needed me, and cried, Segasto, help:
I turned my back and quickly ran away.
Unworthy I to bear this vital breath!
But what! what needs these plaints?
If Amadine do live, then happy I;
She will in time forgive and so forget:
Amadine is merciful, not Juno like,
In harmful heart to harbor hatred long.

[Enter Mouse, the Clown, running, crying:

Clubs, prongs, pitchforks, bills! O help! a bear,
a bear, a bear, a bear!

Still bears, and nothing else but bears. Tell me,
sirrah, where she is.

O sir, she is run down the woods: I see her white
head and her white belly.

Thou talkest of wonders, to tell me of white bears.
But, sirra, didst thou ever see any such?

No, faith, I never saw any such, but I remember
my father's words: he bade me take heed I was
not caught with a white bear.

A lamentable tale, no doubt.

I tell you what, sir, as I was going a field to serve
my father's great horse, & carried a bottle of hay
upon my head--now do you see, sir--I, fast
hoodwinked, that I could see nothing, perceiving
the bear coming, I threw my hay into the hedge
and ran away.

What, from nothing?

I warrant you, yes, I saw something, for there was
two load of thorns besides my bottle of hay, and
that made three.

But tell me, sirra, the bear that thou didst see,
Did she not bear a bucket on her arm?

Ha, ha, ha! I never saw bear go a milking in my
life. But hark you, sir, I did not look so high as
her arm: I saw nothing but her white head, and her
white belly.

But tell me, sirra, where dost thou dwell?

Why, do you not know me?

Why no, how should I know thee?

Why, then, you know no body, and you know not
me. I tell you, sir, I am the goodman rats son of the
next parish over the hill.

Goodman rats son: why, what's thy name?

Why, I am very near kin unto him.

I think so, but what's thy name?

My name? I have a very pretty name; I'll tell you
what my name is: my name is Mouse.

What, plain Mouse?

Aye, plain mouse with out either welt or guard. But
do you hear, sir, I am but a very young mouse, for my
tail is scarce grown out yet; look you here else.

But, I pray thee, who gave thee that name?

Faith, sir, I know not that, but if you would fain know,
ask my father's great horse, for he hath been half a year
longer with my father than I have.

This seems to be a merry fellow;
I care not if I take him home with me.
Mirth is a comfort to a troubled mind,
A merry man a merry master makes.
How saist thou, sirra, wilt thou dwell with me?

Nay, soft, sir, two words to a bargain: pray you, what
occupation are you?

No occupation, I live upon my lands.

Your lands! away, you are no master for me: why, do
you think that I am so mad, to go seek my living in the
lands amongst the stones, briars, and bushes, and tear
my holy day apparel? not I, by your leave.

Why, I do not mean thou shalt.

How then?

Why, thou shalt be my man, and wait upon me at the

What's that?

Where the King lies.

What's that same King, a man or woman?

A man as thou art.

As I am? hark you, sir; pray you, what kin is he
to good man king of our parish, the church warden?

No kin to him; he is the King of the whole land.

King of the land! I never see him.

If thou wilt dwell with me, thou shalt see him
every day.

Shall I go home again to be torn in pieces with
bears? no, not I. I will go home & put on a clean
shirt, and then go drown my self.

Thou shalt not need; if thou wilt dwell with me,
thou shalt want nothing.

Shall I not? then here's my hand; I'll dwell with you.
And hark you, sir, now you have entertained me, I
will tell you what I can do: I can keep my tongue
from picking and stealing, and my hands from lying
and slandering, I warrant you, as well as ever you had
man in all your life.

Now will I to court with sorrowful heart, rounded with
If Amadine do live, then happy I:
Yea, happy I, if Amadine do live.


ACT II. SCENE I. The Camp of the King of Arragon.

[Enter the King with a young prince prisoner, Amadine,
Tremelio, with Collen and counselors.]

Now, brave Lords, our wars are brought to end,
Our foes to the foil, and we in safety rest:
It us behooves to use such clemency
In peace as valour in the war
It is as great honor to be bountiful
At home as to be conquerors in the field.
Therefore, my Lords, the more to my content,
Your liking, and your country's safeguard,
We are disposed in marriage for to give
Our daughter to Lord Segasto here,
Who shall succeed the diadem after me,
And reign hereafter as I tofore have done,
Your sole and lawful King of Arragon:
What say you, Lordings, like you of my advise?

And please your Majesty, we do not only allow of
your highness pleasure, but also vow faithfully in
what we may to further it.

Thanks, good my Lords, if long Adrostus live,
He will at full requite your courtesies.
In recompense of thy late valour done,
Take unto thee the Catalonea prince,
Lately our prisoner taken in the wars.
Be thou his keeper, his ransom shall be thine:
We'll think of it when leisure shall afford:
Mean while, do use him well; his father is a King.

Thanks to your Majesty: his usage shall be such,
As he thereat shall think no cause to grutce.

[Exeunt Tremelio and Prince.]

Then march we on to court, and rest our wearied limbs.
But, Collen, I have a tale in secret kept for thee:
When thou shalt hear a watch word from thy king,
Think then some weighty matter is at hand
That highly shall concern our state,
Then, Collen, look thou be not far from me:
And for thy service thou to fore hast done,
Thy trueth and valour proud in every point,
I shall with bounties thee enlarge therefore:
So guard us to the court.

What so my sovereign doth command me do,
With willing mind I gladly yield consent.


ACT II. SCENE II. The same.

[Enter Segasto, and the Clown with weapons
about him.]

Tell me, sirra, how do you like your weapons?

O very well, very well, they keep my sides warm.

They keep the dogs from your shins very well,
do they not?

How, keep the dogs from my shins? I would
scorn but my shins should keep the dogs from them.

Well, sirra, leaving idle talk, tell me:
Dost thou know captain Tremelio's chamber?

Aye, very well; it hath a door.

I think so, for so hath every chamber.
But does thou know the man?

Aye, forsooth, he hath a nose on his face.

Why so hath every one.

That's more than I know.

But doest thou remember the captain, that was
here with the king even now, that brought the
young prince prisoner?

O, very well.

Go unto him and bid him come to me. Tell him
I have a matter in secret to impart to him.

I will, master:--master, what's his name?

Why, captain Tremelio.

O, the meal man. I know him very well. He
brings meal every Saturday. But hark you, master,
must I bid him come to you or must you come to

No, sir, he must come to me.

Hark you, master, how if he be not at home? What
shall I do then?

Why, then thou leavest word with some of his folks.

Oh, master, if there be no body within, I will leave
word with his dog.

Why, can his dog speak?

I cannot tell; wherefore doth he keep his chamber else?

To keep out such knaves as thou art.

Nay, be lady, then go your self.

You will go, sir, will ye not?

Yes, marry, will I. O tis come to my head:
And a be not within, I'll bring his chamber to you.

What, wilt thou pluck down the King's house?

Nay, be lady, I'll know the price of it first. Master,
it is such a hard name, I have forgotten it again. I
pray you, tell me his name.

I tell thee, captain Tremelio.

Oh, captain treble knave, captain treble knave.

[Enter Tremelio.]

How now, sirra, doost thou call me?

You must come to my master, captain treble knave.

My Lord Segasto, did you send for me?

I did, Tremelio. Sirra, about your business.

Aye, marry: what's that, can you tell?

No, not well.

Marry, then, I can: straight to the kitchen dresser,
to John the cook, and get me a good piece of beef
and brewis, and then to the buttery hatch to Thomas
the butler for a jack of beer, and there for an hour
I'll so be labour my self! therefore, I pray you, call
me not till you think I have done, I pray you, good

Well, sir, away.

[Exit Mouse.]

Tremelio, this it is: thou knowest the valour of
Segasto spread through all the kingdom of Arragon,
and such as hath found triumph and favours, never
daunted at any time; but now a shepherd is admired
at in court for worthiness, and Segasto's honour laid
a side. My will, therefore, is this, that thou dost find
some means to work the shepherd's death. I know
thy strength sufficient to perform my desire, & thy
love no other wise than to revenge my injuries.

It is not the frowns of a shepherd that Tremelio fears.
Therefore, account it accomplished, what I take in hand.

Thanks, good Tremelio, and assure they self,
What I promise that will I perform.

Thanks, my good Lord, and in good time see where
He cometh: stand by a while, and you shall see
Me put in practise your intended drifts.
Have at thee, swain, if that I hit thee right.

[Enter Mucedorus.]

Viled coward, so without cause to strike a man.
Turn, coward, turn; now strike and do thy worst.

[Mucedorus killeth him.]

Hold, shepherd, hold; spare him, kill him not!
Accursed villain, tell me, what hast thou done?
Ah, Tremelio, trusty Tremelio!
I sorrow for thy death, and since that thou,
Living, didst prove faithful to Segasto,
So Segasto now, living, shall honour
The dead corpse of Tremelio with revenge.
Bloodthirsty villain,
Born and bred to merciless murther,
Tell me, how durst thou be so bold at once
To lay thy hands upon the least of mine?
Assure thy self,
Thou shalt be used according to the law.

Segasto, cease, these threats are needless.
Accuse not me of murther, that have done
Nothing but in mine own defence.

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