NUNCIUS. But (ah) my tongue denies my speech his aid: Great force doth drive it forth; a greater keeps It in. I rue, surpris’d with wontless woes.
CONAN. Speak on what grief soe’er our fates afford.
NUNCIUS. Small griefs can speak, the great astonish’d stand.[280]
GILDAS. What greater sin could hap, than what be pass’d? What mischiefs could be meant, more than were wrought?
NUNCIUS. And think you there’s to be an end to sins? No; crime proceeds: those made but one degree. What mischiefs erst were done, term sacred deeds: Call nothing sin but what hath since ensu’d. A greater grief requires your tears. Behold These fresh annoys: your last mishaps be stale.
CONAN. Tell on (my friend): suspend our minds no more. Hath Arthur lost? hath Mordred won the field?
NUNCIUS. O, nothing less! would, gods, it were but so! Arthur hath won, but we have lost the field. The field? Nay, all the realm and Britain’s bounds.
GILDAS. How so? If Arthur won, what could we lose? You speak in clouds, and cast perplexed words. Unfold at large, and sort our sorrows out.
NUNCIUS. Then list awhile: this instant shall unwrap Those acts, those wars, those hard events, that all The future age shall ever have cause to curse-- Now that the time drew on, when both the camps Should meet in Cornwall fields, th’ appointed place. The reckless troops, whom fates forbad to live Till noon or night, did storm and rave for wars. They swarm’d about their guides, and clust’ring call’d For signs to fight; and fierce with uproars fell, They onwards hal’d the hasting hours of death. A direful frenzy rose: each man his own And public fates all heedless headlong flung. On Mordred’s side were sixty thousand men; Some borrowed powers, some Britons bred at home. The Saxons, Irish, Normans, Picts and Scots Were first in place: the Britons followed last. On Arthur’s side there were as many more: Islandians, Goths, Norwegians, Albans, Danes, Were foreign aids which Arthur brought from France; A trusty troop and tried at many a trench. That now the day was come, wherein our state For aye should fall, whenceforth might men inquire What Britain was, these wars thus near bewray’d. Nor could the heavens no longer hide these harms, But by prodigious signs portend our plagues. For lo, ere both the camps encountering cop’d, The skies and poles opposed themselves with storms: Both east and west with tempests dark were dimm’d, And showers of hail and rain outrageous pour’d. The heavens were rent, each side the lightnings flash’d, And clouds with hideous claps did thundering roar. The armies, all aghast, did senseless stand, Mistrusting much both force, and foes, and fates; ’Twas hard to say which of the two appall’d Them most, the monstrous air or too much fear. When Arthur spied his soldiers thus amaz’d, And hope extinct, and deadly dread drawn on: My mates (quoth he) the gods do scour the skies, The fates contend to work some strange event, And fortune seeks by storms in heavens and earth, What pageants[281] she may play for my behoof: Of whom she knows she then deserves not well, When (ling’ring ought) she comes not at the first. Thus said, rejoicing at his dauntless mind, They all reviv’d and former fear recoil’d, By that the light of Titan’s troubled beams Had piercing scattered down the drooping fogs, And greeted both the camps with mutual view. Their choler swells, whiles fell-disposed minds Bounce in their breasts, and stir uncertain storms. Then paleness wan and stern, with cheerless change, Possessing bleak their lips and bloodless cheeks, With troublous trembling, shows their death is near. When Mordred saw the danger thus approach’d, And boist’rous throngs of warriors threat’ning blood, His instant ruin gave a nod at fates, And mind, though prone to Mars, yet daunted paus’d. The heart which promis’d erst a sure success, Now throbs in doubts, nor can his own attempts Afford him fear, nor Arthur’s yield him hope. This passion lasts not long: he soon recalls His ancient guise, and wonted rage returns. He loathes delays, and scorch’d with sceptre’s lust, The time and place, wherein he oft had wish’d To hazard all upon extremest chance, He offer’d spies, and spied pursues with speed. Then both the armies met with equal might, This stirr’d with wrath, that with desire to rule, And equal prowess was a spur to both. The Irish king whirl’d out a poisoned dart, That lighting pierced deep in Howell’s brains, A peerless prince and near of Arthur’s blood. Hereat the air with uproar loud resounds, Which efts on mountains rough rebounding rears. The trumpets hoarse their trembling tunes do tear, And thund’ring drums their dreadful larums ring.