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.
