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 thyself, 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.
CORINEUS.
Full four score years hath Corineus lived,
Sometime in war, sometime in quiet peace,
And yet I feel myself to be as strong

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