ESTRILD.
But Ladies must regard their honest name.

LOCRINE.
Is it a shame to live in marriage bonds?

ESTRILD.
No, but to be a strumpet to a king.

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

ESTRILD.
But Gwendoline will undermine my state.

LOCRINE.
Upon mine honor, thou shalt have no harm.

ESTRILD.
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.

CORINEUS.
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 honor for my labor’s past?
Now, by my sword, Locrine, I swear to thee,
This injury of thine shall be repaid.

LOCRINE.

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