Find me the issue of their cursed love, Find me young Sabren, Locrine's only joy, That I may glut my mind with lukewarm blood, Swiftly distilling from the bastard's breast.

My father's ghost still haunts me for revenge, Crying, Revenge my overhastened death.

My brother's exile and mine own divorce Banish remorse clean from my brazen heart, All mercy from mine adamantine breasts.

THRASIMACHUS.

Nor doth thy husband, lovely Gwendoline, That wonted was to guide our stailess steps, Enjoy this light; see where he murdered lies By luckless lot and froward frowning fate;And by him lies his lovely paramour, Fair Estrild, gored with a dismal sword;--And as it seems, both murdered by themselves, Clasping each other in their feebled arms, With loving zeal, as if for company Their uncontented corps were yet content To pass foul Stix in Charon's ferry-boat.

GWENDOLINE.

And hath proud Estrild then prevented me?

Hath she escaped Gwendoline's wrath Violently, by cutting off her life?