Sayest thou so, Estrild, beauty's paragon?
Well, we will try her choler to the proof, And make her know, Locrine can brook no braves.
March on, Assarachus; thou must lead the way, And bring us to their proud pavilion.
[Exeunt.]
ACT V. SCENE IV. The field of battle.
[Enter the ghost of Corineius, with thunder and lightening.]
CORINEIUS' GHOST.
Behold, the circuit of the azure sky Throws forth sad throbs and grievous suspires, Prejudicating Locrine's overthrow.
The fire casteth forth sharp darts of flames, The great foundation of the triple world Trembleth and quaketh with a mighty noise, Presaging bloody massacres at hand.
The wandering birds that flutter in the dark, When hellish night, in cloudy chariot seated, Casteth her mists on shady Tellus' face, With sable mantles covering all the earth, Now flies abroad amid the cheerful day, Foretelling some unwonted misery.
The snarling curs of darkened Tartarus, Sent from Avernus' ponds by Radamanth, With howling ditties pester every wood.
The watery ladies and the lightfoot fawns, And all the rabble of the woody Nymphs, All trembling hide themselves in shady groves, And shroud themselves in hideous hollow pits.
