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STRUMBO.

Aye, you come in pudding time, or else I had dressed them.

MARGERY.

You, master saucebox, lobcock, cockscomb, you slopsauce, lickfingers, will you not hear?

STRUMBO.

Who speak you to? me?

MARGERY.

Aye, sir, to you, John lackhonesty, little wit. Is it you that will have none of me?

STRUMBO.

No, by my troth, mistress nicebice. How fine you can nickname me. I think you were brought up in the university of bridewell; you have your rhetoric so ready at your tongue's end, as if you were never well warned when your were young.

MARGERY.

Why then, goodman cods-head, if you will have none of me, farewell.

STRUMBO.

If you be so plain, mistress drigle dragle, fare you well.

MARGERY.

Nay, master Strumbo, ere you go from hence, we must have more words. You will have none of me?

[They both fight.]

STRUMBO.

Oh my head, my head! leave, leave, leave! I will, I will,

I will!

MARGERY.

Upon that condition I let thee alone.

OLIVER.

How now, master Strumbo? hath my daughter taught you a new lesson?

STRUMBO.

Aye, but hear you, goodman Oliver; it will not be for my ease to have my head broken every day; therefore remedy this and we shall agree.

OLIVER.

Well, zon, well—for you are my zon now—all shall be remedied. Daughter, be friends with him.

[Shake hands. Exeunt Oliver, William, and Margery.]

STRUMBO.

You are a sweet nut! The devil crack you. Masters, I think it be my luck; my first wife was a loving quiet wench, but this, I think, would weary the devil. I would she might be burnt as my other wife was. If not, I must run to the halter for help. O codpiece, thou hast done thy master! this it is to be meddling with warm plackets.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III. SCENE IV. The camp of Locrine.

[Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineius, Thrasimachus,

Assarachus.]

LOCRINE.

Now am I guarded with an host of men,

Whose haughty courage is invincible:

Now am I hemmed with troops of soldiers,

Such as might force Bellona to retire,

And make her tremble at their puissance:

Now sit I like the mighty god of war,

When, armed with his coat of Adament,

Mounted his chariot drawn with mighty bulls,

He drove the Argives over Xanthus' streams:

Now, cursed Humber, doth thy end draw nigh.

Down goes the glory of thy victories,

And all the fame, and all thy high renown

Shall in a moment yield to Locrine's sword.

Thy bragging banners crossed with argent streams,

The ornaments of thy pavilions,

Shall all be capituated with this hand,

And thou thy self, at Albanactus' tomb,

Shalt offered be in satisfaction

Of all the wrongs thou didst him when he lived.—

But canst thou tell me, brave Thrasimachus,

How far we are distant from Humber's camp?

THRASIMACHUS.

My Lord, within yon foul accursed grove,

That bears the tokens of our overthrow,

This Humber hath intrenched his damned camp.

March on, my Lord, because I long to see

The treacherous Scithians squeltring in their gore.

LOCRINE.

Sweet fortune, favour Locrine with a smile,

That I may venge my noble brother's death;

And in the midst of stately Troinouant,

I'll build a temple to thy deity

Of perfect marble and of Iacinthe stones,

That it shall pass the high Pyramids,

Which with their top surmount the firmament.

CAMBER.

The armstrong offspring of the doubled night,

Stout Hercules, Alemena's mighty son,

That tamed the monsters of the threefold world,

And rid the oppressed from the tyrant's yokes,

Did never show such valiantness in fight,

As I will now for noble Albanact.

CORINEIUS.

Full four score years hath Corineius lived,

Sometime in war, sometime in quiet peace,

And yet I feel my self to be as strong

As erst I was in summer of mine age,

Able to toss this great unwieldy club

Which hath been painted with my foemen's brains;

And with this club I'll break the strong array

Of Humber and his straggling soldiers,

Or lose my life amongst the thickest prease,

And die with honour in my latest days.

Yet ere I die they all shall understand

What force lies in stout Corineius' hand.