[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. Lo here the end of lawless treachery, Of usurpation and ambitious pride; And they that for their private amours dare Turmoil our land, and set their broils abroach, Let them be warned by these premises. And as a woman was the only cause That civil discord was then stirred up, So let us pray for that renowned maid, That eight and thirty years the scepter swayed, In quiet peace and sweet felicity; And every wight that seeks her grace's smart, Would that this sword were pierced in his heart!
[Exit.]
[Finis.]