Sound the alarm. Enter Hubba and Segar at one door, and Corineus at the other.
CORINEUS.
Art thou that Humber, prince of fugitives,
That by thy treason slewst young Albanact?
HUBBA.
I am his son that slew young Albanact,
And if thou take not heed, proud Phrigian,
I’ll send thy soul unto the Stigian lake,
There to complain of Humber’s injuries.
CORINEUS.
You triumph, sir, before the victory,
For Corineus is not so soon slain.
But, cursed Scithians, you shall rue the day
That ere you came into Albania.
So perish thy that envy Brittain’s wealth,
So let them die with endless infamy;
And he that seeks his sovereign’s overthrow,
Would this my club might aggravate his woe.
[Strikes them both down with his club.]
SCENE VI. Another part of the field
Enter Humber.
HUMBER.
Where may I find some desert wilderness,
Where I may breath out curse as I would,
And scare the earth with my condemning voice;
Where every echoes repercussion
May help me to bewail mine overthrow,
And aide me in my sorrowful laments?
Where may I find some hollow uncoth rock,
Where I may damn, condemn, and ban my fill
The heavens, the hell, the earth, the air, the fire,
And utter curses to the concave sky,
Which may infect the airy regions,
And light upon the Brittain Locrine’s head?
You ugly sprites that in Cocitus mourn,
And gnash your teeth with dolorous laments:
You fearful dogs that in black Laethe howl,
And scare the ghosts with your wide open throats:
You ugly ghosts that, flying from these dogs,
Do plunge your selves in Puryflegiton:
Come, all of you, and with your shriking notes
Accompany the Brittains’ conquering host.
Come, fierce Erinnis, horrible with snakes;
Come, ugly Furies, armed with your whips;
You threefold judges of black Tartarus,
And all the army of you hellish fiends,
With new found torments rack proud Locrine’s bones!
O gods, and stars! damned be the gods & stars
That did not drown me in fair Thetis’ plains!
Curst be the sea, that with outrageous waves,
With surging billows did not rive my ships
Against the rocks of high Cerannia,
Or swallow me into her watery gulf!
Would God we had arrived upon the shore
Where Poliphemus and the Cyclops dwell,
Or where the bloody Anthrophagie
With greedy jaws devours the wandering wights!
Enter the ghost of Albanact.
But why comes Albanact’s bloody ghost,
To bring a corsive to our miseries?
Is’t not enough to suffer shameful flight,
But we must be tormented now with ghosts,
With apparitions fearful to behold?