MADAN.

Halt: it seems They would have rather speech than strokes of us.

LOCRINE.

This light of dawn is like an evil dream's That comes and goes and is not. Yea, and thus Our hope on both sides wavering dares allow No light but fire to bid us die or live.

- Son, and my wife that was, my rebels now, That here we stand with death to take or give I call the sun of heaven, G.o.d's likeness wrought On darkness, whence all spirits breathe and shine, To witness, is no work of will or thought Conceived or bred in brain or heart of mine.

Ye have levied wars against me, and compelled My will unwilling and my power withheld To strike the stroke I would not, when I might.

Will ye not yet take thought, and spare these men Whom else the blind and burning fire of fight Must feed upon for pasture? Guendolen, Had I not left thee queen in Troynovant, Though wife no more of mine, in all this land No hand had risen, no eye had glared askant, Against me: thine is each man's heart and hand That burns and strikes in all this battle raised To serve and slake thy vengeance. With my son I plead not, seeing his praise in arms dispraised For ever, and his deeds of truth undone By patricidal treason. But with thee Peace would I have, if peace again may be Between us. Blood by wrath unnatural shed Or spent in civic battle burns the land Whereon it falls like fire, and brands as red The conqueror's forehead as the warrior's hand.

I pray thee, spare this people: reign in peace With separate honours in a several state: As love that was hath ceased, let hatred cease: Let not our personal cause be made the fate That d.a.m.ns to death men innocent, and turns The joy of life to darkness. Thine alone Is all this war: to slake the flame that burns Thus high should crown thee royal, and enthrone Thy praise in all men's memories. If thou wilt, Peace let there be: if not, be thine the guilt.

GUENDOLEN.

Mine? Hear it, heaven,--and men, bear witness! Mine The treachery that hath rent our realm in twain - Mine, mine the adulterous treason. Not Locrine, Not he, found loyal to my love in vain, Hath brought the civic sword and fire of strife On British fields and homesteads, clothed with joy, Crowned with content and comfort: I, his wife, Have brought on Troynovant the fires of Troy.

He lifts his head before the sun of heaven And swears it--lies, and lives. Is G.o.d's bright sword Broken, wherewith the gates of Troy--the seven Strong gates that G.o.ds who built them held in ward - Were broken even as wattled reeds with fire?

Son, by what name shall honour call thy sire?

MADAN.

How long shall I and all these mail-clad men Stand and give ear, or gape and catch at flies, While ye wage warring words that wound not? When Have I been found of you so wordy-wise That thou or he should call to counsel one So slow of speech and wit as thou and he, Who know my hand no sluggard, know your son?

Till speech be clothed in iron, bid not me Speak.

LOCRINE.

Yet he speaks not ill.

GUENDOLEN.

Did I not know Mine honour perfect as thy shame, Locrine, Now might I say, and turn to pride my woe, Mine only were this boy, and none of thine.

But what thou mayest I may not. Where are they Who ride not with their lord and sire today?

Thy secret Scythian and your changeling child, Where hide they now their heads that lurk not hidden There where thy treason deemed them safe, and smiled?

When arms were levied, and thy servants bidden About thee to withstand the doom of men Whose loyal angers flamed upon our side Against thee, from thy smooth-skinned she-wolf's den Her whelp and she sought covert unespied, But not from thee far off. Thou hast born them hither For refuge in this west that stands for thee Against our cause, whose very name should wither The hearts of them that hate it. Where is she?

Hath she not heart to keep thy side? or thou, Dost thou think shame to stand beside her now And bid her look upon thy son and wife?

Nay, she should ride at thy right hand and laugh To see so fair a lordly field of strife Shine for her sake, whose lips thy love bids quaff For pledge of trustless troth the blood of men.

LOCRINE.

Should I not put her in thine hand to slay?

h.e.l.l hath laid hold upon thee, Guendolen, And turned thine heart to h.e.l.l-fire. Be thy prey Thyself, the wolfish huntress: and the blood Rest on thine head that here shall now be spilt.

GUENDOLEN.

Let it run broader than this water's flood Swells after storm, it shall not cleanse thy guilt.

Give now the word of charge; and G.o.d do right Between us in the fiery courts of fight.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.--The banks of the Severn.

Enter ESTRILD and SABRINA.

SABRINA.

When will my father come again?

ESTRILD.

G.o.d knows, Sweet.

SABRINA.

Hast thou seen how wide this water flows - How smooth it swells and shines from brim to brim, How fair, how full? Nay, then thine eyes are dim.

Thou dost not weep for fear lest evil men Or that more evil woman--Guendolen Didst thou not call her yesternight by name? - Should put my father's might in arms to shame?

What is she so to levy shameful strife Against my sire and thee?

ESTRILD.

His wife! his wife!

SABRINA.

Why, that art thou.

ESTRILD

Woe worth me!

SABRINA.

Nay, woe worth Her wickedness! How may the heavens and earth Endure her?

ESTRILD.

Heaven is fire, and earth a sword, Against us.

SABRINA.

May the wife withstand her lord And war upon him? Nay, no wife is she - And no true mother thou to mock at me.

ESTRILD.

Yea, no true wife or mother, child, am I.

Yet, child, thou shouldst not say it--and bid me die.

SABRINA.