That as a pillar might uphold our state, That might strike terror to our daring foes?
Now who is left to hapless Brittain, That might defend her from the barbarous hands Of those that still desire her ruinous fall, And seek to work her downfall and decay?
CAMBER.
Aye, uncle, death is our common enemy, And none but death can match our matchless power:
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 Corineius 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.
