Then let Locrine & Estrild enter again in a maze.]
LOCRINE.
O fair Estrild, we have lost the field;
Thrasimachus hath won the victory, And we are left to be a laughing stock, Scoft at by those that are our enemies.
Ten thousand soldiers, armed with sword & shield, prevail against an hundreth thousand men;Thrasimachus, incensed with fuming ire, Rageth amongst the faintheart soldiers, Like to grim Mars, when covered with his targe He fought with Diomedes in the field, Close by the banks of silver Simois.
[Sound the alarm.]
O lovely Estrild, now the chase begins;
Ne'er shall we see the stately Troynouant, Mounted on the coursers garnished all with pearls;Nor shall we view the fair Concordia, Unless as captives we be thither brought.
Shall Locrine then be taken prisoner By such a youngling as Thrasimachus?
Shall Gwendoline captivate my love?
Ne'er shall mine eyes behold that dismal hour;Ne'er will I view that ruthful spectacle, For with my sword, this sharp curtleaxe, I'll cut in sunder my accursed heart.
