University of Virginia Library

Scena Secunda.

Enter Locrine, Guendoline, Corineus, Assaracus, Thrasimachus, Camber.
Locrine.
And is this true, is Albanactus slain?
Hath cursed Humber with his stragling host,
With that his army made of mungrel currs,
Brought our redoubted brother to his end?
O that I had the Thracian Orpheus harp,
For to awake out of the infernal shade
Those ugly Devils of black Erebus,
That might torment the damned traitor's soul:
O that I had Amphion's instrument,
To quicken with his vital notes and tunes
The flintie joynts of every stonie rock,
By which the Scythians might be punished;
For, by the lightning of almighty Jove,
The Hunne shall die had he ten thousand lives:
And would to God he had ten thousand lives,
That I might with the arm-strong Hercules
Crop off so vile an Hydra's hissing heads.
But say me, Cousin, for I long to hear
How Albanact came by untimely death?

Thrasi.
After the traiterous host of Scythians
Entred the field with martial equipage,
Young Albanact impatient of delay,
Led forth his army 'gainst the stragling mates,
Whose multitude did daunt our souldiers minds,
Yet nothing could dismay the forward Prince;
But with a courage most heroical,
Like to a lion 'mongst a stock of lambs,
Made havock of the faint-heart fugitives,
Hewing a passage through them with his sword;
Yea we had almost given them the repulse,
When suddenly from out the silent wood
Hubba with twenty thousand souldiers,
Cowardly came upon our weakned backs,
And murthered all with fatal massacre;
Amongst the which old Debon, martial Knight,
With many wounds was brought unto the death:
And Albanact opprest with multitude,
Whilst valiantly he feld his enemies,
Yielded his life and honour to the dust,
He being dead, the souldiers fled amain,
And I alone escaped them by flight,
To bring you tidings of these accidents.

Locr.
Not aged Priam King of stately Troy,
Grand Emperour of barbarous Asia,
When he beheld his noble minded sonnes
Slain troiterously by all the Mirmidons,
Lamented more then I for Albanact.

Guen.
Not Hecuba the Queen of Ilium,
When she beheld the town of Pergamus,
Her pallace burnt, with all-devouring flames,
Her fifty sonnes and daughters fresh of hue,
Murthred by the wicked Pyrrhus bloudy sword,
Shed such sad tears as I for Albanact.

Cam.
The grief of Niobe fair Athens Queen,
For her seven sonnes magnanimous in field,
For her seven daughters fairer then the fairest,
Is not to be compar'd with my laments.

Cor.
In vain you sorrow for the slaughtred Prince,
In vain you sorrow for his overthrow;
He loves not most that doth lament the most,
But he that seeks to venge the injury.
Think you to quell the enemies warlike train,
With childish sobs and womanish laments?
Unsheath your swords, unsheath your conquering sword?
And seek revenge, the comfort for this sore:
In Cornwall where I hold my regiment,
Even just ten thousand valiant men at armes
Hath Corineius ready at command:
All these and more, if need shall more require,
Hath Corineius ready at command.

Cam.
And in the fields of martial Cambria,
Close by the boystrous Iscan's silver streams,
Where lightfoot Fairies skip from bank to bank,
Full twenty thousand brave couragious Knights
Well exercis'd in feats of Chivalrie,
In manly manner most invincible,
Young Camber hath with gold and victual;
All these and more, if need shall more require,
I offer up to venge my brothers death.

Loc.
Thanks loving Uncle, and good Brother too,
For this revenge; for this sweet word Revenge
Must ease and cease my wrongfull injuries;
And by the sword of bloudie Mars I swear,
Ne'er shall sweet quiet enter this my front,
'Till I be venged on his traiterous head
That slew my noble brother Albanact.
Sound drums and trumpets, muster up the camp,
For we will straight march to Albania.

Exeunt.