Would God she had the monstrous Hydra's lives, That every hour she might have died a death Worse than the swing of old Ixion's wheel;And every hour revive to die again, As Titius, bound to housles Caucason, Doth feed the substance of his own mishap, And every day for want of food doth die, And every night doth live, again to die.

But stay! methinks I hear some fainting voice, Mournfully weeping for their luckless death.

SABREN.

You mountain nymphs, which in these deserts reign, Cease off your hasty chase of savage beasts;Prepare to see a heart oppressed with care;

Address your ears to hear a mournful style!

No humane strength, no work can work my weal, Care in my heart so tyrant like doth deal.

You Dryads and lightfoot Satyri, You gracious Faries which, at evening tide, Your closets leave with heavenly beauty stored, And on your shoulders spread your golden locks;You savage bears in caves and darkened dens, Come wail with me the martial Locrine's death;Come mourn with me for beauteous Estrild's death.

Ah! loving parents, little do you know What sorrow Sabren suffers for your thrall.

GWENDOLINE.

But may this be, and is it possible?

Lives Sabren yet to expiate my wrath?