Witness the fall of Albioneus’ crew,
Witness the fall of Humber and his Huns.
And this foul death hath now increased our woe,
By taking Corineus from this life,
And in his room leaving us worlds of care.

THRASIMACHUS.
But none may more bewail his mournful hearse,
Than I that am the issue of his loins.
Now foul befall that cursed Humber’s throat,
That was the causer of his lingering wound.

LOCRINE.
Tears cannot raise him from the dead again.
But where’s my Lady, mistress Gwendoline?

THRASIMACHUS.
In Cornwall, Locrine, is my sister now,
Providing for my father’s funeral.

LOCRINE.
And let her there provide her mourning weeds
And mourn for ever her own widow-hood.
Ne’er shall she come within our palace gate,
To countercheck brave Locrine in his love.
Go, boy, to Devrolitum, down the Lee,
Unto the arch where lovely Estrild lies.
Bring her and Sabren straight unto the court;
She shall be queen in Gwendoline’s room.
Let others wail for Corineus’ death;
I mean not so to macerate my mind
For him that barred me from my heart’s desire.

THRASIMACHUS.
Hath Locrine, then, forsook his Gwendoline?
Is Corineus’ death so soon forgot?
If there be gods in heaven, as sure there be,
If there be fiends in hell, as needs there must,
They will revenge this thy notorious wrong,
And power their plagues upon thy cursed head.

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