CADOR. The hot-spurr’d youth, that forc’d the forward steeds, Whiles needs he would his father’s chariot guide, Neglecting what his sire had said in charge: The fires which first he flung about the poles, Himself at last, most woful wretch, inflam’d. So too much love to hover in the heavens Made him to pay the price of rash attempts.
ARTHUR. What ruth (ah), rent the woful father’s heart, That saw himself thus made a sonless sire! Well, since both heavens and hell conspir’d in one To make our ends a mirror to the world, Both of incestuous life and wicked birth, Would gods the fates, that link’d our faults alike, Had also fram’d our minds of friendlier moulds! That as our lineage had approach’d too near, So our affections had not swerv’d too far. Then mought, I[’ve] liv’d t’ enlarge the Britons’ praise In rearing efts the first triumphant Troy, And after thou, succeeding mine attempts, Have spent thy courage in a juster cause. But ’twould not be: ambition grew too great; We could not join our minds--our fates we join’d, And through thy blood a way was made to mine.
SECOND CHORUS. And must we needs (O worthiest peers) forego By this untimely fate our greatest hope? That in your ripest years and likeliest time Your chiefest force should on this sudden fall?
[THIRD CHORUS.] See, see our idle hopes, our brittle trust,
[FOURTH CHORUS.] Our vain desires, our over-fickle state Which, though a while they sail on quiet seas, Yet sink in surge, ere they arrive to road. O woful wars! O Mordred’s cursed pride, That thus hath wrought both king and kingdom’s woe!
CADOR. Let plaints and mournings pass; set moans apart. They made much of themselves, yea, too--too much; They lov’d to live that, seeing all their realm Thus topsy-turvy turn, would grudge to die.
ARTHUR. Yea, sure: since thus (O fates) your censure seems, That free from force of foreign foes, there rests That Mordred reap the glory of our deaths, B’ it so: drive on your doom, work your decree: We fearless bide what bane soe’er you bid. And though our ends, thus hastened to your hests, Abruptly break the course of great attempts, Yet go we not inglorious to the ground: Set wish apart, we have perform’d enough. The Irish king and nation wild we tam’d; The Scots and Picts, and Orcade Isles, we wan; The Danes and Goths, and Friesland men, with all The Isles inserted near those seas; and next The German king and Saxons we subdu’d. Not France that could prevail against our force, Nor lastly Rome, that rues her pride suppress’d. Each foreign power is parcel of our praise: No titles want to make our foes afraid. This only now I crave (O fortune! erst My faithful friend): let it be soon forgot, Nor long in mind nor mouth, where Arthur fell: Yea, though I conqueror die, and full of fame, Yet let my death and parture rest obscure. No grave I need (O fates!) nor burial-rights, Nor stately hearse, nor tomb with haughty top; But let my carcase lurk; yea, let my death Be aye unknowen, so that in every coast I still be fear’d, and look’d for every hour. [_Exeunt_ ARTHUR _and_ CADOR.