 | The Tragedy of Locrine |  |
Scena Tertia.
Enter Guendoline, Thrasimachus, Madan, and souldiers.Guen.
You gentle winds that with your modest blasts,
Passe 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 Guendoline,
And learnt to love proud Humbers concubine.
You happy sprites that in the concave skie
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 wofull case,
Since Locrine shuns my nothing pleasant face.
Blush Heavens, blush Sun, and hide thy shining beams,
Shadow thy radiant locks in gloomy clouds,
98
Where nothing reigns but falshood and deceit.
What said I, falshood? I, that filthy crime,
For Locrine hath forsaken Guendoline.
Behold the heavens do wail for Guendoline:
The shining sun doth blush for Guendoline:
The liquid air doth weep for Guendoline:
The very ground doth groan for Guendoline.
I, they are milder then the Britain King,
For he rejecteth luckless Guendoline.
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 will soon extinguish our complaints.
Guen.
O no, his death will more augment my woes,
He was my husband, brave Thrasimacus,
More dear to me then the apple of mine eye,
Nor can I find in heart to work his scathe.
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 alwayes for a Law.
Should Locrine live that caus'd my fathers 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?
Guen.
Then henceforth farewell womanish complaints,
All childish pitty henceforth then farewell:
But cursed Locrine look unto thy self,
For Nemesis the mistresse 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 reproachfull death.
Madan.
Mother, though nature makes me to lament
My luckless fathers froward lechery;
Yet for he wrongs my Lady mother, thus,
I, if I could, my self would work his death.
Thra.
See Madam, see, the desire of revenge
Is in the children of a tender age.
Forward, brave souldiers, into Mertia,
Where we shall brave the coward to his face.
Exeunt.
| The Tragedy of Locrine | |