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Locrine/Mucedorus   By: (1564-1616)

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The eldest son of King Brutus, discoursing the wars of the Britains and Huns, with their discomfiture, the Britain's victory with their accidents, and the death of Albanact. Play attributed in part to William Shakespeare.


BRUTUS, King of Britain. LOCRINE, his son. CAMBER, his son. ALBANACT, his son. CORINEIUS, brother to Brutus. ASSARACHUS, brother to Brutus. THRASIMACHUS, brother to Brutus. DEBON, an old Officer. HUMBER, King of the Scythians. HUBBA, his son. THRASSIER, a Scythian Commander. STRUMBO, clown. TRUMPART, clown. OLIVER, clown. WILLIAM, clown.

GWENDOLINE, Corineius his Daughter, married to Locrine. ESTRILD, Humber's Wife. ATE, the Goddess of Revenge.

Ghosts of Albanact, and Corineius.


Enter Ate with thunder and lightning all in black, with a burning torch in one hand, and a bloody sword in the other hand, and presently let there come forth a Lion running after a Bear or any other beast; then come forth an Archer who must kill the Lion in a dumb show, and then depart. Remain Ate.

ATE. In paenam sectatur & umbra. A Mighty Lion, ruler of the woods, Of wondrous strength and great proportion, With hideous noise scaring the trembling trees, With yelling clamors shaking all the earth, Traverst the groves, and chased the wandering beasts. Long did he range amid the shady trees, And drave the silly beasts before his face, When suddenly from out a thorny bush, A dreadful Archer with his bow ybent, Wounded the Lion with a dismal shaft. So he him stroke that it drew forth the blood, And filled his furious heart with fretting ire; But all in vain he threatened teeth and paws, And sparkleth fire from forth his flaming eyes, For the sharp shaft gave him a mortal wound. So valiant Brute, the terror of the world, Whose only looks did scare his enemies, The Archer death brought to his latest end. Oh what may long abide above this ground, In state of bliss and healthful happiness.



Enter Brutus carried in a chair, Locrine, Camber, Albanact, Corineius, Gwendoline, Assarachus, Debon, Thrasimachus.

BRUTUS. Most loyal Lords and faithful followers, That have with me, unworthy General, Passed the greedy gulf of Ocean, Leaving the confines of fair Italy, Behold, your Brutus draweth nigh his end, And I must leave you, though against my will. My sinews shrunk, my numbed senses fail, A chilling cold possesseth all my bones; Black ugly death, with visage pale and wan, Presents himself before my dazzled eyes, And with his dart prepared is to strike. These arms my Lords, these never daunted arms, That oft have quelled the courage of my foes, And eke dismay'd my neighbours arrogancy, Now yield to death, o'erlaid with crooked age, Devoid of strength and of their proper force, Even as the lusty cedar worn with years, That far abroad her dainty odor throws, Mongst all the daughters of proud Lebanon. This heart, my Lords, this near appalled heart, That was a terror to the bordering lands, A doeful scourge unto my neighbor Kings, Now by the weapons of unpartial death, Is clove asunder and bereft of life, As when the sacred oak with thunderbolts, Sent from the fiery circuit of the heavens, Sliding along the air's celestial vaults, Is rent and cloven to the very roots. In vain, therefore, I strangle with this foe; Then welcome death, since God will have it so.

ASSARACHUS. Alas, my Lord, we sorrow at your case, And grieve to see your person vexed thus; But what so ere the fates determined have, It lieth not in us to disannul, And he that would annihilate his mind, Soaring with Icarus too near the sun, May catch a fall with young Bellerophon. For when the fatal sisters have decreed To separate us from this earthly mould, No mortal force can countermand their minds: Then, worthy Lord, since there's no way but one, Cease your laments, and leave your grievous moan.

CORINEIUS. Your highness knows how many victories, How many trophies I erected have Triumphantly in every place we came... Continue reading book >>

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