BRUTUS.

[Turning to Locrine. Locrine kneeling.]

Then now, my son, thy part is on the stage, For thou must bear the person of a King.

[Puts the Crown on his head.]

Locrine, stand up, and wear the regal Crown, And think upon the state of Majesty, That thou with honor well mayest wear the crown.

And if thou tendrest these my latest words, As thou requirest my soul to be at rest, As thou desirest thine own security, Cherish and love thy new betrothed wife.

LOCRINE.

No longer let me well enjoy the crown, Than I do honour peerless Gwendoline.

BRUTUS.

Camber.

CAMBER.

My Lord.

BRUTUS.

The glory of mine age, And darling of thy mother Imogen, Take thou the South for thy dominion.

From thee there shall proceed a royal race, That shall maintain the honor of this land, And sway the regal scepter with their hands.

[Turning to Albanact.]

And Albanact, thy father's only joy, Youngest in years, but not the youngest in mind, A perfect pattern of all chivalry, Take thou the North for thy dominion, A country full of hills and ragged rocks, Replenished with fierce untamed beasts, As correspondent to thy martial thoughts, Live long, my sons, with endless happiness, And bear firm concordance amongst your selves.