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

And on your shoulders spread your golden locks;

You savage bears in caves and darkened dens,

Come wail with me the martial Locrine’s death;

Come mourn with me for beauteous Estrild’s death.

Ah! loving parents, little do you know

What sorrow Sabren suffers for your thrall.

GWENDOLINE.

But may this be, and is it possible?

Lives Sabren yet to expiate my wrath?

Fortune, I thank thee for this courtesy;

And let me never see one prosperous hour,

If Sabren die not a reproachful death.

SABREN.

Hard hearted death, that, when the wretched call,

Art furthest off, and seldom hearest at all;

But, in the midst of fortune’s good success,

Uncalled comes, and sheers our life in twain:

When will that hour, that blessed hour, draw nigh,

When poor distressed Sabren may be gone?

Sweet Atropos, cut off my fatal thread!

What art thou death? shall not poor Sabren die?

GWENDOLINE.

[Taking her by the chin shall say thus.]

Yes, damsel, yes; Sabren shall surely die,

Though all the world should seek to save her life;

And not a common death shall Sabren die,

But after strange and grievous punishments

Shortly inflicted upon thy bastard’s head,

Thou shalt be cast into the cursed streams,

And feed the fishes with thy tender flesh.

SABREN.

And thinkst thou then, thou cruel homicide,

That these thy deeds shall be unpunished?

No, traitor, no; the gods will venge these wrongs,

The fiends of hell will mark these injuries.

Never shall these blood-sucking masty curs,

Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home;

For I my self, in spite of thee and thine,

Mean to abridge my former destinies,

And that which Locrine’s sword could not perform,

This pleasant stream shall present bring to pass.

[She drowneth her self.]

GWENDOLINE.

One mischief follows on another’s neck.

Who would have thought so young a maid as she

With such a courage would have sought her death?

And for because this River was the place

Where little Sabren resolutely died,

Sabren for ever shall this same be called.

And as for Locrine, our deceased spouse,

Because he was the son of mighty Brute,

To whom we owe our country, lives and goods,

He shall be buried in a stately tomb,

Close by his aged father Brutus’ bones,

With such great pomp and great solemnity,

As well beseems so brave a prince as he.

Let Estrild lie without the shallow vaults,

Without the honour due unto the dead,

Because she was the author of this war.

Retire, brave followers, unto Troynouant,

Where we shall celebrate these exequies,

And place young Locrine in his father’s tomb.

[Exeunt omnes.]

[Enter Ate.]

ATE.

Lo here the end of lawless treachery,

Of usurpation and ambitious pride;

And they that for their private amours dare

Turmoil our land, and set their broils abroach,

Let them be warned by these premises.

And as a woman was the only cause

That civil discord was then stirred up,

So let us pray for that renowned maid,

That eight and thirty years the scepter swayed,

In quiet peace and sweet felicity;

And every wight that seeks her grace’s smart,

Would that this sword were pierced in his heart!

[Exit.]

THE END

Table of Contents Table of Contents ARDEN OF FAVERSHAM A YORKSHIRE TRAGEDY THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDY OF LOCRINE MUCEDORUS THE KING’S SON OF VALENTIA, AND AMADINE, THE KING’S DAUGHTER OF ARRAGON. THE LONDON PRODIGAL THE PURITAINE WIDDOW THE SECOND MAIDEN’S TRAGEDY SIR JOHN OLD CASTLE LORD CROMWELL KING EDWARD THE THIRD EDMUND IRONSIDE SIR THOMAS MORE FAIRE EM A FAIRY TALE IN TWO ACTS THE MERRY DEVILL OF EDMONTON THOMAS OF WOODSTOCK

By William Shakespeare

THE PROLOGUE.

Most sacred Majesty, whose great deserts

Thy Subject England, nay, the World, admires:

Which Heaven grant still increase: O may your Praise,

Multiplying with your hours, your Fame still raise;

Embrace your Counsel; Love, with Faith, them guide,

That both, as one, bench by each other’s side.

So may your life pass on and run so even,

That your firm zeal plant you a Throne in Heaven,

Where smiling Angels shall your guardians be

From blemished Traitors, stained with Perjury:

And as the night’s inferiour to the day,

So be all earthly Regions to your sway.

Be as the Sun to Day, the Day to Night;

For, from your Beams, Europe shall borrow light.

Mirth drown your bosom, fair Delight your mind,

And may our Pastime your Contentment find.

[Exit.]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

Eight persons may easily play it.

THE KING and ROMBELO, for one.

KING VALENCIA, for one.

MUCEDORUS the prince of Valencia, for one.

ANSELMO, for one.

AMADINE the King’s daughter of Arragon, for one.

SEGASTO a Noble man, for one.

ENVY; TREMELIO a Captain; BREMO a wild

man, for one.

COMEDY, a BOY, an OLD WOMAN, ARIENA

Amadine’s maid, for one.

COLLEN a Counselor, a MESSENGER, for one.

MOUSE the Clown, for one.

INDUCTION.

[Enter Comedy joyful with a garland of bays in her hand.]

Why so! thus do I hope to please:

Music revives, and mirth is tolerable,

Comedy, play thy part and please,

Make merry them that comes to joy with thee:

Joy, then, good gentles; I hope to make you laugh.

Sound forth Bellona’s silver tuned strings.

Time fits us well, the day and place is ours.

[Enter Envy, his arms naked, besmeared with blood.]

ENVY.

Nay, stay, minion, there lies a block.

What, all on mirth! I’ll interrupt your tale

And mix your music with a tragic end.

COMEDY.

What monstrous ugly hag is this,

That dares control the pleasures of our will?

Vaunt, churlish cur, besmeared with gory blood,

That seemst to check the blossoms of delight,

And stifle the sound of sweet Bellona’s breath:

Blush, monster, blush, and post away with shame,

That seekst disturbance of a goddess’ deeds.

ENVY.

Post hence thy self, thou counterchecking trull;

I will possess this habit, spite of thee,

And gain the glory of thy wished port:

I’ll thunder music shall appall the nymphs,

And make them shiver their clattering strings:

Flying for succour to their dankish caves.

[Sound drums within and cry, ‘stab! stab!’]

Hearken, thou shalt hear a noise

Shall fill the air with a shrilling sound,

And thunder music to the gods above:

Mars shall himself breathe down

A peerless crown upon brave envy’s head,

And raise his chivall with a lasting fame.

In this brave music Envy takes delight,

Where I may see them wallow in their blood,

To spurn at arms and legs quite shivered off,

And hear the cries of many thousand slain.

How likst thou this, my trull? this sport alone for me!

COMEDY.

Vaunt, bloody cur, nurst up with tiger’s sap,

That so dost seek to quail a woman’s mind.

Comedy is mild, gentle, willing for to please,

And seeks to gain the love of all estates:

Delighting in mirth, mixt all with lovely tales,

And bringeth things with treble joy to pass.

Thou, bloody, Envious, disdainer of men’s joy,

Whose name is fraught with bloody stratagems,

Delights in nothing but in spoil and death,