Enter on one side Locrine and his army: on the other
side Guendolen, Madan, and their army.

LOCRINE.

Stand fast, and sound a parley.

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, God’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 damns 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 God’s bright sword
Broken, wherewith the gates of Troy—the seven
Strong gates that gods 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?
Hell hath laid hold upon thee, Guendolen,
And turned thine heart to hell-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 God 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.

God 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.

I bid thee live and laugh at wicked foes
Even as my sire and I do. What! ‘God knows,’
Thou sayest, and yet art fearful? Is he not
Righteous, that we should fear to take the lot
Forth of his hand that deals it? And my sire,
Kind as the sun in heaven, and strong as fire,
Hath he not God upon his side and ours,
Even all the gods and stars and all their powers?

ESTRILD.

I know not. Fate at sight of thee should break
His covenant—doom grow gentle for thy sake.

SABRINA.

Wherefore?

ESTRILD.

Because thou knowest not wherefore. Child,
My days were darkened, and the ways were wild
Wherethrough my dark doom led me toward this end,
Ere I beheld thy sire, my lord, my friend,
My king, my stay, my saviour. Let thine hand
Lie still in mine. Thou canst not understand,
Yet would I tell thee somewhat. Ere I knew
If aught of evil or good were false or true,
If aught of life were worth our hope or fear,
There fell on me the fate that sets us here.
For in my father’s kingdom oversea—

SABRINA.

Thou wast not born in Britain?

ESTRILD.

Woe is me,
No: happier hap had mine perchance been then.

SABRINA.

And was not I? Are these all stranger men?

ESTRILD.

Ay, wast thou, child—a Briton born: God give
Thy name the grace on British tongues to live!

SABRINA.

Is that so good a gift of God’s—to die
And leave a name alive in memory? I
Would rather live this river’s life, and be
Held of no less or more account than he.
Lo, how he lives and laughs! and hath no name,
Thou sayest—or one forgotten even of fame
That lives on poor men’s lips and falters down
To nothing. But thy father? and his crown?
Did he less hate the coil of it than mine,
Or love thee less—nay, then he were not thine—
Than he, my sire, loves me?

ESTRILD.

And wilt thou hear
All? Child, my child, love born of love, more dear
Than very love was ever! Hearken then.
This plague, this fire, that hunts us—Guendolen—
Was wedded to thy sire ere I and he
Cast ever eyes on either. Woe is me!
Thou canst not dream, sweet, what my soul would say
And not affright thee.

SABRINA.

Thou affright me? Nay,
Mock not. This evil woman—when he knew
Thee, this my sweet good mother, wise and true—
He cast from him and hated.

ESTRILD.

Yea—and now
For that shall haply he and I and thou
Die.

SABRINA.

What is death? I never saw his face
That I should fear it.

ESTRILD.

Whether grief or grace
Or curse or blessing breathe from it, and give
Aught worse or better than the life we live,
I know no more than thou knowest; perchance,
Less. When we sleep, they say, or fall in trance,
We die awhile. Well spake thine innocent breath—
I think there is no death but fear of death.

SABRINA.

Did I say this? but that was long ago—
Months. Now I know not—yet I think I know—
Whether I fear or fear not it. Hard by
Men fight even now—they strike and kill and die
Red-handed; nay, we hear the roar and see
The lightning of the battle: can it be
That what no soul of all these brave men fears
Should sound so fearful save in foolish ears?
But all this while I know not where it lay,
Thy father’s kingdom.

ESTRILD.

Far from here away
It lies beyond the wide waste water’s bound
That clasps with bitter waves this sweet land round.
Thou hast seen the great sea never, nor canst dream
How fairer far than earth’s most lordly stream
It rolls its royal waters here and there,
Most glorious born of all things anywhere,
Most fateful and most godlike; fit to make
Men love life better for the sweet sight’s sake
And less fear death if death for them should be
Shrined in the sacred splendours of the sea
As God in heaven’s mid mystery. Night and day
Forth of my tower-girt homestead would I stray
To gaze thereon as thou upon the bright
Soft river whence thy soul took less delight
Than mine of the outer sea, albeit I know
How great thy joy was of it. Now—for so
The high gods willed it should be—once at morn
Strange men there landing bore me thence forlorn
Across the wan wild waters in their bark,
I wist not where, through change of light and dark,
Till their fierce lord, the son of spoil and strife,
Made me by forceful marriage-rites his wife.
Then sailed they toward the white and flower-sweet strand
Whose free folk follow on thy father’s hand,
And warred against him, slaying his brother: and he
Hurled all their force back hurtling toward the sea,
And slew my lord their king; but me he gave
Grace, and received not as a wandering slave,
But one whom seeing he loved for pity: why
Should else a sad strange woman such as I
Find in his fair sight favour? and for me
He built the bower wherein I bare him thee,
And whence but now he hath brought us westward, here
To abide the extreme of utmost hope or fear.
And come what end may ever, death or life,
I live or die, if truth be truth, his wife;
And none but I and thou, though day wax dim,
Though night grow strong, hath any part in him.

SABRINA.

What should we fear, then? whence might any
Fall on us?

ESTRILD.

Ah! Ah me! God answers here.

Enter Locrine, wounded.

LOCRINE.

Praised be the gods who have brought me safe—to die
Beside thee. Nay, but kneel not—rise, and fly
Ere death take hold on thee too. Bid the child
Kiss me. The ways all round are wide and wild—
Ye may win safe away. They deemed me dead—
My last friends left—who saw me fallen, and fled
No shame is theirs—they fought to the end. But ye,
Fly: not your love can keep my life in me—
Not even the sight and sense of you so near.

SABRINA.

How can we fly, father?

ESTRILD.

She would not fear—
Thy very child is she—no heart less high
Than thine sustains her—and we will not fly.

LOCRINE.

So shall their work be perfect. Yea, I know
Our fate is fallen upon us, and its woe.
Yet have we lacked not gladness—and this end
Is not so hard. We have had sweet life to friend,
And find not death our enemy. All men born
Die, and but few find evening one with morn
As I do, seeing the sun of all my life
Lighten my death in sight of child and wife.
I would not live again to lose that kiss,
And die some death not half so sweet as this.

[Dies.

ESTRILD.

Thou thought’st to cleave in twain my life and
To cast my hand away in death, Locrine?
See now if death have drawn thee far from me!

[Stabs herself.

SABRINA.

Thou diest, and hast not slain me, mother?

ESTRILD.

Thee?
Forgive me, child! and so may they forgive.

[Dies.

SABRINA.

O mother, canst thou die and bid me live?

Enter Guendolen, Madan, and Soldiers.

GUENDOLEN.

Dead? Ah! my traitor with his harlot fled
Hellward?

MADAN.

Their child is left thee.

GUENDOLEN.

She! not dead?

SABRINA.

Thou hast slain my mother and sire—thou hast slain thy lord—
Strike now, and slay me.

GUENDOLEN.

Smite her with thy sword.

MADAN.

I know not if I dare. I dare not.

GUENDOLEN.

Shame
Consume thee!—Thou—what call they, girl, thy name?
Daughter of Estrild,—daughter of Locrine,—
Daughter of death and darkness!

SABRINA.

Yet not thine.
Darkness and death are come on us, and thou,
Whose servants are they: heaven behind thee now
Stands, and withholds the thunder: yet on me
He gives thee not, who helps and comforts thee,
Power for one hour of darkness. Ere thine hand
Can put forth power to slay me where I stand
Safe shall I sleep as these that here lie slain.

GUENDOLEN.

She dares not—though the heart in her be fain,
The flesh draws back for fear. She dares not.

SABRINA.

See!
I change no more of warring words with thee
O father, O my mother, here am I:
They hurt me not who can but bid me die.

[She leaps into the river.

GUENDOLEN.

Save her! God pardon me!

MADAN.

The water whirls
Down out of sight her tender face, and hurls
Her soft light limbs to deathward. God forgive—
Thee, sayest thou, mother? Wouldst thou bid her live?

GUENDOLEN.

What have we done?

MADAN.

The work we came to do.
That God, thou said’st, should stand for judge of you
Whose judgment smote with mortal fire and sword
Troy, for such cause as bade thee slay thy lord.
Now, as between his fathers and their foes
The lord of gods dealt judgment, winged with woes
And girt about with ruin, hath he sent
On these destruction.

GUENDOLEN.

Yea.

MADAN.

Art thou content?

GUENDOLEN.

The gods are wise who lead us—now to smite,
And now to spare: we dwell but in their sigh
And work but what their will is. What hath been
Is past. But these, that once were king and queen,
The sun, that feeds on death, shall not consume
Naked. Not I would sunder tomb from tomb
Of these twain foes of mine, in death made one—
I, that when darkness hides me from the sun
Shall sleep alone, with none to rest by me.
But thou—this one time more I look on thee—
Fair face, brave hand, weak heart that wast not mine—
Sleep sound—and God be good to thee, Locrine.
I was not. She was fair as heaven in spring
Whom thou didst love indeed. Sleep, queen and king,
Forgiven; and if—God knows—being dead, ye live,
And keep remembrance yet of me—forgive.

[Exeunt.