William Shakespeare - The Complete Apocryphal Works of William Shakespeare - All 17 Rare Plays in One Edition

He being dead, the soldiers fled amain,

And I alone escaped them by flight,

To bring you tidings of these accidents.

LOCRINE.

Not aged Priam, King of stately Troy,

Grand Emperor of barbarous Asia,

When he beheld his noble minded sons

Slain traitorously by all the Mermidons,

Lamented more than I for Albanact.

GWENDOLINE.

Not Hecuba, the queen of Ilium

When she beheld the town of Pergamus,

Her palace, burnst with all devouring flames,

Her fifty sons and daughters fresh of hue

Murthered by wicked Pirrhus’ bloody sword,

Shed such sad tears as I for Albanact.

CAMBER.

The grief of Niobe, fair Athen’s queen,

For her seven sons, magnanimous in field,

For her seven daughters, fairer than the fairest,

Is not to be compared with my laments.

CORINEIUS.

In vain you sorrow for the slaughtered prince,

In vain you sorrow for his overthrow;

He loves not most that doth lament the most,

But he that seeks to venge the injury.

Think you to quell the enemy’s warlike train

With childish sobs and womanish laments?

Unsheath your swords, unsheath your conquering swords,

And seek revenge, the comfort for this sore.

In Cornwall, where I hold my regiment,

Even just ten thousand valiant men at arms

Hath Corineius ready at command:

All these and more, if need shall more require,

Hath Corineius ready at command.

CAMBER.

And in the fields of martial Cambria,

Close by the boistrous Iscan’s silver streams,

Where lightfoot fairies skip from bank to bank,

Full twenty thousand brave courageous knights,

Well exercised in feats of chivalry,

In manly manner most invincible,

Young Camber hath with gold and victual:

All these and more, if need shall more require,

I offer up to venge my brother’s death.

LOCRINE.

Thanks, loving uncle, and good brother, too;

For this revenge, for this sweet word, revenge

Must ease and cease my wrongful injuries.

And by the sword of bloody Mars, I swear,

Ne’er shall sweet quiet enter this my front,

Till I be venged on his traitorous head

That slew my noble brother Albanact.

Sound drums and trumpets; muster up the camp.

For we will straight march to Albania.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. The banks of the river, afterward the Humber.

[Enter Humber, Estrild, Hubba, Trussier, and the soldiers.]

HUMBER.

Thus are we come, victorious conquerors,

Unto the flowing current’s silver streams,

Which, in memorial of our victory,

Shall be agnominated by our name,

And talked of by our posterity:

For sure I hope before the golden sun

Posteth his horses to fair Thetis’ plains,

To see the water turned into blood,

And change his bluish hue to rueful red,

By reason of the fatal massacre

Which shall be made upon the virent plains.

[Enter the ghost of Albanact.]

GHOST.

See how the traitor doth presage his harm,

See how he glories at his own decay,

See how he triumphs at his proper loss;

O fortune wild, unstable, fickle, frail!

HUMBER.

Me thinks I see both armies in the field:

The broken lances climb the crystal skies;

Some headless lie, some breathless on the ground,

And every place is strewed with carcasses.

Behold! the grass hath lost his pleasant green,

The sweetest sight that ever might be see.

GHOST.

Aye, traitorous Humber, thou shalt find it so.

Yea, to thy cost thou shalt the same behold,

With anguish, sorrow, and with sad laments.

The grassy plains, that now do please thine eyes,

Shall ere the night be coloured all with blood;

The shady groves which now inclose thy camp

And yield sweet savours to thy damned corps,

Shall ere the night be figured all with blood:

The profound stream, that passeth by thy tents,

And with his moisture serveth all thy camp,

Shall ere the night converted be to blood,—

Yea, with the blood of those thy straggling boys;

For now revenge shall ease my lingering grief,

And now revenge shall glut my longing soul.

HUBBA.

Let come what will, I mean to bear it out,

And either live with glorious victory,

Or die with fame renowned for chivalry.

He is not worthy of the honey comb,

That shuns the hives because the bees have stings:

That likes me best that is not got with ease,

Which thousand dangers do accompany;

For nothing can dismay our regal mind,

Which aims at nothing but a golden crown,

The only upshot of mine enterprises.

Were they enchanted in grim Pluto’s court,

And kept for treasure mongst his hellish crew,

I would either quell the triple Cerberus

And all the army of his hateful hags,

Or roll the stone with wretched Sisiphos.

HUMBER.

Right martial be thy thoughts my noble son,

And all thy words savour of chivalry.—

[Enter Segar.]

But warlike Segar, what strange accidents

Makes you to leave the warding of the camp.

SEGAR.

To arms, my Lord, to honourable arms!

Take helm and targe in hand; the Brittains come,

With greater multitude than erst the Greeks

Brought to the ports of Phrygian Tenidos.

HUMBER.

But what saith Segar to these accidents?

What counsel gives he in extremities?

SEGAR.

Why this, my Lord, experience teacheth us:

That resolution is a sole help at need.

And this, my Lord, our honour teacheth us: