[Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineius, Thrasimachus, Assarachus.]
LOCRINE. Now am I guarded with an host of men, Whose haughty courage is invincible: Now am I hemmed with troops of soldiers, Such as might force Bellona to retire, And make her tremble at their puissance: Now sit I like the mighty god of war, When, armed with his coat of Adament, Mounted his chariot drawn with mighty bulls, He drove the Argives over Xanthus' streams: Now, cursed Humber, doth thy end draw nigh. Down goes the glory of thy victories, And all the fame, and all thy high renown Shall in a moment yield to Locrine's sword. Thy bragging banners crossed with argent streams, The ornaments of thy pavilions, Shall all be capituated with this hand, And thou thy self, at Albanactus' tomb, Shalt offered be in satisfaction Of all the wrongs thou didst him when he lived.-- But canst thou tell me, brave Thrasimachus, How far we are distant from Humber's camp?
THRASIMACHUS. My Lord, within yon foul accursed grove, That bears the tokens of our overthrow, This Humber hath intrenched his damned camp. March on, my Lord, because I long to see The treacherous Scithians squeltring in their gore.
LOCRINE. Sweet fortune, favour Locrine with a smile, That I may venge my noble brother's death; And in the midst of stately Troinouant, I'll build a temple to thy deity Of perfect marble and of Iacinthe stones, That it shall pass the high Pyramids, Which with their top surmount the firmament.
CAMBER. The armstrong offspring of the doubled night, Stout Hercules, Alemena's mighty son, That tamed the monsters of the threefold world, And rid the oppressed from the tyrant's yokes, Did never show such valiantness in fight, As I will now for noble Albanact.
CORINEIUS. Full four score years hath Corineius lived, Sometime in war, sometime in quiet peace, And yet I feel my self to be as strong As erst I was in summer of mine age, Able to toss this great unwieldy club Which hath been painted with my foemen's brains; And with this club I'll break the strong array Of Humber and his straggling soldiers, Or lose my lifeamongst the thickest prease, And die with honour in my latest days. Yet ere I die they all shall understand What force lies in stout Corineius' hand.
THRASIMACHUS. And if Thrasimachus detract the fight, Either for weakness or for cowardice, Let him not boast that Brutus was his eame, Or that brave Corineius was his sire.
LOCRINE. Then courage, soldiers, first for your safety, Next for your peace, last for your victory.
[Exeunt.]