CERTAIN devices and shows presented to her MAJESTY by the Gentlemen of Gray's- Inn at her highness Court in Greenwich, the twenty eighth day of February in the thirtieth year of her majesties most happy Reign.  
AT LONDON Printed by Robert Robinson. 1587.   

AN introduction penned by Nicholas Trot Gentleman one of the society of Gray's- Inn; which was pronounced in manner following. viz. Three Muses came upon the Stage appareled accordingly bringing five Gentlemen Students with them attired in their usual garments, whom one of the Muses presented to her MAJESTY as Captives: the cause whereof she delivered by speech as followeth.  

OF Conquest (gracious Queen) the signs& fruits,  
Achieved 'gainst such, as wrongfully withheld  
The service by choice wits to Muses due;  
In humbliest wise, these Captives we present.  
And lest your highness might suspect the gift  
As spoil of War, that justice might impeach;  
Hear and discern how just our quarrel was  
Avowed (as you see) by good success.  
A Dame there is, whom men Astrea term,  
She that pronounceth Oracles of Laws,  
Who to prepare fit servants for her train  
As by Commission takes up flowering wits,  
Whom first she schooleth to forget and scorn  
The noble skills of language and of Arts,  
The wisdom, which discourse of stories teach,  
The ornaments which various knowledge yields;  
But Poesy she hath in most disdain,  
And Marshals it next Follies scorned place.  
Then, when she hath these worthy Prints defaced  
Out of the minds that can endure her hand,  
What doth she then supply in steed of these?  
Forsooth some old reports of altered laws,  
Clamours of Courts, and cavils upon words,  
Grounds without ground, supported by conceit,  
And reasons of more subtlety than sense,  
What shall I say of Moot points strange, and doubts  
Still argued but never yet agreed?  
And she, that doth deride the Poet's law,  
Because he must his words in order place,  
Forgets her forms of pleading more precise,  
More bound to words than is the Poet's lore:  
And for these fine conceits she fitly chose,  
A tongue that Barbarisine itself doth use.  
We noting all these wrongs did long expect  
There hard condition would have made them wise,  
To offer us their service placed so ill;  
But finding them addicted to their choice,  
And specially desirous to present  
Your Majesty with fruits of Province new,  
Now did resolve to double force and skill,  
And found and used the vantage of the time,  
Surprised their fort, and took them Captives all.  
So now submiss, as to their state belongs  
They gladly yield their homage long withdrawn,  
And Poetry which they did most contemn  
They glory now her favours for to wear.  
My sisters laughed to see them take the pen,  
And lose their wits all in unwonted walks.  
But to your highness that delight we leave,  
To see these Poets new their Style advance.  
Such as they are, or nought or little worth,  
Deign to accept, and therewith we beseech,  
That novelty give price to worthless things.   Unto this speech one of the Gentlemen answered as followeth. 

GOOD Ladies unacquaint with cunning reach,  
And easily led to glory in your power,  
Hear now abashed our late dissembled minds.  
Not now the first time as yourselves best know.  
Ye Muse's sought our service to command,  
Oft have ye wandered from Parnassus' hill,  
And showed yourselves with sweet& tempting grace,  
But yet returned your train increased with few.  
This resolution doth continue still.  
Unto Astrea's name we honour bear,  
Whose sound perfections we do more admire,  
Then all the vaunted store of Muse's gifts.  
Let this be one (which last you put in ure,  
In well depraving that deserveth praise)  
No eloquence, disguising reasons shape,  
Nor Poetry, each vain affections nurse,  
No various history that doth lead the mind  
Abroad to ancient tales from instant use,  
Nor these, nor other more, too long to note,  
Can win Astrea's servants to remove  
Their service, once devote to better things.  
They with attentive minds and serious wits,  
Revolve records of deep judicial Acts,  
They weigh with steaddy and indifferent hand  
Each word of law, each circumstance of right,  
They hold the grounds which time& use hath soothed  
(Though shallow sense conceive them as conceits)  
Presumptuous sense, whose ignorance dare judge  
Of things removed by reason from her reach.  
One doubt in moots by argument encreasced  
Clears many doubts, experience doth object.  
The language she first chose, and still retains,  
exhibits naked truth in aptest terms.  
Our Industry maintaineth vnimpeached  
Prerogative of Prince, respect to Peers,  
The Commons liberty, and each man's right:  
Suppresseth mutin force, and practic fraud.   

Things that for worth our studious care deserve.  
Yet never did we banish nor reject  
Those ornaments of knowledge nor of tongues.  
That slander envious ignorance did raise.  
With Muses still we intercourse allow,  
T'enrich our state with all there foreign freight:  
But never homage nor acknowledgement  
Such as of subjects allegiance doth require.  
Now here the cause of your late Conquest won  
We had discovered your intent to be  
(And sure ye, Ladies are not secret all  
Speech and not silence is the Muse's grace)  
We well perceived (I say) your mind to be  
T'employ such prisoners, as themselves did yield  
To serve a Queen, for whom her purest gold  
Nature refined, that she might therein set  
Both private and imperial virtues all.  
Thus (Sovereign Lady of our laws and us)  
Zeal may transform us into any shape.  
We, which with trembling hand the pen did guide  
Never well pleased all for desire to please  
For still your rare perfections did occur  
Which are admired of Muses and of men  
Oh with how steady hand and heart assured  
Should we take up the warlike Lance or Sword  
With mind resolved to spend our loyal blood  
Your least command with speed to execute.  
O that before our time the fleeting ship,  
Ne'er wandered had in watery wilderness,  
That we might first that venture undertake  
In strange attempt t'approve our loyal hearts.  
Be it Soldiers, Seamen, Poets, or what else.  
In service once injoind, to ready minds  
Our want of use should our devoyer increase.  
Now since in stead of art we bring but zeal,  
In stead of praise we humbly pardon crave.  
The matter which we purpose to present,  
Since straits of time our liberty controls  
In tragic note the plagues of vice recounts.  
How suits a Tragedy for such a time?  
Thus, For that since your sacred Majesty  
In gracious hands the regal Sceptre held  
All Tragedies are fled from State, to stadge.   Nicholas Trot.  

The misfortunes of Arthur (Uther Pendragon's Son) reduced into Tragical notes by THOMAS HUGH'S one of the society of Gray's- Inn. And here set down as it passed from under his hands and as it was presented, excepting certain words and lines, where some of the Actors either helped their memories by brief ommission, or fitted their acting by some alteration. With a note in the end, of such speeches as were penned by others in lieu of some of these hereafter following.   

The argument of the Tragedy.  
AT a banquet made by Uther Pendragon for the solemnizing of his conquest against the Saxons, he fell enamoured with Igerna wife to Gorlois Duke of Cornwall. Who perceiving the king's passion, departed with his wife and prepared wars at Cornwall, where also in a strong hold beyond him he placed her Then the King levied an army to suppress him, but waxing impatient of his desire to Igerna, transformed himself by Merlin his cunning, into the likeness of Gorlois, And after his acceptance with Igerna he returned to his siege, where he slew Gorlois. Igerna was delivered of Arthur and Anne twins of the same birth. Uther Pendragon 15. years after pursuing the Saxons was by them poisoned. Arthur delighted in his sister Anne, who made him father of Mordred. seventeen years after Lucius Tiberius of Rome demanded a tribute due by the conquest of Caesar. Arthur gathered the powers of 13. kings besides his own, and leaving his Queen Guenevora in the tuition of Mordred, to whom likewise he committed the kingdom in his absence, arrived at France, where after 9. years wars, he sent the slain body of Tiberius unto Rome for the tribute. During this absence Mordred grew ambitious, for th'effecting whereof he made love to Guenevora, who gave ear unto him. Then by th'assistance of Gilla a British Lord he usurped, and for maintenance entertained with large promises, the Saxons, Irish, Picts, & Normands. Guenevora hearing that Arthur was already embarked for return, through despair purposing diversly, sometimes to kill her husband, sometimes to kill herself, at last resolved to enter into religion. Arthur at his landing was resisted on the strands of Dover, where he put Mordred to flight. The last field was fought at Cornwall, where after the death of one hundred and twenty thousand saving on either side 20, Mordred received his death, and Arthur his deadly wound.   

¶ The Argument and manner of the first dumb show.  
SOunding the music, there rose three furies from under the stage appareled accordingly with snakes and flames about their black hairs and garments. The first with a Snake in the right hand and a cup of wine with a Snake athwart the cup in the left hand. The second with a firebrand in the right hand, and a Cupid in the left: The third with a whip in the right hand and a Pegasus in the left. Whiles they went masking above the stage, there came from another place three Nuns which walked by themselves. Then after a full sight given to the beholders, they all parted, the furies to Mordred'S house, the Nuns to the Cloister. By the first fury with the Snake and Cup was signified the Banquet of Uther Pendragon, and afterward his death which ensued by poisoned cup. The second fury with her firebrand & Cupid represented Uther's unlawful heat and love conceived at the banquet, which never ceased in his posterity. By the third with her whip and Pegasus was prefigured the cruelty and ambition which thence ensued and continued to th'effecting of this tragedy. By the Nuns was signified the remorse and despair of Guenevora, that wanting other hope took a Nunnery for her refuge. After their departure, the four which represented the Chorus took their places.   

The argument of the first Act.  
1 IN the first scene the spirit of Gorlois Duke of Cornwall, the man first & most wronged in this history being despoiled both of Wife, Dukedom and life craveth revenge for these injuries, denouncing the whole misfortune ensuing.  
2 In the second scene, Guenevora hearing that Arthur was on Seas returning, desperately menaceth his death, from which intent she is dissuaded by Fronia, a Lady of her Court & privy to her secrets.  
3 In the third scene Guenevora perplexedly mindeth her own death, whence being dissuaded by her sister she resolveth to enter into Religion.  
4 In the fourth scene Mordred goeth about to persuade Guenevora to persist in her love, but misseth thereof: And then is exhorted by Conan (a noble man of Britain) to reconcile himself to his Father at his coming, but refuseth so to do and resolveth to keep him from landing by battle.   


The names of the speakers.  
Gorlois Duke of Cornwall's ghost.  
Guenevora the Queen.  
Fronia a Lady of her train.  
Angharad sister to the Queen.  
Mordred the Usurper.  
Conan a faithful counsellor.  
Nuntius of Arthur's landing.  
The herald from Arthur.  
Gavin King of Albany.  
Gilla: a British Earl.  
Gillamor King of Ireland.  
Cheldrich Duke of saxony.  
The Lord of the Picts.  
Arthur King of great Britain.  
Cador Duke of Cornwall.  
Hoel King of little Britain.  
The herald from Mordred.  
Aschillus King of Denmark.  
The King of Norway.  
A number of Soldiers.  
Nuntius of the last battle.  
Gildas a noble man of Britain.  
CHORUS.    


THE FIRST ACT and first scene.  Gorlois. GORL. 
SInce thus through channels black of Limbo lake,  
And deep infernal flood of Stygian pool,  
The ghastly Caron's boat transported back  
Thy ghost, from Pluto's pits and glooming shades,  
To former light once lost by Destinies doom:  
Where proud Pendragon broiled with shameful lust,  
Despoiled thee erst of wife, of land, and life:  
Now (Gorlois) work thy wish, cast here thy gall,  
Glut on revenge: thy wrath abhors delays.  
What though (besides Pendragon's poisoned end)  
The vile reproach he wrought thee by thy fear,  
Through deep increase of crimes alike is plagued?  
And that the shame thou suffered'st for his lusts,  
Reboundeth back, and stifleth in his stock?  
Yet is not mischief's measure all fulfilleth,  
Nor wreak sufficient wrought: Thy murdered corpse  
And Dukedom reft, for heavier vengeance cries.  
Come therefore blooms of settled mischiefs root,  
Come each thing else, what fury can invent,  
Wreak all at once, infect the air with plagues,  
Till bad to worse, till worse to worst be turned.  
Let mischiefs know no mean, nor plagues an end.  
Let th'offsprings sin exceeded the former stock:  
Let none have time to hate his former fault,  
But still with fresh supply let punished crime  
Increase, till time it make a complete sin.  
Go to: some fact, which no age shall allow,  
Nor yet conceal: some fact must needs be dared,  
That for thy horror great and outrage fell  
Thereof, may well beseem Pendragon's brood.  
And first, whiles Arthur's navies homewards float  
Triumphantly bedecked with Roman spoils:  
Let Guinevere express what frantic moods  
Distract a wife, when wronging wedlocks rights,  
Both fond and fell, she loves and loathes at once.  
Let deep despair pursue, till loathing life  
Her hateful head in cowl and cloister lurk.  
Let traitorous Mordred keep his sire from shore.  
Let Britain rest a prey for foreign powers  
Let sword and fire still fed with mutual strife  
Turn all the Kings to ghosts, let civil wars  
And discord swell till all the realm be torn.  
even in that soil whereof myself was Duke,  
Where first my spouse Igerna broke her vow,  
Where this ungracious offspring was  
In Cornwall, there, let Mordred's  
Let Arthur's fatal wound bewray the wrong,  
The murder vile, the rape of wife and weal,  
Wherewith their sire incensed both Gods and man:  
Thus, thus Pendragon's seed so sown and reaped,  
Thus cursed imps, ill borne, and worse consumed,  
Shall render just revenge for parents' crimes,  
And penance due t'assuage my swelling wrath.  
The whiles O Cassiopaea gem-bright sign,  
Most sacred sight, and sweet Celestial star,  
This Clymat's joy, placed in imperial throne  
With fragrant Olive branch portending peace:  
And whosoever besides ye heavenly powers  
(Her stately train with influence divine,  
And mild aspect all prone to Britain's good)  
Foreseé what present plagues do threat this Isle:  
Prevent not this my wreak. For you their rest's  
A happier age a thousand years to come:  
An age for peace, religion, wealth, and ease,  
When all the world shall wonder at your bliss:  
That, that is yours. Leave this to Gorlois ghost.  
And see where comes one engine of my hate.  
With moods and manners fit for my revenge. Exit.   

The second scene.  Gnenevora. Fronia. GVEN. 
AND dares he after nine years space return,  
And see her face, whom he so long disdained?  
Was I then chose and wedded for his stale,  
To look and gape for his retireless sails,  
Puffed back, and flittering spread to every wind?  
O wrong content with no revenge: seek out  
Undared plagues, teach Mordred how to rage.  
Attempt some bloody dreadful, irksome fact,  
And such as Mordred would were rather his.  
Why stayest? it must be done: let bridle go,  
Frame out some trap beyond all vulgar guile,  
Beyond Medea's wiles: attempt some fact,  
That any wight unwieldy of herself,  
That any spouse unfaithful to her fere,  
Durst ever attempt in most despair of weal.  
Spare no revenge, beit poison, knife, or fire.  FRON. 
Good madam, temper these outrageous moods,  
And let not will usurp, where wit should rule.  GVEN. 
The wrath, that breatheth blood, doth loathe to lurk.  
What reason most with holds, rage wrings perforce.  
I am disdained: so will I not be long:  
That very hour, that he shall first arrive,  
Shall be the last, that shall afford him life.  
Though, neither seas, nor lands, nor wars abroad  
Sufficed for thy foil: yet shalt thou find  
Far worse at home: Thy deep displeased spouse.  
whate'er thou hast subdued in all thy stay,  
This hand shall now subdue: then stay thy fill.  
What's this? my mind recoils, and irks these threats:  
Anger delays, my grief gins to assuage,  
My fury faints, and sacred wedlocks faith  
Presents itself. Why shun'st thou fearful wrath?  
Add coals a fresh, preserve me to this venge.  
At lest exile thyself to realms unknown,  
And steal his wealth to help thy banished state,  
For flight is best. O base and heartless fear.  
Theft? exile? flight? all these may Fortune send  
Unsought: but thee beseems more high revenge.  
Come spiteful fiends, come heaps of furies fell,  
Not one, by one, but all at once: my breast  
Raves not enough: it likes me to be filled  
With greater monsters yet. My heart doth throb:  
My liver boils: some what my mind portends,  
Uncertain what: but whatsoever, it's huge.  
So it exceed, be what it will: it's well.  
Omit no plague, and none will be enough.  
Wrong cannot be revenged, but by excess.  FRON. 
O spare this heat: you yield too much to rage,  
You're too unjust: is there no mean in wrong?  GVEN. 
Wrong claims a mean, when first you offer wrong.  
The mean is vain, when wrong is in revenge.  
Great harms cannot be hid, the grief is small,  
That can relieve advise, or rule itself.  FRON. 
Hatred concealed doth often hap to hurt,  
But once professed, it oftener fails revenge.  
How better though, wert to repress your ire?  
A lady's best revenge is to forgive.  
What mean is in your hate? how much soe'er  
You can invent, or dare: so much you hate.  GVEN. 
And would you know what mean there is in hate?  
Call love to mind, and see what mean is there.  
My love, redoubled love, and constant faith  
Engaged unto Mordred works so deep:  
That both my heart and marrow quite be burnt,  
And sinews dried with force of wontless flames,  
Desire to joy him still, torments my mind:  
Fear of his want doth and a double grief.  
Lo here the love, that stirs this meanless hate.  FRON. 
Eschew it far: such love impugns the laws.  GVEN. 
Unlawful love doth like, when lawful loathes.  FRON. 
And is your love of husband quite extinct?  GVEN. 
The greater flame must needs delay the less.  
Besides, his sore revenge I greatly fear.  FRON. 
How can you then attempt a fresh offence?  GVEN. 
Who can appoint a stint to her offence?  FRON. 
But here the greatness of the fact should move.  GVEN. 
The greater it, the fitter for my grief:  FRON. 
To kill your spouse?  GVEN. 
A stranger, and a foe.  FRON. 
Your liege and king?  GVEN. 
He wants both Realm and Crown.  FRON. 
Nature affords not to your sex such strength.  GVEN. 
Love, anguish, wrath, will soon afford enough.  FRON. 
What rage is this?  GVEN. 
Such as himself shall rue.  FRON. 
Whom Gods do press enough, will you annoy?  GVEN. 
Whom Gods do press, they bend: whom man annoys,  
He breaks.  FRON. 
Your grief is more than his deserts:  
Each fault requires an equal hate: be not severe,  
Where crimes be light: as you have felt, so grieve.  GVEN. 
And seems it light to want him nine year space?  
Then to be spoiled of one I hold more dear?  
Think all too much, beit ne'er so just, that feeds  
Continual grief: the lasting woe is worst.  FRON. 
Yet let your highness shun these desperate moods,  
Cast of this rage, and fell disposed mind.  
Put not shame quite to flight, have some regard  
Both of your sex, and future fame of life.  
Use no such cruel thoughts, as far exceeded  
A manly mind, much more a woman's heart.  GVEN. 
Well: shame is not so quite exiled, but that  
I can, and will respect your sage advise.  
Your Counsel I accept, give leave a while,  
Till fiery wrath may slake, and rage relent. Exit FRON.   

The third scene.  Guenevora. Angharat. GVEN. 
THE love, that for his rage will not be ruled,  
Must be restrained: fame shall receive no foil.  
Let Arthur live, whereof to make him sure,  
myself will die, and so prevent his harms.  
Why stayest thou thus amazed O slothful wrath?  
Mischief is meant, dispatch it on thyself.  ANGH. 
Her breast not yet appeased from former rage  
Hath changed her wrath, which wanting means to work  
another's woe, (for such is furies wont,)  
seeks out his own, and raves upon itself.  
Assuage (alas) that over fervent ire,  
Through too much anger, you offend too much:  
Thereby the rather you deserve to live,  
For seeming worthy in yourself to die.  GVEN. 
Death is decreed: what kind of death, I doubt:  
Whether to drowned, or stifle up his breath.  
On forcing blood, to die with dint of knife.  
All hope of prosperous hap is gone, my fame,  
My faith, my spouse: no good is left unlost:  
myself am left, there's left both seas and lands,  
And sword, and fire, and chains, and choice of harms.  
O gnawing easeless grief. Who now can heal  
My maimed mind? it must be healed by death.  ANGH. 
No mischief must be done, whiles I be by,  
Or if there must, there must be more than one.  
If death it be you seek, I seek, it too:  
Alone you may not die, with me you may.  GVEN. 
They, that will drive th'unwilling to their death,  
Or frustrate death in those, that fain would die,  
Offend alike. They spoil, that bootless spare.  ANGH. 
But will my tears and mournings move you nought?  GVEN. 
Then is it best to die, when friends do mourn.  ANGH. 
Each where is death: that, fates have well ordained,  
That each man may bereave himself of life,  
But none of death: death is so sure a doom:  
A thousand ways do guide us to our graves.  
Who then can ever come too late to that,  
Whence, when he's come, he never can return?  
Or what avails to hasten on our ends,  
And long for that, which destinies have sworn?  
Look back in time, too late is to repent,  
When furious rage hath once cut of the choice.  GVEN. 
Death is an end of pain no pain itself.  
Is't meet a plague, for such excessive wrong,  
Should be so short? Should one stroke answer all?  
And wouldst thou die? Well: that contents the laws,  
What then for Arthur's ire? What for thy fame,  
Which thou hast stained? What for thy stock thou sham'st?  
Not death, nor life alone can give a full  
Revenge: join both in one. Die: and yet live,  
Where pain may not be oft, let it be long.  
Seek out some lingering death, whereby, thy corpse  
May neither touch the dead, nor joy the quick.  
Die: but no common death: pass Nature's bounds.  ANGH. 
Set plaints aside, despair yields no relief.  
The more you search a wound, the more it stings.  GVEN. 
When guilty minds torment themselves, they heal:  
Whiles wounds be cured, grief is a salve for grief.  ANGH. 
Grief is no just esteemer of our deeds:  
What so hath yet been done, proceeds from chance.  GVEN. 
The mind, and not the chance, doth make th'unchaste,  ANGH. 
Then is your fault from Fate, you rest excused:  
None can be deemed faulty for her Fate.  GVEN. 
No Fate, but manners fail, when we offend.  
Impute mishaps to Fates, to manners faults.  ANGH. 
Love is an error, that may blind the best.  GVEN. 
A mighty error oft hath seemed a sin.  
My death is vowed, and death must needs take place.  
But such a death, as stands with just remorse:  
Death, to the world, and to her slippery joys:  
A full divorce from all this Courtly pomp.  
Where daily penance done for each offence,  
May render due revenge for every wrong.  
Which to accomplish: pray my dearest friends,  
That they forthwith attired in saddest guise,  
Conduct me to the Cloister next hereby,  
There to profess, and to renounce the world.  ANGH. 
Alas▪ What change were that, from Kingly roofs  
To Cloistered celles? To live, and die at once?  
To want your stately troops, your friends and kin?  
To shun the shows and sights of stately Court.  
To see in sort alive, your country's death?  
Yea, whatsoe'er even Death itself withdraws  
From any else, that life with draws from you.  
Yet since your highness is so fully bent,  
I will obey, the whiles assuage your grief Exit.   

The fourth scene.  Mordred. Guenevora. Conan. MORD. 
THE hour which erst I always feared most,  
The certain ruin of my desperate state,  
Is happened now: why turnst thou (mind) thy back?  
Why at the first assault dost thou recoil?  
Trust to't: the angry Heavens contrive some spite,  
And dreadful doom, t'augment thy cursed hap.  
Oppose to each revenge thy guilty head,  
And shun no pain nor plague fit for thy fact.  
What shouldst thou fear, that seést not what to hope?  
No danger's left before, all's at thy back.  
He safely stands, that stands beyond his harms.  
Thine (death) is all, that East, or West can see,  
For thee we live, our coming is not long,  
Spare us, but whiles we may prepare our graves,  
Though thou wert slow, we hasten of ourselves.  
The hour that gave, did also take our lives:  
No sooner men, then mortal were we borne.  
I see mine end draws on, I feel my plagues.  GVEN. 
No plague for one ill borne, to die as ill.  MORD. 
O Queen! my sweet associate in this plunge,  
And desperate plight, behold, the time is come,  
That either justifies our former faults,  
Or shortly sets us free from every fear.  GVEN. 
My fear is past, and wedlock love hath won.  
Retire we thither yet, whence first we ought  
Not to have stirred. Call back chaste faith again.  
The way, that leads to good, is ne'er too late:  
Who so repents, is guiltless of his crimes.  MORD. 
What means this course? Is Arthur's wedlock safe?  
Or can he love, that hath just cause to hate?  
That nothing else were to be feared:  
Is most apparent, that he hates at home,  
whate'er he be, whose fancy strays abroad?  
Think then, our love is not unknown to him:  
Whereof what patience can be safely hoped?  
Nor love, nor sovereignty can bear a peer.  GVEN. 
Why dost thou still stir up my flames delayed?  
His strays and errors must not move my mind.  
A law for private men binds not the King.  
What, that I ought not to condemn my liege,  
Nor can, thus guilty to mine own offence?  
Where both have done amiss, both will relent.  
He will forgive, that needs must be forgiven.  MORD. 
A likely thing▪ your faults must make you friends:  
What sets you both at odds, must join you both:  
Think well he casts already for revenge,  
And how to plague us both. I know his law,  
A judge severe to us, mild to himself.  
What then avails you to return too late,  
When you have passed to far? You feed vain hopes.  GVEN. 
The further passed, the more this fault is yours:  
It served your turn, t'usurp your father's Crown.  
His is the crime, whom crime stands most in stead.  MORD. 
They, that conspire in faults offend a like:  
Crime makes them equal, whom it jointly stains.  
If for my sake you then partook my guilt,  
You cannot guiltless seem, the crime was joint.  GVEN. 
Well should should she seem most guiltless unto thee,  
whate'er she be, that's guilty for thy sake.  
The remnant of that sober mind, which thou  
Hadst heretofore near vanquished, yet resists.  
Suppress for shame that impious mouth so taught,  
And too much skilled t'abuse the wedded bed.  
Look back to former Fates: Troy still had stood,  
Had not her Prince made light of wedlock's lore.  
The vice, that threw down Troy, doth threat thy Throne:  
Take heed: there Mordred stands, whence Paris fell. Exit.  CONA. 
Since that your highness knows for certain truth  
What power your sire prepares to claim his right:  
It nearly now concerns you to resolve  
In humbliest sort to reconcile yourself.  
'gainst his return:  MORD. 
will war.  CONA. 
that lies in chance  MORD. 
I have as great a share in chance, as he.  CONA. 
His ways be blind, that maketh chance his guide.  MORD 
Whose refuge lies in chance, what dares he not?  CONA. 
wars were a crime far worse than all the rest.  MORD. 
The safest passage is from bad to worse.  CONA. 
That were to pass too far, and put no mean.  MORD. 
He is a fool, that puts a mean in crimes.  CONA. 
But sword and fire would cause a common wound.  MORD. 
So sword and fire will often sear the soar.  CONA. 
Extremest cures must not be used first.  MORD. 
In desperate times, the headlong way is best.  CONA. 
Youhave many foes.  MORD. 
No more than faithful friends.  CONA. 
Trust to't, their faith will faint, where Fortune fails.  
Where many men pretend a love to one,  
Whose power may do what good, and harm he will:  
'tis hard to say, which be his faithful friends.  
Dame Flattery flitteth oft: she loves and hates  
With time, a present friend an absent foe.  
But yet I'll hope the best: Even then you fear  
The worst Fears follow hopes, as fumes do flames.  
Mischief is sometimes safe: but ne'er secure:  
The wrongful sceptre's held with trembling hand.  MORD. 
Whose rule wants right, his safety's in his Sword.  
For Sword and Sceptre comes to Kings at once.  CONA. 
The Kingliest point is to affect but right,  MORD. 
Weak is the Sceptres hold, that seeks but right,  
The care whereof hath dangered many Crowns.  
As much as water differeth from the fire,  
So much man's profit jars from what is just.  
A freé recourse to wrong doth oft secure  
The doubtful seat, and plucks down many a foe.  
The Sword must seldom cease: a sovereign's hand  
Is scantly safe, but whiles it smites. Let him  
Usurp no Crown, that likes a guiltless life:  
Aspiring power and justice yield agree.  
He always fears, that shames to offer wrong.  CONA. 
What son would use such wrong against his sire?  MORD. 
Come son, come sire, I first prefer myself.  
And since a wrong must be, than it excels,  
When 'tis to gain a Crown. I hate a peer,  
I loathe, I irk, I do detest a head.  
beit Nature, be it Reason, be it Pride,  
I love to rule: my mind nor with, nor by,  
Nor after any claims, but chief and first.  CONA. 
Yet think what fame and grievous bruits would run  
Of such disloyal and unjust attempts.  MORD. 
Fame goes not with our Ghosts, the senseless soul  
Once gone, neglects what vulgar bruit reports.  
She is both light and vain.  CONAN. 
She noteth though.  
She feareth States.  CONAN. 
She carpeth ne'er the less.  MORD. 
She's soon suppressed.  CONAN. 
As soon she springs again,  MORD. 
tongues are untamed: and Fame is envies Dog,  
That absent barks, and present fawns as fast.  
It fearing dares, and yet hath never done,  
But dures: though Death redeem us from all foes  
Besides, yet Death redeems us not from Tongues.  
e'er Arthur land, the Sea shall blush with blood.  
And all the strands with smoking slaughters reek.  
Now (Mars) protect me in my first attempt.  
If Mordred scape, this Realm shall want no wars.  Exeunt. CHORUS. CHORUS. 

1  
See here the drifts of Gorlois Cornish Duke,  
And deep desire to shake his sovereign's Throne:  
How foul his fall, how bitter his rebuke,  
Whiles wife, and weal, and life, and all be gone?  
He now in Hell tormented wants that good:  
Lo, lo the end of traitorous bones and blood.   

2  
Pendragon broiled with flames of filthy fires,  
By Merlin's mists enjoyed Igerna's bed,  
Next spoiled Gorlois doubting his desires,  
Then was himself through force of poison sped.  
Who sows in sin, in sin shall reap his pain:  
The Doom is sworn: Death guerdons death again.   

3  
Whiles Arthur wars abroad and reaps renown,  
Guenevora prefers his sons desire.  
And traitorous Mordred still usurps the Crown,  
Affording fuel to her quenchless fire.  
But Death's too good, and life too sweet for these,  
That wanting both, should taste of neither's ease.   

4  
In Rome the gaping gulf would not decrease,  
Till Curtius' corpse had closed her yawning jaws:  
In Thebes the rot and Murrain would not cease,  
Till Laius' brood had paid for breach of laws:  
In Britain wars and discord will not stint:  
Till Uther's line and offspring quite be spent.     


The Argument of the second Act.  
1 IN the first Scene a Nuntio declareth the success of Arthur wars in France, and Mordred's foil that resisted his landing.  
2 In the second Scene Mordred enraged at the overthrow, voweth a second battle, notwithstanding Conan's dissuasion the contrary.  
3 In the third Scene Gavin (brother to Mordred by the mother) with an herald from Arthur to imparle of peace, but after some debate thereof peace is rejected.  
4 In the fourth Scene the King of Ireland & other foreign Prince assure Mordred of their assistance against Arthur.   

¶ The Argument and manner of the second dumb show.  
WHILES the Music sounded there came out of Mordred's house a man stately attired representing a King, who walking once above Stage. Then out of the house appointed for Arthur, there came three Nymphs appareled accordingly, the first holding a Cornucopia in her hand, a second a golden branch of Olive, the third a sheaf of Corn. These 〈◊〉 one after another offered these presents to the King who seemfully refused After the which there came a man bareheaded, with black long shagged hair down to his shoulders, appareled with an Irish jacket and shirt, having an Irish dagger by his side and a dart in his hand. Who first with a threatening countenance looking about, and then spying the King, did furiously chase and drive him into Mordred'S house. The King represented Mordred. The three Nymphs with their proffers the treatise of peace, for the which Arthur sent Gavin with an herald unto Mordred who rejected it: The Irish man signified Revenge and Fury which Mordred conceived after his foil on the Shores, whereunto Mordred headlong yieldeth himself.   

THE SECOND act and first Scene.  Nuntius. VNT. 
LO here at length the stately type of Troy,  
And Britain land the promised seat of Brute.  
Decked with so many spoils of conquered Kings.  
Hail native soil, these nine years space unseen:  
To thee hath long renowned Rome at last  
Held up her hands, bereft of former pomp.  
But first inflamed with wonted valure's heat,  
Amidst our sorest siege and thickest broils,  
She stoutly fought, and fiercely waged wars.  
Tiberius' courage gave, upbraiding oft  
The Roman force, their wonted luck, and long  
Retained rule, by wars throughout the world.  
What shame it were, since such achieved spoils,  
And conquests gained both far and wide, to want  
Of courage then, when most it should be moved.  
How Britons erst paid tribute for their peace,  
But now rebel, and dare them at their doors:  
For what was France but theirs? Herewith incensed  
They fiercely raved, and bent their force afresh.  
Which Arthur spying, cried with thundering voice,  
Fie, (Britons) fie: what hath bewitched you thus?  
So many Nations foiled, must Romans foil?  
What sloth is this? Have you forgot to war,  
Which ne'er knew hour of peace? Turn to your foes,  
Where you may bathe in blood, and fight your fill.  
Let courage work: what can he not that dares?  
Thus he puissant guide in doubtful wars,  
A shamed to shun his foes, inflamed his friends.  
Then yielding to his stately Stead the reigns,  
He furious drives the Roman troops about:  
He plies each place, least Fates mought alter aught,  
Pursuing hap, and urging each success.  
He yields in nought, but instantly persists  
In all attempts, wherein what so withstands  
His wish, he joys to work a way by wrack.  
And matching death to death, no passage seeks,  
But what destruction works, with blade or blood.  
He scorns the yielded way, he fiercely raves  
To break and bruise the ranks in thickest throngs,  
All headlong bent, and prone to present spoil.  
The foes enforced withstand: but much dismayed  
They senseless fight, whiles millions lose their lives.  
At length Tiberius, pierced with point of spear,  
Doth bleéding fall, engored with deadly wound.  
Hereat the rest recoil, and headlong fly,  
Each man to save himself. The battle quails  
And Britons win unto their most renown.  
Then Arthur took Tiberius breathless Corpse,  
And sent it to the Senators at Rome,  
With charge to say: This is the tribute due  
Which Arthur ought, as time hereafter serves,  
He'll pay the like again: the whiles he rests  
Your debtor thus. But O! this this sweet success  
Pursued with greater harms, turned soon to sour.  
For lo: when foreign soils and seas were passed  
With safe return, and that the King should land:  
Who, but his only son (O outrage rare)  
With hugy host withstood him at the shore?  
There were prepared the foreign aids from far,  
There were the borrowed powers of divers Kings,  
There were our parents, brethren, sons and kin,  
Their wrath, their ire, there Mordred was thy rage.  
Where erst we sought abroad for foes to foil,  
Behold, our Fates had sent us foes unsought.  
When foreign Realms supplanted want supply:  
O blessed Home, that hath such boon in store.  
But let this part of Arthur's prowess lurk,  
Nor let it e'er appear by my report,  
What monstrous mischiefs rave in civil wars.  
O rather let due tears, and wailings want:  
Let all in silence sink, what hence ensued.  
What best deserveth mention here, is this:  
That Mordred vanquished trusted to his flight,  
That Arthur each where victor is returned.  
And lo: where Mordred comes with heavy head,  
He wields no slender weight that wields a Crown. Exit.   

The second scene.  Mordred. Conan. MORD. 
ANd hath he won? Be strands & shores possessed?  
Is Mordred foiled? the realm is yet unwon:  
And Mordred lives reserved for Arthur's death:  
Well: 'twas my first conflict: I knew not yet  
What wars required: but now my sword is fleshed,  
And taught to gore and bath in hottest blood.  
Then think not Arthur that the Crown is won:  
Thy first success may rue our next assault.  
even at our next encounter (hap when 'twill)  
I vow by Heaven, by Earth, by Hell, by all,  
That either thou, or I, or both shall die.  CONA. 
Nought should be rashly vowed against your sire.  MORD. 
Whose breast is free from rage may soon b'advised.  CONA. 
The best redress for rage is to relent.  MORD. 
'tis better for a King to kill his foes.  CONA. 
So that the Subjects also judge them foes.  MORD. 
The Subjects must not judge their Kings decrees.  CONA. 
The subjects force is great.  ARTH. 
Greater the Kings.  CONA. 
The more you may, the more you ought to fear.  MORD. 
He is a fool, that feareth what he may.  CONA. 
Not what you may, but what you ought is just,  MORD. 
He that amongst so many, so unjust,  
Seeks to be just, seeks peril to himself.  CONA. 
A greater peril comes by breach of laws.  MORD. 
The Laws do licence as the Sovereign lists.  CONA. 
Lest aught he list, whom laws do licence most.  MORD. 
Imperial power abhors to be restrained.  CONA. 
As much do meaner rooms to be compelled.  MORD. 
The Fates have heaved and raised my force on high.  CONA. 
The gentler should you press those, that are low.  MORD. 
I would be feared:  CONA. 
The cause why Subjects hate.  MORD. 
A Kingdom's kept by fear.  CONA. 
And lost by hate.  
He fears as man himself, whom many fear.  MORD. 
The timorous Subject dares attempt no change.  CONA. 
What dares not desperate dread?  CONA. 
What torture threats.  CONA. 
O spare, 'twear safer to be loved.  MORD. 
As safe  
To be obeyed.  CONA. 
Whiles you command but well.  MORD. 
Where Rulers dare command but what is well:  
power is but prayer, commandment but request.  CONA. 
If power be joined with right, men must obey.  MORD. 
My will must go for right.  CONA. 
If they assent.  MORD. 
My sword shall force assent:  CONA. 
No Gods forbid.  MORD. 
What? shall I stand whiles Arthur sheds my blood?  
And must I yield my neck unto the Axe?  
Whom Fates constrain, let him forego his bliss:  
But he that needless yields unto his bane,  
When he may shun, doth well deserve to lose  
The good he cannot use: who would sustain  
A baser life, that may maintain the best?  
We cannot part the Crown: A regal Throne  
Is not for two: The Sceptre fits but one.  
But whether is the fitter of us two,  
That must our sword decern: and shortly shall.  CONA. 
How much were you to be renowned more,  
If casting off these ruinous attempts,  
You would take care how to supply the loss,  
Which former wars, and foreign broils have wrought.  
how to deserve the people's hearts with peace,  
With quiet rest, and deep desired ease.  
Not to increase the rage that long hath reigned,  
Nor to destroy the realm, you seek to rule.  
Your Father reared it up, you pluck it down.  
You lose your Country whiles you win it thus:  
To make it yours, you strive to make it none.  
Where Kings impose too much, the commons grudge:  
Goodwill withdraws, assent becomes but slow.  MORD. 
Must I to gain renown, incur my plague,  
Or hoping praise sustain an exiles life?  
Must I for country's ease disease myself,  
Or for their love despise my own estate?  
No. 'tis my hap that Britain serves my turn,  
That fear of me doth make the Subjects crouch,  
That what they grudge, they do constrained yield.  
If their assents be slow, my wrath is swift,  
Whom favour fails to bend, let fury break.  
If they be yet to learn, let terror teach,  
What Kings may do, what Subjects ought to bear.  
Then is a Kingdom at a wished stay,  
When whatsoever the Sovereign wills, or nills,  
Men be compelled as well to praise, as bear,  
And subjects wills enforced against their wills.  CONA. 
But who so seeks true praise, and just renown,  
Would rather seek their praising hearts, than tongues.  MORD. 
True praise may happen to the basest groom,  
A forced praise to none, but to a Prince.  
I wish that most, that Subjects most repine.  CONA. 
But yet where wars do threaten your estate,  
There needeth friends to fortify your Crown.  MORD. 
Each Crown is made of that attractive mould,  
That of itself it draws a full defence.  CONA. 
That is a just, and no usurped Crown.  
And better were an exiles life, then thus  
Disloyally to wrong your Sire and Liege.  
Think not that impious crimes can prosper long,  
A time they scape, in time they be repaid.  MORD. 
The hugest crimes bring best success to some.  CONA. 
Those some be rare.  MORD. 
Why may not I be rare?  CONA. 
It was their hap.  MORD. 
It is my hope.  CONA. 
But hope  
May miss, where hap doth hurl.  MORD. 
So hap may hit,  
Where hope doth aim.  CONAN. 
But hap is last, and rules  
The stern.  MORD. 
So hope is first, and hoists the sail.  CONA. 
Yet fear: the first and last do seld agree.  MORD. 
Nay dare: the first and last have many means.  
But cease at length: your speech molests me much:  
My mind is fixed. Give Mordred leave to do.  
What Conan neither can allow, nor like.  CONA. 
But lo an herald sent from Arthur's host:  
Gods grant his message may portend our good.   

The third scene.  herald. Gawin. Mordred. HERA. 
YOUR Sire (O Prince) considering what distress,  
The Realm sustains by both your mutual wars,  
Hath sent your brother Gavin Alban King  
To treat of truce, and to imparle of peace.  MORD 
Speak brother: what commandment sends my Sire?  
What message do you bring? My life, or death?  GAWI. 
A message far unmeet, most needful tho.  
The Sire commands not, where the Son rebels:  
His love descends too deep to wish your death.  MORD. 
And mine ascends too high to wish his life.  GAWI. 
Yet thus he offereth: though your faults be great,  
And most disloyal to his deep abuse:  
Yet yield yourself: he'll be as prone to grace,  
As you to ruth: An Uncle, Sire, and Liege.  
And fitter were your due submission done,  
Then wrongful wars to reave his right and Realm.  MORD. 
It is my fault, that he doth want his right:  
It is his own, to vex the Realm with wars.  GAWI. 
It is his right, that he attempts to seek:  
It is your wrong, that driveth him thereto.  MORD. 
'tis his insatiate mind, that is not so content,  
Which hath so many Kingdoms more beside.  GAWI. 
The more you ought to tremble at his power.  MORD. 
The greater is my conquest, if I win.  GAWI. 
The more your foil, if you should hap to lose.  
For Arthur's fame, and valour's such, as you  
Should rather imitate, or at the least  
Envy, if hope of better fancies failed.  
For whereas Envy reigns, though it repines,  
Yet doth it fear a greater than itself.  MORD. 
He that envies the valour of his foe,  
Detects a want of valour in himself.  
He fondly fights, that fights with such a foe,  
Where 'twere a shame to lose, no praise to win:  
But with a famous foe, succeed what will,  
To win is great renown, to lose less foil.  
His conquests, were they more, dismay me not:  
The oftener they have been, the more they threat.  
No danger can be thought both safe, and oft:  
And who hath oftener waged wars than he?  
Escapes secure him not: he owes the price:  
Whom chance hath often missed, chance hits at length  
Or, if that Chance have furthered his success,  
So may she mine: for Chance hath made me king.  GAWI. 
As Chance hath made you King, so Chance may change.  
Provide for peace: that's it the highest piers,  
No state except, even Conquerors ought to seek.  
Remember Arthur's strength, his conquests late,  
His fiery mind, his high aspiring heart.  
Mark then the odds: he expert, you untried:  
He ripe, you green: yield you, whiles yet you may,  
He will not yield: he wins his peace with wars.  MODR. 
If Chance may change, his Chance was last to win.  
The likelier now to lose: his haughty heart  
And mind I know: I feel mine own no less.  
As for his strength, and skill, I leave to hap:  
Where many meet, it lies not all in one.  
What though he vanquished have the Roman troops?  
That boots him not: himself is vanquished here.  
Then weigh your words again: if Conquerors ought  
To seek for peace: The Conquered must perforce.  
But he'll not yield, he'll purchase peace with wars.  
Well: yield that will: I neither will, nor can:  
Come peace, come wars, choose him: my danger's his,  
His safety mine, our states do stand alike.  
If peace be good, as good for him, as me:  
If wars be good, as good for me, as him.  GAWI. 
What Cursed wars (alas) were those, wherein  
Both son and sire should so oppose themselves?  
Him, whom you now unhappy man pursue,  
If you should win, yourself would first bewail.  
Give him his Crown, to keep it peril breeds.  MORD. 
The Crown I'll keep myself: ensue what will:  
Death must be once: how soon, I lest respect.  
He best provides that can beware in time,  
Not why, nor when: but whence, and where he falls.  
What fool, to live a year or twain in rest,  
Would lose the state, and honour of a Crown?  GAWI. 
Consider then your Father's grief, and want:  
Whom you bereave of Kingdom, Realm, and Crown.  MORD. 
Trust me: a huge and mighty kingdom 'tis,  
To bear the want of Kingdom, Realm, and Crown.  GAWI. 
A common want, which works each worldlings woe,  
That many have too much, but none enough.  
It were his praise, could he be so content,  
Which makes you guilty of the greater wrong.  
Wherefore think on the doubtful state of wars,  
Where Mars hath sway, he keeps no certain course.  
Sometimes he lets the weaker to prevail,  
Some times the stronger stoops: hope, fear, and rage  
With eyeless lot rules all, uncertain good,  
Most certain harms, be his assured haps.  
No luck can last, now here, now their it lights:  
No state alike, Chance blindly snatcheth all,  
And Fortune maketh guilty whom she lists.  MORD. 
Since therefore fear, and hope, and hap in wars  
Be all obscure, till their success be seen:  
Your speech doth rather drive me on to try,  
And trust them all, mine only refuge now.  GAWI. 
And fear you not so strange and uncouth wars?  MORD. 
No, were they wars that grew from out the ground.  GAWI. 
Nor yet your sire so huge, yourself so small?  MORD. 
The smallest axe may fell the hugest oak.  GAWI. 
Nor that in felling him, yourself may fall?  MORD. 
He falleth well, that falling fells his foe.  GAWI. 
Nor common Chance whereto each man is thrall?  MORD. 
Small manhood were to turn my back to Chance,  GAWI. 
Nor that, if Chance afflict, kings brook it not?  MORD. 
I bear no breast so unprepared for harms.  
even that I hold the kingliest point of all,  
To brook afflictions well: And by how much  
The more his state and tottering Empire sags,  
To fix so much the faster foot on ground.  
No fear but doth forejudge, and many fall  
Into their Fate, whiles they do fear their Fate.  
Where courage quails, the fear exceeds the harm,  
Yea worse than war itself, is fear of war.  GAWI. 
War seemeth sweet to such as have not tried:  
But wisdom wills we should forecast the worst.  
The end allows the act: that plot is wise,  
That knows his means, and least relies on Chance.  
Eschew the course where error lurks, their grows  
But grief, where pain is spent, no hope to speed.  
Strive not above your strength: for where your force  
Is over matched with your attempts, it faints,  
And fruitless leaves, what bootless it began.  MORD. 
All things are ruled in constant course: No Fate  
But is foreset, The first day leads the last.  
No wisdom then: but difference in conceit,  
Which works in many men, as many minds.  
You love the mean, and follow virtues race:  
I like the top, and aim at greater bliss.  
You rest content, my mind aspires to more:  
In brief, you fear, I hope: you doubt, I dare.  
Since then the sagest counsels are but strifes,  
Where equal wits may wrest each side alike,  
Let counsel go: my purpose must proceed:  
Each likes his course, mine own doth like me best.  
Wherefore e'er Arthur breath, or gather strength,  
Assault we him: lest he assault us first.  
He either must destroy, or be destroyed.  
The mischief's in the midst: catch he that can.  GAWI. 
But will no reason rule that desperate mind?  MORD. 
A fickle mind that every reason rules.  
I rest resolved: and to my Sire say thus:  
If here he stay but three days to an end,  
And not forthwith discharge his band and host,  
'tis Mordred'S oath: assure himself to die.  
But if he find his courage so to serve,  
As for to stand to his defence with force:  
In Cornwall if he dare, I'll try it out.  GAWI. 
O strange contempt: like as the craggy rock,  
Resists the streams, and flings the waltering waves  
Aloof, so he rejects and scorns my words. Exit.   

The fourth scene.  Gilla. Gillamor. Cheldrichus. Dux Pictorum. Conan. MORD. 
LO, where (as they decreed) my faithful friends  
Have kept their time, be all your powers repaired?  GILLA. 
They be: and all with ardent minds to Mars.  
They cry for wars, and longing for th'alarm  
Even now they wish t'encounter with their foes.  MORD. 
What could be wished for more? Puissant King.  
For your great help and valiant Irish force,  
If I obtain the conquest in these wars,  
Whereas my father claims a tribute due  
Out of your Realm, I here renounce it quite.  
And if assistance need in doubtful times,  
I will not fail to aid you with the like.  GYLL. 
It doth suffice me to discharge my Realm,  
Or at the least to wreak me on my foes.  
I rather like to live your friend and pier,  
Then rest in Arthur's homage and disgrace.  MORD. 
Right noble Duke, through whom the Saxons vow  
Their lives with mine, for my defence in wars:  
If we prevail and may subdue our foes:  
I will in lieu of your so high deserts,  
Give you and yours all British lands that lie  
Between the flood of Humber, and the Scots.  
Besides as much in Kent as Horsus and  
Hengistus had, when Vortigern was King.  CHEL. 
Your gracious proffers I accept with thanks,  
Not for the gain, but that the good desire  
I have henceforth to be your subject here,  
May thereby take effect: which I esteem  
More than the rule I bear in Saxon soil.  MORD. 
(Renowned Lord) for your right hardy Picts,  
And chosen warriors to maintain my cause,  
If our attempts receive a good success,  
The Alban Crown I give to you and yours.  PICT. 
Your highness bounty in so high degreé,  
Were cause enough to move me to my best.  
But sure yourself, without regard of meed,  
Should find both me and mine at your command.  MORD. 
Lord Gilla, if my hope may take success,  
And that I be thereby undoubted King,  
The Cornish Dukedom I allot to you.  GILLA· 
My Liege to further your desired attempts,  
I joyfully shall spend my dearest blood.  
The rather, that I found the King your Sire  
So heavy Lord to me, and all my stock.  MORD. 
Since then our rest is on't, and we agreed  
To war it out: what resteth now but blows?  
drive Destinies on with swords, Mars frames the means,  
Henceforth what Mordred may, now lies in you.  
Ere long if Mars ensue with good success,  
Look whatsoe'er it be, that Arthur claims,  
By right, a wrong, or conquests gained with blood,  
In Britain, or abroad is mine to give.  
To show I would have said: I cannot give,  
What every hand must give unto itself.  
Whereof who lists to purchase any share,  
Now let him seek and win it with his Sword:  
The Fates have laid it open in the field.  
What Stars (O Heavens) or Poles, or Powers divine  
Do grant so great rewards for those that win?  
Since then our common good, and each man's care  
Requires our joint assistance in these toils:  
Shall we not hazard our extremest hap,  
And rather spend our Fates, then spare our foes?  
The cause, I care for most, is chiefly yours:  
This hand and heart shall make mine own secure.  
That man shall see me foiled by myself,  
whate'er he be, that seés my foe unfoiled.  
Fear not the field because of Mordred'S faults,  
Nor shrink one jot the more for Arthur's right.  
Full safely Fortune guideth many a guilt,  
And Fates have none but wretches whom they wrench.  
Wherefore make sped to cheer your soldiers hearts,  
That to their fires you yet may add more flames.  
The side that seeks to win in civil wars,  
Must not content itself with wonted heat.  Exeunt omnes preter Mordred & Conan. CONA. 
WOuld God your highness had been more advised,  
Ere too much will had drawn your wits too far:  
Then had no wars endangered you, nor yours,  
Nor Mordred'S cause required foreign care.  MORD. 
A troubled head: my mind revolts to fear,  
And bears my body back: I inwards feel my fall.  
My thoughts misgive me much: down terror: I  
Perceive mine end: and desperate though I must  
Despise Despair, and somewhat hopeless hope.  
The more I doubt, the more I dare: by fear  
I find the fact is fittest for my fame.  
What though I be a ruin to the Realm,  
And fall myself therewith? No better end.  
His last mishaps do make a man secure.  
Such was King Priam's end, who, when he died,  
Closed and wrapped up his Kingdom in his death.  
A solemn pomp, and fit for Mordred'S mind,  
To be a grave and tomb to all his Realm. Exeunt.  CHORUS. 

1  
Ye Princely Peers extolled to seats of State,  
Seek not the fair, that soon will turn to foul:  
Oft is the fall of high and hovering Fate,  
And rare the room, which time doth not control.  
The safest seat is not on highest hill,  
Where winds, and storms, and thunders thump their ill.  
Far safer were to follow sound advise,  
Then for such pride to pay so dear a price.   

2  
The mounting mind that climbs the haughty cliffs,  
And soaring seeks the tip of lofty type,  
intoxicates the brain with giddy drifts,  
Then rolls, and reels, and falls at length plum ripe.  
Lo: heaving high is of so small forecast,  
To totter first, and tumble down at last.  
Yet Pegasus still rears himself on high,  
And coltishly doth kick the clouds in Sky.   

3  
Who saw the grief engraven in a Crown,  
Or knew the bad and bane whereto it's bound:  
Would never stick to throw and fling it down,  
Nor once vouchsafe to heave it from the ground.  
Such is the sweet of this ambitious power,  
No sooner had, then turned eftsoons to sour:  
Achieved with envy, exercised with hate,  
Guarded with fear, supported with debate.   

4  
O restless race of high aspiring head,  
O worthless rule both pitied and envied:  
How many Millions to their loss you lead:  
With love and lure of kingdoms bliss untried?  
So things untasted cause a quenchless thirst,  
Which, were they known, would be refused first,  
Yea, oft we see, yet seeing cannot shun  
The fact, we find as fondly dared, as done.     


The argument of the third Act.  
1 IN the first Scene Cador and howel incite and exhort Arthur unto war: Who moved with Fatherly affection towards his son, notwithstanding their persuasions resolveth upon peace.  
2 In the second Scene, an herald is sent from Mordred to command Arthur to discharge his armies under pain of death, or otherwise if he dare, to try it by Battle.  
3 In the third Scene Arthur calleth his Assistants and Soldiers together, whom he exhorteth to pursue their foes.  
4 In the fourth Scene Arthur between grief and despair resolveth to war.   

¶ The Argument and manner of the third dumb show.  
During the Music after the second Act. There came upon the stage two gentlemen attired in peaceable manner, which brought with them a Table, Carpet, and Cloth: and then having covered the Table they furnished it with incense on the one end, and banqueting dishes on the other end: Next there came two gentlemen appareled like Soldiers with two naked sword in their hands, the which they laid a cross upon the Table. Then there came two sumptuously attired and warlike, who, spying this preparation smelled the incense and tasted the banquet. During the which there came a Messenger and delivered certain letters to those two that fed on the dainties: who, after they had well viewed and perused the letters, furiously flung the banquet under feet▪ and violently snatching the sword unto them, they hastily went their way. By the first two that brought in the banquet was meant the servants of Peace, by the second two were meant the servants of War: By the two last were meant Arthur and Cador, By the Messenger and his Letters was meant the defiance from Mordred.   

THE THIRD ACT and first scene.  Arthur. Cador. howel. ARTH. 
IS this the welcome that my Realm prepares?  
Be these the thanks I win for all my wars?  
Thus to forbid me land? to slay my friends?  
To make their blood distain my Country shores?  
My son (belike) lest that our force should faint  
For want of wars, prepared us wars himself.  
He thought (perhaps) it mought impair our fame,  
If none rebelled, whose subtle might praise our power.  
Is this the fruit of mordred's forward youth,  
And tender age discreet beyond his years?  
O false and guileful life, O crafty world:  
How cunningly conveyest thou fraud unseen?  
th'ambitious seemeth meek, the wanton chaste,  
Disguised vice for virtue vaunts itself.  
Thus (Arthur) thus hath Fortune played her part,  
Blind for thy weal, clear sighted for thy woe.  
Thy kingdom's gone, thy fere affords no faith,  
Thy son rebels, of all thy wonted pomp  
No jot is left, and Fortune hides her face.  
No place is left for prosperous plight, mishaps  
Have room and ways to run and walk at will.  
Lo (Cador) both our states, your daughter's trust,  
My son's respect, our hopes reposed in both.  CADO. 
The time (puissant Prince) permits not now  
To moan our wrongs, or search each several sore.  
Since Arthur thus hath ransacked all abroad,  
What marvel be't, if Mordred rave at home?  
When far and near your wars had worn the world,  
What wars were left for him, but civil wars,  
All which requires revenge with sword and fire,  
And to pursue your foes with presence force.  
In just attempts Mars gives a rightful doom.  ARTH. 
Nay rather (Cador) let them run their race,  
And leave the heavens revengers of my wrong.  
Since Britain's prosperous state is thus debased  
In servile sort to Mordred'S cursed pride,  
Let me be thrall, and lead a private life:  
None can refuse the yoke his Country bears.  
But as for wars, insooth my flesh abhors,  
To bid the battle to my proper blood.  
Great is the love, which nature doth enforce  
From kin to kin, but most from sire to son.  how. 
The noble neck disdains the servile yoke,  
Where rule hath pleased, subjection seemeth strange.  
A King ought always to prefer his Realm,  
Before the love he bears to kin or son.  
Your Realm destroyed is near restored again,  
But time may send you kine and sons enough.  ARTH. 
How hard it is to rule th'aspiring mind,  
And what a kingly point it seems to those,  
Whose Lordly hands the stately Sceptre sways,  
Still to pursue the drift they first decreed:  
My wonted mind and kingdom lets me know.  
Think not, but if you drive this hazard on,  
He desperate will resolve to win or die:  
Whereof who knows which were the greater guilt,  
The sire to slay the son, or son the sire.  CADO. 
If bloody Mars do so extremely sway,  
That either son or sire must needs be slain,  
Give Law the choice: let him die that deserves.  
Each impotent affection notes a want.  
No worse a vice than lenity in Kings,  
Remiss indulgence soon undoes a Realm.  
He teacheth how to sin, that winks at sins,  
And bids offend, that suffereth an offence.  
The only hope of leave increaseth crimes,  
And he that pardoneth one, emboldeneth all  
To break the Laws. Each patience fostereth wrongs.  
But vice severely punished faints at foot,  
And creeps no further off, then where it falls.  
One sour example will prevent more vice,  
Than all the best persuasions in the world.  
Rough rigour looks out right, and still prevails:  
Smooth mildness looks too many ways to thrive.  
Wherefore since Mordred'S crimes have wronged the Laws  
In so extreme a sort, as is too strange:  
Let right and justice rule with rigours aid,  
And work his wrack at length, although too late:  
That damning Laws, so damned by the Laws,  
He may receive his deep deserved doom.  
So let it fare with all, that dare the like:  
Let sword, let fire, let torments be their end.  
Severity upholds both Realm and rule.  ARTH. 
Ah too severe, far from a Father's mind.  
Compassion is as fit for Kings as wrath.  
laws must not lower. Rule oft admitteth ruth.  
So hate, as if there were yet cause to love:  
Take not their lives as foes, which may be friends.  
To spoil my son were to despoil myself:  
Oft, whiles we seek our foes, we seek our foils.  
Let's rather seek how to allure his mind  
With good deserts: deserts may win the worst.  how. 
Where Cato first had saved a thief from death,  
And after was himself condemned to die:  
When else not one would execute the doom,  
Who but the thief did undertake the task?  
If too much bounty work so bad effects  
In thankless friends, what for a ruthless foe?  
Let Laws have still their course, the ill disposed  
Grudge at their lives, to whom they owe too much.  ARTH. 
But yet where men with reconciled minds  
Renew their love with recontinued grace,  
Atonement frames them friends of former foes,  
And makes the moods of swelling wrath to suage.  
No faster friendship, than that grows from grief,  
When melting minds with mutual ruth relent.  
How close the severed skin unites again,  
When salves have smoothly healed the former hurts?  CADO. 
I never yet saw hurt so smoothly healed,  
But that the scar bewrayed the former wound:  
Yea, where the salve did soonest close the skin,  
The sore was oftener covered up than cured.  
Which festering deep and filled within, at last  
With sudden breach grew greater than at first,  
What then for minds, which have revenging moods,  
And ne'er forget the cross they forced bear?  
Whereto if reconcilement come, it makes  
The t'one secure, whiles tother works his will.  
Atonement seld defeats, but oft defers  
Revenge: beware a reconciled foe.  ARTH. 
Well, what avails to linger in this life,  
Which Fortune but reserves for greater grief?  
This breath draws on but matter of mishap:  
Death only frees the guiltless from annoys.  
Who so hath felt the force of greedy Fates,  
And dured the last decree of grisly death,  
Shall never yield his captive arms to chains,  
ne'er drawn in triumph deck the victor's pomp.  how. 
What mean these words? Is Arthur forced to fear,  
Is this the fruit of your continual wars,  
Even from the first remembrance of your youth?  ARTH. 
My youth (I grant) and prime of budding years  
Puffed up with pride and fond desire of praise,  
foreweening nought what perils might ensue,  
Adventured all, and raught to will the reigns.  
But now this age requires a sager course,  
And will advised by harms to wisdom yields.  
Those swelling spirits the self same cause which first  
Set them on gog, even Fortune's favours quailed.  
And now mine oftenest scapes do scare me most,  
I fear the trap, whereat I oft have tripped:  
Experience tells me plain that Chance is frail,  
And oft, the better passed, the worse to come.  CADO. 
Resist these doubts: 'tis ill to yield to harms.  
'tis safest then to dare when most you fear.  ARTH. 
As safe sometimes to fear, when most we dare.  
A causeless courage gives repentance place.  how. 
If Fortune fawns.  ARTH. 
Each way on me she frowns.  
For win I, lose I, both procure my grief.  CADO. 
Put case you win, what grief?  ARTH. 
Admit I do,  
What joy?  CADOR. 
Then may you rule.  ARTH. 
When I may die.  CADO. 
To rule is much.  ARTH. 
Small if we covet nought.  CADO. 
Who covets not a Crown.  ARTH. 
He that discerns  
The sword aloft.  CADOR. 
That hangeth fast.  ARTH. 
But by  
A hair.  CADOR. 
Right holds it up.  ARTH. 
Wrong pulls it downe.  CADO. 
The Commons help the King.  ARTH. 
They sometimes hurt.  CADO. 
At least the Peers.  ARTH. 
seld, if allegiance want.  CADO. 
Yet Sovereignty.  ARTH. 
Not, if allegiance fail.  CADO. 
Doubt not, the Realm is yours.  ARTH. 
'twas mine till now.  CADO. 
And shall be still.  ARTH. 
If Mordred list.  CADOR. 
'twere well  
Your crown were won.  ARTH. 
Perhaps 'tis bets lost.  how. 
The name of rule should move a princely mind.  ARTH. 
Trust me, bad things have often glorious names.  how. 
The greatest good that Fortune can afford.  ARTH. 
A dangerous good that wisdom would eschew.  how. 
Yet weigh the hearsay of the old renown,  
And Fame the Wonderer of the former age:  
Which still extols the facts of worthiest wights,  
Preferring no deserts before your deeds.  
even she exhorts you to this new attempts,  
Which left untried your winnings be but loss.  ARTH. 
Small credit will be given of matters passed  
To Fame, the Flatterer of the former age.  
Were all believed which antic bruit imports,  
Yet wisdom weighs the peril joined to praise:  
Rare is the Fame (mark well all ages gone)  
Which hath not hurt the house it most enhanced.  
Besides, Fame's but a blast that sounds a while,  
And quickly stints, and then is quite forgot.  
Look whatsoe'er our virtues have achieved,  
The Chaos vast and greedy time devours.  
Today all Europe rings of Arthur's praise:  
T'will be as hushed, as if I ne'er had been.  
What boots it then to venture life or limb,  
For that, which needs e'er long we leave, or loose,  CADO. 
Can blind affection so much blear the wise,  
Or love of graceless Son so witch the Sire?  
That what concerns the honour of a Prince  
With country's good and Subjects just request,  
Should lightly be contemned by a King?  
When Lucius sent but for his tribute due,  
You went with thirteen Kings to root him out:  
Have Romans, for requiring but their own,  
Abode your nine years brunts: Shall Mordred scape,  
That wronged you thus in honour, Queen, and Realm?  
Were this no cause to stir a King to wrath,  
Yet should your Conquests late achieved 'gainst Rome  
Inflame your mind with thirst of full revenge.  ARTH. 
indeed, continual wars have chafed our minds,  
And good success hath bred impatient moods.  
Rome puffs us up, and makes us too too fierce:  
There, Britons, there we stand, whence Rome did fall.  
Thou Lucius mak'st me proud, thou heavest my mind:  
But what? shall I esteem a Crown ought else,  
Then as a gorgeous Crest of easeless Helm,  
Or as some brittle mould of glorious pomp,  
Or glittering glass, which, whiles it shines, it breaks?  
All this a sudden Chance may dash, and not  
Perhaps with thirteen Kings, or in nine years:  
All may not find so slow and lingering Fates.  
What, that my Country cries for due remorse  
And some relief for long sustained toils?  
By Seas and Lands I daily wrought her wreck,  
And spareless spent her life on every foe.  
Each where my Soldiers perished, whilst I won:  
Throughout the world my Conquest was their spoil.  
A fair reward for all their deaths, for all  
Their wars abroad, to give them civil wars.  
What boots it them reserved from foreign foils  
To die at home? What end of ruthless rage?  
At least let age, and Nature worn to nought,  
Provide at length their graves with wished groans.  
Pity their hoary hairs, their feéble fists,  
Their withered limbs, their strengths consumed in Camp.  
Must they still end their lives amongst the blades?  
Rests there no other Fate whiles Arthur reigns?  
What deem you me? a fury fed with blood,  
Or some Cyclopian borne and bred for brawls?  
Think on the mind, that Arthur bears to peace:  
Can Arthur please you nowhere but in wars?  
Be witness Heavens how far 'tis from my mind,  
Therewith to spoil or sack my native soil:  
I cannot yield, it brooks not in my breast,  
To seek her ruin, whom I erst have ruled.  
What relics now soe'er both civil broils,  
And foreign wars have left, let those remain:  
theyare few enough, and Britons fall too fast.   

The second scene.  An herald from Mordred. how. 
LO here an herald sent from Mordred'S Camp,  
A froward message, if I read aright:  
We mought not stir his wrath: perhaps this may:  
Persuasions cannot move a Briton's mood,  
And yet none sooner stung with present wrong.  HERAV. 
Hail peerless Prince, whiles Fortune would, our King,  
Though now bereft of Crown and former rule.  
Vouchsafe me leave my message to impart,  
No jot enforced, but as your Son affords.  
If here you stay but three days to an end,  
And not forthwith discharge your bands and host,  
It's Mordred'S oath: Assure yourself to die.  
But if you find your courage so to serve,  
As for to stand to your defence with force,  
In Cornwall (if you dare) he'll try it out.  ARTH. 
Is this the choice my Son doth send his Sire,  
And must I die? Or try it if I dare?  
To die were ill, thus to be dared is worse.  
Display my standard forth, let Trump and Drum  
Call Soldiers near, to hear their sovereign's hest.   

The third scene.  Gawin King of Albanie. Aschillus King of Denmark. King of Norway. A number of Soldiers. ARTH. 
O Friends and fellows of my weariest toils,  
Which have borne out with me so many brunts,  
And desperate storms of wars and brainsick Mars.  
Lo now the hundredth month wherein we win.  
Hath all the blood we spent in foreign Coasts,  
The wounds, and deaths, and winter's bode abroad,  
Deserved thus to be disgraced at home?  
All Britain rings of wars: No town, nor field  
But swarms with armed troops: the mustering trains  
Stop up the streets: no less a tumult's raised,  
Then when Hengistus fell and Horsus fierce  
With treacherous truce did overrun the Realm.  
Each corner threateneth Death: both far and near  
Is Arthur vexed. What if my force had failed,  
And standard fallen, and ensigns all been torn,  
And Roman troops pursued me at the heels,  
With luckless wars assayed in foreign soils?  
Now that our Fortune heaves us up thus high,  
And Heavens themselves renew our old renown:  
Must we be dared? Nay, let that Princock come,  
That knows not yet himself, nor Arthur's force,  
That ne'er yet waged wars, that's yet to learn  
To give the charge: Yea let that Princock come,  
With sudden Soldiers pampered up in peace,  
And gowned troops, and wantons worn with ease:  
With sluggish Saxons crew, and Irish kerns,  
And Scottish aid, and false redhshanked Picts,  
Whose slaughters yet must teach their former foil.  
They shall perceive with sorrow ere they part,  
When all their toils be told, that nothing works  
So great a waste and ruin in this age,  
As do my wars. O Mordred blessed Son:  
No doubt, these market mates so highly hired  
Must be the stay of thy usurped state.  
And lest my head inclining now to years,  
Should joy the rest, which yet it never reaped:  
The Traitor Gilla, trained in treacherous jars,  
Is chief in arms, to reave me of my Realm.  
What corner (ah) for all my wars shall shroud  
My bloodless age? what seat for due deserts?  
What town, or field for ancient soldiers rest?  
What house? What roof? What walls for wearied limbs?  
Stretch out again, stretch out your conquering hands,  
Still must we use the force so often used.  
To those, that will pursue a wrong with wreak,  
He giveth all, that once denies the right.  
Thou soil which erst Diana did ordain  
The certain seat and bower of wandering Brute:  
Thou Realm which aye I reverence as my Saint,  
Thou stately Britain th'ancient type of Troy,  
Bear with my forced wrongs: I am not he,  
That willing would impeach thy peace with wars.  
Lo here both far and wide I Conqueror stand,  
Arthur each where thine own, thy Liege, thy King.  
Condemn not mine attempts: he, only he  
Is sole in fault, that makes me thus thy foe.  
Here I renounce all leagues and treats of truce,  
Thou Fortune henceforth art my guard and guide.  
Hence peace, on wars, run Fates, let Mars be judge,  
I erst did trust to right, but now to rage.  
Go: tell the boy that Arthur fears no brags,  
In vain he seeks to brave it with his Sire.  
I come (Mordred) I come, but to thy pain.  
Yea, tell the boy his angry father comes,  
To teach a novice both to die, and dare. herald Exit.  how. 
If we without offence (O greatest guide  
Of British name? may pour our just complaints:  
We most mislike that your too mild a mood  
Hath thus withheld our hands and swords from strokes.  
For what? were we behind in any help?  
Or without cause did you misdoubt our force,  
Or truth so often tried with good success?  
Go to: Conduct your army to the field,  
Place man to man, oppose us to our foes:  
As much we ne to work, as wish your weal.  CADO. 
seems it so sour to win by civil wars?  
Were it to gore with Pike my father's breast,  
Were it to rive and cleave my brother's head,  
Were it to tear piecemeal my dearest child,  
I would enforce my grudging hands to help.  
I cannot term that place my native soil,  
Whereto your trumpets send their warlike sounds.  
If case required to batter down the Towers  
Of any Town, that Arthur would destroy:  
Yea, were't of Britons self, which most I read:  
Her bulwarks, fortress, rampires, walls and fence,  
These arms should rear the Rams to run them down.  
Wherefore ye Princes, and the rest my mates,  
If what I have averred in all your names,  
Be likewise such as stands to your content,  
Let all your yes avow my promise true.  SOVL. 
Yea, yea, etc.  ASCH. 
Wherein renowned King myself, or mine,  
My life, my Kingdom, and all Denmark power  
May serve your turn, account them all your own.  KING 
And whatsoe'er my force or norway aid  
Norway .May help in your attempts, I vow it here.  GAWI. 
As heretofore I always served your hest,  
So let this day be judge of Gavin's trust.  
Either my brother Mordred dies the death  
By mine assault, or I at least by his.  ARTH. 
Since thus (my faithful mates) with vows alike,  
And equal love to Arthur's cause you join  
In common care, to wreak my private wrongs:  
Lift up your Ensigns efts, stretch out your strengths,  
Pursue your Fates, perform your hopes to Mars,  
Lo here the last and outmost work for blades.  
This is the time that all our valour craves.  
This time by due desert restores again  
Our goods, our lands, our lives, our weal and all.  
This time declares by Fates whose cause is best,  
This, this condemns the vanquished side of guilt.  
Wherefore if for my sake you scorn yourselves,  
And spare no sword nor fire in my defence:  
Then whiles my censure justifies your cause,  
Fight, fight amain: and clear your blades from crime,  
The judge once changed, no wars are free from guilt.  
The better cause gives us the greater hope  
Of prosperous wars, wherein if once I hap  
To spy the wonted signs, that never failed  
Their guide, your threatening looks, your fiery eyes,  
And bustling bodies priest to present spoil:  
The field is won. even then methinks I see  
The wonted waists, and scattered heads of foes,  
The Irish carcase kicked, and Picts oppressed,  
And Saxons slain, to swim in streams of blood.  
I quake with hope. I can assure you all,  
We never had a greater match in hand.  
March on: delay no Fates whiles Fortune fawns,  
The greatest praise of wars consists in speed.  Exeunt Regis et Cohors.  

The fourth scene.  Cador. Arthur. CADO. 
SInce thus (victorious King) your Peers, allies,  
Your Lords, and all your powers be ready priest,  
For good, for bad, for whatsoe'er shall hap,  
To spend both limb and life in your defence:  
Cast of all doubts, and rest yourself on Mars:  
A hopeless fear forbids a happy Fate.  ARTH. 
In sooth (good Cador) so our Fortune fares,  
As needs we must return to wonted force.  
To wars we must: but such unhappy wars,  
As yield no hope for right or wrong to scape.  
myself foreseés the Fate, it cannot fall  
Without our dearest blood: much may the mind  
Of pensive Sire presage, whose Son so sins.  
All truth, all trust, all blood, all bands be broke,  
The seeds are sown that spring to future spoil,  
My Son, my Nephew, yea each side myself,  
Nearer than all (woe's me) too near, my foe.  
Well: 'tis my plague for life so lewdly led,  
The price of guilt is still a heavier guilt.  
For were it light, that e'en by birth myself  
Was bad, I made my sister bad: nay were  
That also light, I have begot as bad.  
Yea worse, an heir assigned to all our sins.  
Such was his birth: what base, what vulgar vice  
Could once be looked for of so noble blood?  
The deéper guilt descends, the more it roots:  
The younger imps affect the huger crimes. Exeunt.  CHORUS. 

1  
When many men assent to civil wars,  
And yielded a suffrage to enforce the Fates:  
No man bethinks him of his own mishap,  
But turns that luck unto another's share.  
Whereas if fear did first forewarn each foil,  
Such love to fight would breed no Britain's bane.  
And better were still to preserve our peace,  
Then thus to vent for peace through waging wars.  
What folly to forego such certain haps,  
And in their steed to feed uncertain hopes?  
Such hopes as oft have puffed up many a Realm,  
Till cross success hath priest it down as deep:  
Whiles blind affection fetched from private cause  
Misguiding wit hath masked in wisdom's vail,  
Pretending what in purpose it abhorred.   

2  
Peace hath three foes encamped in our breasts,  
Ambition, Wrath, and Envy: which subdued,  
We should not fail to find eternal peace.  
'tis in our power to joy it all at will,  
And few there be, but if they will, they may:  
But yet even those, who like the name of peace,  
Through fond desire repine at peace itself.  
Between the hope whereof, and it itself,  
A thousand things may fall: that further wars.  
The very speech sometimes and treats of truce,  
Is slashed and cut asunder with the sword.  
Norfield the name of peace doth edge our minds,  
And sharpeneth on our fury till we fight:  
So that the mention made of love and rest  
Is oft a whetstone to our hate and rage.   

3  
Lo here the end, that Kingly pomp imparts,  
The quiet rest, that Princely palace plights.  
Care upon care, and every day a new  
Fresh rising tempest tires the tossed minds.  
Who strives to stand in pomp of Princely port,  
On giddy top and culm of slippery Court,  
Finds oft a heavy Fate, whiles too much known  
To all, he falls unknown unto himself.  
Let who so else that list, affect the name,  
But let me seem a Potentate to none:  
My slender bark shall creep anent the shore,  
And shun the winds, that sweep the waltering waves.  
Proud Fortune overhips the safest Roads,  
And seeks amidst the surging Seas those Keels,  
Whose lofty tops and tacklings touch the Clouds.   

4  
O base, yet happy Boors! O gifts of Gods  
Scant yet perceived: when powdered Ermine robes  
With secret sighs mistrusting their extremes,  
In baleful breast forecast their faltering Fates,  
And stir, and strive, and storm, and all in vain:  
Behold, the Peasant poor with tattered coat,  
Whose eyes a meaner Fortune feeds with sleep,  
How safe and sound the careless Snudge doth snore.  
Low roofed lurks the house of slender hap,  
Costless, not gay without, scant clean within:  
Yet safe: and oftener shrouds the hoary hairs,  
Then haughty Turrets reared with curious art,  
To harbour heads that wield the golden Crest.  
With endless cark in glorious Courts and Towns,  
The troubled hopes and trembling fears do dwell.     


The Argument of the fourth Act.  
1 IN the first Scene Gildas and Conan confer of the state of Britain.  
2 In the Second Scene Nuntius maketh report of the whole battle, with the death of Mordred and Arthur's and cador's deadly wound.  
3 In the third Scene Gildas and Conan lament the infortunate state of the Country.   

¶ The Argument and manner of the fourth dumb show.  
During the Music appointed after the third act, there came a Lady Courtly attired with a counterfeit Child in her arms, who walked softly the Stage. From another place there came a King Crowned, who likewise walked on another part of the Stage. From a third place there came four Soldiers all armed, who spying this Lady and King, upon a sudden pursued the Lady from whom they violently took her Child and flung it against the walls; She in mournful sort wringing her hands passed her way. Then in like manner they set on the King, tearing his Crown from his head, and casting it in pieces under feet drove him by force away; And so passed themselves over the Stage▪ By this was meant the fruit of War, which spareth neither man woman nor child with the end of mordred's usurped Crown.   

THE FOURTH ACT and first scene.  Gildas. Conan. GILD. 
LORD Conan, though I know how hard a thing  
It is, for minds trained up in Princely Thrones,  
To hear of aught against their humour's course:  
Yet: sithence who forbiddeth not offence,  
If well he may, is cause of such offence:  
I could have wished (and blame me not my Lord)  
Your place and countenance both with Son and Sire,  
Had more prevailed on either side, then thus  
T'have left a Crown in danger for a Crown  
Through civil wars, our Countries wonted woe.  
Whereby the Kingdom's wound still festering deep,  
Sucks up the mischief's humour to the heart.  
The staggering state of Britain troubled brains,  
Head-sick, and sore encumbered in her Crown,  
With giddy steps runs on a headlong race.  
Whereto this tempest tends, or where this storm  
Will break, who knows? But Gods avert the worst.  CONA. 
Now surely (Gildas) as my duty stood,  
Indifferent for the best to Son and Sire:  
So (I protest) since these occasions grew,  
That in the depth of my desire to please,  
I more esteem what honest faith required  
In matters meet for their estates and place:  
Than how to feed each fond affection prone  
To bad effects, whence their disgrace mought grow.  
And as for Mordred'S desperate and disloyal plots,  
They had been none, or fewer at the least,  
Had I prevailed: which Arthur knows right well.  
But e'en as Counters go sometimes for one,  
Sometimes for thousands more, sometimes for none:  
So men in greatest countenance with their King,  
Can work by fit persuasion sometimes much:  
But sometimes less: and sometimes nought at all.  GILD. 
Well: we that have not spent our time in wars,  
But bent our course at peace, and country's weal,  
May rather now expect what strange event,  
And Chance ensues of these so rare attempts:  
Then enter to discourse upon their cause,  
And err as wide in words, as they in deeds.  GONA. 
And Lo: to satisfy your wish therein,  
Where comes a Soldier sweating from the Camps.   

The second scene.  Nuncius. NVNC. 
THOU Echo shrill that hauntest the hollow hisses,  
Leave off that wont to snatch the latter word:  
Howl on a whole discourse of our distress,  
Clip of no clause: sound out a perfect sense.  GILD. 
What fresh mishap (alas) what new annoy,  
Removes our pensive minds from wonted woes,  
And yet requires a new lamenting mood?  
Declare: we joy to handle all our harms:  
Our many griefs have taught us still to mourn.  NVNC. 
But (ah) my tongue denies my speech his aid:  
Great force doth drive it forth: a greater keeps  
It in. I rue surprised with wontless woes.  CONA. 
Speak on, what grief soe'er our Fates afford.  NVNC. 
Small griefs can speak: the great astonished stand.  GILD. 
What greater sins could hap, then what be passed?  
What mischiefs could be meant, more than were wrought?  NVNC. 
And think you these 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 ensued.  
A greater grief requires your tears: Behold  
These fresh annoys: your last mishaps be stale.  CONA. 
Tell on (my friend) suspend our minds no more:  
Hath Arthur lost? Hath Mordred won the field?  NVNC. 
O: nothing less. Would God's it were but so.  
Arthur hath won: but we have lost the field.  
The field? Nay all the Realm, and Britons bounds.  GILD. 
How so? If Arthur won, what could we lose?  
You speak in clouds, and cast perplexed words.  
Unfold at large: and sort out sorrows out.  NVNC. 
Then list a while: this instant shall unwrap  
Those acts, those wars, those hard events, that all  
The future age shall e'er 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 forbade to live  
Till noon, or night, did storm and rave for wars.  
They swarmed about their Guides, and clustering called  
For signs to fight, and fierce with uproars fell,  
They onwards hailed the hastening 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.  
Icelandians, 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 men might inquire  
What Britain was: these wars thus near bewrayed.  
Nor could the Heavens no longer hide these harms,  
But by prodigious signs portend our plagues.  
For lo: ere both the camps encountering coped,  
The Skies and Poles opposed themselves with storms.  
Both East, and West with tempests dark were dimmed,  
And showers of Hail, and Rain outrageous poured.  
The Heavens were rent, each side the lightnings flashed,  
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 appalled  
Them most, the monstrous air, or too much fear.  
When Arthur spied his Soldiers thus amazed,  
And hope extinct, and deadly dread drawn on:  
My mates (quoth he) the Gods do scour the skies,  
To see whose cause and courage craves their care.  
The Fates contend to work some strange event:  
And Fortune seéks by storms in Heavens and Earth,  
What pageants she may play for my behoof.  
Of whom she knows, she then deserves not well,  
When lingering ought, she comes not at the first.  
Thus said: rejoicing at his dauntless mind,  
They all revived, and former fear recoiled.  
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 approached,  
And boisterous throngs of Warriors threatening blood:  
His instant ruins gave a nod at Fates,  
And mind though prone to Mars, yet daunted paused.  
The heart which promised 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 scorched with Sceptres lust,  
The time and place, wherein he oft had wished  
To hazard all upon extremest Chance,  
He offered spies, and spied pursues with speed.  
Then both the Armies met with equal might,  
This stirred with wrath, that with desire to rule:  
And equal prowess was a spur to both.  
The Irish King whirled out a poisoned Dart,  
That lighting pierced deep in Howel's brains,  
A peerless Prince and near of Arthur's blood.  
Hereat the Air with uproar loud resounds,  
Which eftsoon mountains rough rebounding rears.  
The Trumpets hoarse their trembling tunes do tear:  
And thundering Drums their dreadful Larums ring.  
The Standards broad are blown, and Ensigns spread,  
And every Nation bends his wonted wars.  
Some near their foes, some further off do wound,  
With dart, or sword, or shaft, or pike, or spear,  
The weapons hide the Heavens: a night composed  
Of warlike Engines overshades the field.  
From every side these fatal signs are sent:  
And boisterous bangs with thumping thwacks fall thick.  
Had both these Camps been of usurping Kings,  
Had every man thereof a Mordred been,  
No fiercelier had they fought for all their Crowns.  
The murders meanless waxed, no art in fight,  
Nor way to ward nor try each other's skill,  
But thence the blade, and hence the blood ensues.  CONA. 
But what? Did Mordred's eyes endure this sight?  NVNC. 
They did. And he himself the spur of fiends  
And Gorgon's all, lest any part of his  
scaped free from guilt, inflame their minds to wrath.  
And, with a valour more, than Virtue yields,  
He cheer them all, and at their back with long  
Outreached spear, stirred up each lingering hand.  
All fury like frounced up with frantic frets.  
He bids them leave and shun the meaner sort,  
He shows the Kings, and Britain noblest peers.  GILD. 
He was not now to seek what blood to draw:  
He knew what juice refreshed his fainting Crown.  
Too much of Arthur's heart. O had he wist  
How great a vice such virtue was as then.  
In Civil wars, in rooting up his Realm?  
O frantic fury, far from valour's praise.  NVNC. 
There fell Aschillus stout of Denmark King,  
There valiant Gavin Arthur's Nephew dear,  
And late by angel's death made Alban King,  
By Mordred'S hand hath lost both life and Crown.  
There Gilla wounded Cador Cornish Duke,  
In hope to win the Dukedom for his meed.  
The Norway King, the Saxons Duke, and Picts,  
In woeful sort fell groveling to the ground.  
There Prince and Peasant both lay hurled on heaps:  
Mars frowned on Arthur's mates: the Fates waxed fierce,  
And jointly ran their race with Mordred'S rage.  CONA. 
But with what joy (alas) shall he return,  
That thus returns, the happier for this field?  NVNC. 
These odds endure not long, for Mars retires,  
And Fortune pleased with Arthur's moderate fear,  
Returns more full, and friendlier than her wont.  
For when he saw the powers of Fates opposed,  
And that the dreadful hour thus hastened on:  
Perplexed much in mind, at length resolves,  
That fear is covered best by daring most.  
Then forth he pitched: the Saxon Duke withstood,  
Whom with one stroke he headless sent to Hell.  
Not far from thence he spied the Irish King,  
Whose life he took as price of broken truce.  
Then Cador forward priest, and haply met  
The Traitor Gilla, worker of these wars,  
Of whom by death he took his due revenge.  
The remnant then of both the Camps concur,  
They Britons all, or most: few foreigns left.  
These wage the wars, and hence the deaths ensue.  
Nor t'one, nor tother side, that can destroy  
His foes so fast, as 'tis itself destroyed.  
The brethren broach their blood: the Sire his Sons,  
The Son again would prove by too much Wrath,  
That he, whom thus he slew, was not his Sire.  
No blood nor kin can suage their ireful moods.  
No foreign foe they seek, nor care to find:  
The Britons blood is sought on every side.  
A vain discourse it were to paint at large  
The several Fates, and foils of either side.  
To tell what groans and sighs the parting Ghosts  
Sent forth: who dying bare the fellest breast:  
Who changed cheer at any Briton's fall:  
Who oftenest struck: who best bestowed his blade:  
Who ventured most: who stood: who fell: who failed:  
Th'effect declares it all: thus fared the field.  
Of both these Hosts so huge and main at first,  
There were not left on either side a score,  
For Son, and Sire to win, and lose the Realm.  
The which when Mordred saw, and that his Sire  
'gainst foes, and Fares themselves would win the field,  
He sighed, and twixt despair and rage he cried,  
Here (Arthur) here, and hence the Conquest comes:  
Whiles Mordred lives, the Crown is yet unwon.  
Hereat the prince of prowess much amazed,  
With thrilling tears, and countenance cast on ground,  
Did groaning fetch a deep and earnful sigh.  
anon they fierce encountering both concurred,  
With grisly looks, and faces like their Fates:  
But dispar minds, and inward moods unlike.  
The Sire with mind to safeguard both, or t'one:  
The Son to spoil the t'one, or hazard both.  
No fear, nor fellness failed on either side:  
The wager lay on both their lives and bloods.  
At length when Mordred spied his force to faint,  
And felt himself oppressed with Arthur's strength,  
(O hapless lad, a match unmeet for him)  
He loathes to live in that afflicted state,  
And valiant with a forced Virtue, longs  
To die the death, in which perplexed mind,  
With grinning tooth, and crabbed looks he cries,  
I cannot win: yet will I not be won.  
What should we shun our Fates, or play with Mars,  
Or thus defraud the wars of both our bloods?  
Whereto do we reserve ourselves? Or why  
Be we not sought ere this, amongst the dead?  
So many thousands murdered in our cause,  
Must we survive, and neither win nor lose?  
The Fates that will not smile on either side,  
May frown on both: So saying forth he flings,  
And desperate runs on point of Arthur's Sword,  
(A Sword (alas) prepared for no such use)  
Whereon engored he glides, till near approached,  
With dying hand he hews his father's head.  
So through his own annoy, he 'noys his Liege:  
And gains by death access to daunt his Sire.  
There Mordred fell, but like a Prince he fell.  
And as a branch of great Pendragon's graft  
His life breaths out, his eyes forsake the Sun,  
And fatal Clouds infer a lasting eclipse.  
There Arthur staggering scant sustained himself,  
There Cador found a deep and deadly wound,  
There ceased the wars, and there was Britain lost.  
There lay the chosen youths of Mars, there lay  
The peerless Knights, Bellona's bravest train.  
There lay the Mirrors rare of Martial praise,  
There lay the hope and branch of Brute suppressed.  
There Fortune laid the prime of Britain pride,  
There laid her pomp, all topsy-turvy turned. Exit.   

The third scene.  Gildas. Conan. GILD. 
COme cruel griefs, spare not to stretch our strengths,  
Whiles baleful breasts invite our thumping fists.  
Let every sign, that mournful passions work,  
Express what piteous plights our minds amaze.  
This day suppliants what no day can supply,  
These hands have wrought those wastes, that never age,  
Nor all the brood of Brute shall e'er repair.  
That future men may joy the surer rest,  
These wars prevent their birth, and nip their spring.  
What Nations erst the former age subdued  
With hourly toils to Britain yoke, this day  
Hath set at large, and backwards turned the Fates.  
Henceforth the Kerns may safely tread their bogs:  
The Scots may now their inroads old renew,  
The Saxons well may vow their former claims,  
And Danes without their danger drive us out.  
These wars found not the effect of wonted wars,  
Nor doth their weight the like impression work:  
There several Fates annoyed but several men,  
Here all the Realm and people find one Fate.  
What there did reach but to a soldiers death,  
Contains the death of all a Nation here.  
These blades have given this Isle a greater wound,  
Than time can heal. The fruit of civil wars:  
A Kingdom's hand hath gored a Kingdom's heart,  CONA. 
When Fame shall blaze these acts in latter years,  
And time to come so many ages hence  
Shall efts report our toils and British pains:  
Or when perhaps our Children's Children read,  
Our woeful wars displayed with skilful pen:  
They'll think they here some sounds of future facts,  
And not the ruins old of pomp long passed.  
'twill move their minds to ruth, and frame a fresh  
New hopes, and fears, and vows, and many a wish,  
And Arthur's cause shall still be favoured most.  
He was the joy, and hope, and hap of all,  
The realms defence, the sole delay of Fates,  
He was our wall and fort, twice thirteen years  
His shoulders did the Britain state support.  
Whiles yet he reigned, no foreign foes prevailed,  
Nor once could hope to bind the Britain bounds:  
But still both far and near were forced to fly,  
They thrall to us, we to ourselves were free.  
But now, and henceforth aye, adieu that hope,  
adieu that pomp, that freedom, rule and all:  
Let Saxons now, let Normans, Danes, and Scots.  
Enjoy our meadows, fields, and pleasant plains:  
Come, let us fly to Mountains, Cliffs and Rocks,  
A Nation hurt, and ne'er in case to heal.  
Henceforth the weight of Fates thus fallen aside,  
We rest secure from fear of greater foil:  
Our leisure serves to think on former times,  
And know what erst we were, who now are thus. Exeunt.  CHORUS. 

1  
O Britain prosperous state wert Heavenly powers  
But half so willing to preserve thy peace,  
As they are prone to plague thee for thy wars.  
But thus (O God's) yea, thus it likes you still.  
When you decree to turn, and touse the world,  
To make our errors cause of your decrees.  
We fretting fume, and burning wax right wood,  
We cry for sword, and harmful harness crave,  
We rashly rave, whiles from our present rage,  
You frame a cause of long foredeemed doom.   

2  
When Britain so desired her own decay,  
That e'en her native brood would root her up:  
Seemed it so huge a work, (O Heavens) for you  
To tumble down, and quite subvert her state,  
Unless so many Nations came in aid?  
What thirst of spoil (O Fates?) In civil wars  
Were you afraid to faint for want of blood?  
But yet, O wretched state in Britons fond,  
What needed they to stoop to Mordred'S yoke,  
Or fear the man themselves so fearful made?  
Had they, but linked like friends in Arthur's bands,  
And joined their force against the foreign foes:  
These wars and civil sins had soon surceased,  
And Mordred reft of rule had feared his Sire.   

3  
Would Gods these wars had drawn no other blood,  
Than such as sprung from breasts of foreign foes:  
So that the fountain, fed with changeless course,  
Had found no nearer vents for dearer juice.  
Or if the Fates so thirst for British blood,  
And long so deeply for our last decay:  
O that the rest were spared and safe reserved,  
Both Saxons, Danes, and Normans most of all.  
Hereof when civil wars have worn us out,  
Must Britain stand, a borrowed blood for Brute.   

4  
When prosperous haps, and long continuing bliss,  
Have passed the ripeness of their budding growth,  
They fall and falter like the mellow fruit,  
Surcharged with burden of their own excess.  
So Fortune wearied with our often wars,  
Is forced to faint, and leave us to our fates.  
If men have minds presaging ought their harms,  
If ever heavy heart foreween her woe:  
What Britain lives, so far removed from home,  
In any Air, or Pole, or Coast abroad:  
But that even now through Nature's sole instinct,  
He feels the fatal sword imbrue his breast,  
Wherewith his native soil for aye is slain?  
What hopes, and haps lie wasted in these wars?  
Who knows the foils he suffered in these fields?     


The argument of the fift Act.  
IN the first scene Arthur and Cador returned deadly wounded and bewailed the misfortune of themselves and their Country, and are likewise bewailed of the Chorus.  
In the second scene the Ghost of Gorlois returneth rejoicing at his revenge, and wishing ever after a happier Fate unto Britain, which done, he descendeth where he first rose.   

¶ The Argument and manner of the fift and last dumb show.  
SOunding the Music, four gentlemen all in black half armed, half unarmed with black scarves overthwart their shoulders should come upon the stage. The first bearing aloft in the one hand on the truncheon of a spear an Helmet, an arming sword, a Gauntlet, etc. representing the Trophea: in the other hand a Target depicted with a man's heart sore wounded & the blood gushing out, crowned with a Crown imperial and a Laurel garland, thus written in the top. En totum quod superest, signifying the King of Norway which spent himself and all his power for Arthur, and of whom there was left nothing but his heart to enjoy the conquest that ensued. The second bearing in the one hand a silver vessel full of gold, pearls, and other jewels representing the Spolia: in the other hand a Target with an Elephant and Dragon thereon fiercely combating, the Dragon under the elephant and sucking by his extreme heat the blood from him is crushed in pieces with the fall of the elephant, so as both die at last, this written above, Victor, an Victus? representing the King of Denmark, who fell through Mordred'S wound, having first with his soldiers destroyed the most of mordred's army. The third bearing in the one hand a Pyramis with a Laurel wreath about it representing victory. In the other hand a Target with this devise: a man sleeping, a snake drawing near to sting him, a Lizard preventing the Snake by fight, the Lizard being deadly wounded awaketh the man, who seeing the Lizard dying, pursues the Snake, and kills it, this written above, Tibi morimur. Signifying Gavin King of Albany slain in Arthur's defence by Mordred, whom Arthur afterwards slew. The fourth bearing in the one hand a broken pillar, at the top thereof the Crown and Sceptre of the vanquished King, both broken asunder, representing the conquest over usurpation: in the other hand a Target with two Cocks painted thereon, the one lying dead, the other with his wings broken, his eyes pecked out, and the blood every where gushing forth to the ground, he standing upon the dead Cock and crowing over him, with this emblem in the top, Qua vici, perdidi, signifying Cador deadly wounded by Gilla whom he slew. After these followed a King languishing in complete Harness black, bruised & battered unto him, besprinkled with blood. On his head a Laurel garland, leaning on the shoulders of two Heralds in mourning gowns & hoods, th'one in Mars his coat of arms, the other in Arthur's, presenting Arthur victoriously but yet deadly wounded. there followed a page with a Target whereon was portraited a Pelican pecking her blood out of her breast to feed her young ones, through which wound she dieth, this written in the top, Quafovi, perit, signifying Arthur's too much indulgency of Mordred, the cause of his death. All this represented the dismayed and unfortunate victory of Arthur, which is the matter of the Act ensuing.   

THE FIFT ACT and first Scene.  Arthur. Cador. Chorus. ARTH. 
COme Cador, as our friendship was most firm  
Throughout our age, so now let's link as fast.  
Thus did we live in wars, thus let us die  
In peace, and arm in arm partake our Fates.  
Our wounds, our grief, our wish, our hap alike,  
Our end so near, all crave each others help.  CADO. 
O King, behold the fruit of all our Fame:  
Lo here our Pomp consumed with ourselves,  
What all our age with all our wars had won,  
Lo here one day hath lost it all at once.  
Well: so it likes the Heavens: thus Fortune gibes:  
She hoisteth up to hurl the deeper down.  CHOR. 1 
O sacred Prince: what sight is this we see?  
Why have the Fates reserved us to these woes  
Our only hope: the stay of all our Realm:  
The pillar of our state: thus sore oppressed?  
O would the Gods had favoured us so much:  
That, as we lived partakers of your pains,  
And likewise joyed the fruit of your exploits:  
So having thus bereft our sovereign's bliss,  
They had with more indifferent doom conjoined  
The Subjects both, and sovereign's bane in one.  
It now (alas) engendereth double grief,  
To rue your want, and to bewail our woes.  ARTH. 
Rue not my Britons what my rage hath wrought,  
But blame your King, that thus hath rent your Realm.  
My meanless moods have made the Fates thus fell,  
And too much anger wrought in me too much.  
For had impatient ire endured abuse,  
And yielded where resistance threatened spoil?  
I mought have lived in foreign coasts unfoiled,  
And six score thousand men had been unmoaned.  
But wrong incensing wrath to take revenge  
Preferred Chance before a better choice.  CHOR. 2 
'twas Mordred's wrong and to unjust deserts  
That justly moved your Highness to such wrath:  
Your claim required no less than those attempts:  
Your cause right good was praised, and prayed for most.  ARTH. 
I claimed my Crown, the cause of claim was good,  
The means to claim it in such sort was bad.  
Yea: rather than my Realm and native soil  
Should wounded fall, thus bruised with these wars:  
I should have left both Realm, and right, and all:  
Or dured the death ordained by Mordred'S oath.  CADO. 
And yet so far as Mars could bide a mean,  
You hateless sought the safeguard of them all.  
Whereto the better cause, or badder Chance  
Did draw, you still inclined: preferring oft  
The weaker side, sometimes for love, sometimes  
For right, (as Fortune swayed) your Son, yourself.  
So pity spared, what reason sought to spoil:  
Till all at length, with equal spoil was spent.  CHOR. 3 
Would God's your mind had felt no such remorse,  
And that your foes had no such favour found.  
So mought your friends have had far friendlier Fates,  
If Rebels for their due deserts had died.  
The wickeds' death is safety to the just.  
To spare the Traitors, was to spoil the true.  
Of force he hurts the good, that helps the bad.  
In that you sought your country's gain, 'twas well:  
In that you shunned not her loss, 'twas hard.  
Good is the friend, that seeks to do us good:  
A mighty friend, that doth prevent our harms.  ARTH. 
Well: so it was: it cannot be redressed:  
The greater is my grief, that seés it so.  
My life (I feel) doth fade, and sorrows flow,  
The rather that my name is thus extinct.  
In this respect, so Mordred did succeed,  
O, that myself had fallen, and Mordred lived:  
That having conquered all my foes but him,  
I mought have left you him, that conquered me.  
O heavy wretched lot: to be the last  
That falls, to view the burial of my Realm.  
Where each man else hath fealt his several Fate,  
I only pine oppressed with all their Fates.  CHOR. 4 
Although your Highness do sustain such greed,  
As needs enforceth all your Realm to rue:  
Yet since such ruth affordeth no relief,  
Let due discretion suage each cureless sore,  
And bear the harms, that run without redress.  
The loss is ours, that loose so rare a Prince, The breathless body of Mordred in Armour as he fell is brought upon the Stage.  
You only win, that see your foe here foiled.  ARTH. 
A causeless foe. When wars did call me hence  
He was in years but young, in wit too old.  
As virtue shineth most in comeliest wights,  
When inward gifts are decked with outward grace:  
So did his wit and feature feed that hope,  
Which falsely trained me to this woeful hap.  
His mind transformed thus, I cannot choose  
But long to see what change his face sustains.  
My blood and kindred doubled in his birth,  
Inspires a mixed, and twice descending love,  
Which drives my dying veins to wish his view.  
Unhelm his luckless head, set bare his face:  
That face which erst pleased me and mine too much.  CHOR. 1 
See (worthiest King) the hope of all your Realm,  
Had not his lust to rule prevented all.  ARTH. 
I see (alas) I see (hide, hide again:  
O spare mine eyes) a witness of my crimes:  
A fearful vision of my former guilt:  
A dreadful horror of a future doom:  
A present gall of mind. O happy they,  
Whose spotless lives attain a dreadless death.  
And thou, O hapless boy, O spite of Fates,  
(What mought I term thee, Nephew, Son, or both?)  
Alas, how happy should we both have been,  
If no ambitious thought had vexed thy head,  
Nor thou thus stemmed to reave thy Father's rule,  
But stain thy time, and not forestalled us both?  CADO. 
The hot spurred youth that forced the forward steeds,  
Whiles needs he would his Fathers Chariot guide,  
Neglecting what his Sire had said in charge,  
The fires, which first he flung about the poles,  
Himself at last most woeful wretch inflamed.  
So too much love to hover in the Heavens  
Made him to pay the price of rash attempts.  ARTH. 
What ruth, (ah,) rent the woeful Father's heart,  
That saw himself thus made a Sonless Sire?  
Well: since both Heavens and Hell conspired in one,  
To make our ends a mirror to the world,  
Both of incestuous life, and wicked birth:  
Would Gods the Fates that linked our faults alike,  
Had also framed our minds of friendlier moulds:  
That, as our lineage had approached too near,  
So our affections had not swerved to far.  
Then mought I lived t'enlarge the Britons praise,  
In rearing efts the first triumphant Troy  
And after thou succeéding 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 joined:  
And through thy blood, a way was made to mine.  CHOR. 2 
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?  CHOR. 3 
Have you throughout your youth made Britain pomp  
A Sovereign of so many Nations stout,  
To th'end ere half your age untimely death  
Should leave us Subject to our wonted foils?  CHOR. 4 
See, see, our idle hopes, our brittle trust,  
Our vain desires, our over fickle state.  
Which, though a while they sail on quiet seas,  
Yet sink in surge, ere they arrive to hood.  
O woeful wars, O Mordred's cursed pride,  
That thus hath wrought both King, and kingdoms woe.  CADO. 
Let plaints and mournings pass, set moans a part.  
They made much of themselves: Yea too too much  
They loved to live, that seeing all their Realm  
Thus topsy-turvy turned, would grudge to die.  ARTH. 
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:  
beit so: drive on your doom, work your decree:  
We fearless bide what bane soe'er you bid.  
And though our ends thus hastened through your hests,  
Abruptly break the course of great attempts:  
Yet go we not inglorious to the ground:  
Set wish a part: we have performed enough.  
The Irish King and Nation wild we tamed:  
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 subdued.  
Not France, that could prevail against our force,  
Nor lastly Rome, that rues her pride suppressed.  
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 ne (O Fates) nor burial rights,  
Nor stately hearse, nor tomb with haughty top:  
But let my Carcase lurk: yea, let my death  
Be ay unknown, so that in every Coast  
I still be feared, and looked for every hour.  Exeunt. Arthur & Cador. CHOR. 1 
Lo here the end that Fortune sends at last  
To him, whom first she heaved to highest hap.  
The flattering look wherewith he long was led:  
The smiling Fates, that oft had fed his Fame:  
The many wars and Conquests, which he gained,  
Are dashed at once: one day infers that forte,  
Whereof so many years of yore were free.  CHOR. 2 
O willing world to magnify man's state:  
O most unwilling to maintain the same.  
Of all misfortunes and unhappy Fates,  
Th'unhappiest seems, to have been happy once.  
'twas Arthur sole, that never found his joys  
Disturbed with woe, nor woes relieved with joy.  
In prosperous state all Heavenly powers aspired  
Now made a wretch, not one, that spares his spoil.  CHOR. 3 
Yea Fortune's self in this afflicted case,  
Exacts a pain for long continued pomp.  
She urgeth now the bliss of wonted weal,  
And bears him down with weight of former Fame.  
His praises passed be present shame: O tickle trust:  
Whiles Fortune chops and changeth every Chance,  
What certain bliss can we enjoy alive,  
Unless, whiles yet our bliss endures, we die?  CHOR. 4 
Yea: since before his last and outmost gasp,  
None can be deemed a happy man or blessed,  
Who dares commit himself to prosperous Fates,  
Whose death prepared attends not hard at hand?  
That sithence death must once determine all.  
His life may sooner fly, than Fortune flit.   

The second scene.  Gorlois. GORL. 
NOW Gorlois suage thyself. Pride hath his pay:  
Murder his price: Adultery his desert:  
Treason his meed: Disloyalty his doom:  
Wrong hath his wreak: and Guilt his guerdon bearer.  
Not one abuse erst offered by thy foes  
But since most sternly punished, is now purged.  
Where thou didst fall, e'en on the self same soil  
Pendragon, Arthur, Mordred, and their stock,  
Found all their foils: not one hath scaped revenge:  
Their line from first to last quite razed out.  
Now rest content, and work no further plagues:  
Let future age be free from Gorlois Ghost.  
Let Britain henceforth bathe in endless weal.  
Let Virgo come from Heaven, the glorious Star:  
The Zodiac's joy: the Planets chief delight:  
The hope of all the year: the ease of Skies:  
The Airs relief, the comfort of the Earth.  
That virtuous Virgo borne for Britons bliss:  
That peerless branch of Brute: that sweet remain  
Of Priam's state: that hope of springing Troy:  
Which time to come, and many ages hence  
Shall of all wars compound eternal peace,  
Let her reduce the golden age again,  
Religion, ease, and wealth of former world.  
Yea, let that Virgo come and Saturn's reign,  
And years oft ten times told expired in peace.  
A Rule, that else no Realm shall ever find,  
A Rule most rare, unheard, unseen, unread,  
The sole example that the world affords.  
That (Britain) that Renown, yea that is thine.  
beit so: my wrath is wrought. Ye furies black  
And ugly shapes, that howl in holes beneath:  
Thou Orcus dark, and deep avernu's nook,  
With duskish dens out gnawn in gulfs below,  
Receive your ghastly charge, Duke Gorlois Ghost:  
Make room: I gladly thus revenged return.  
And though your pain surpass, I greet them though:  
He hates each other Heaven, that haunteth Hell.  Descendit.   

epilogus.  
SEe here by this the tickle trust of time:  
The false affiance of each mortal force,  
The wavering weight of Fates: the fickle trace,  
That Fortune trips: the many mocks of life:  
The cheerless change: the easeless brunts and broils,  
That man abides: the restless race he runs.  
But most of all, see here the peerless pains:  
The lasting pangs: the stintless griefs: the tears:  
The sighs: the groans: the fears: the hopes: the hates:  
The thoughts and cares, that Kingly pomp imparts.  
What follies then bewitch th'ambitious minds,  
That thirst for Sceptres pomp the well of woes?  
Whereof (alas) should wretched man be proud,  
Whose first conception is but Sin, whose birth  
But pain, whose life but toil, and needs must die?  
See here the store of great Pendragon's brood,  
The one quite dead, the to'ther hastening on,  
As men, the Son but green, the Sire but ripe:  
Yet both forestall ere half their race were run.  
As Kings, the mightiest Monarchs in this age,  
Yet both suppressed and vanquished by themselves.  
Such is the brittle breath of mortal man,  
Whiles human Nature works her daily wracks:  
Such be the crazed crests of glorious Crowns,  
Whiles worldly powers like sudden puffs do pass.  
And yet for one that goes, another comes,  
Some borne, some dead: So still the store endures.  
So that both Fates and common care proved  
That men must needs be borne, and some must rule.  
Wherefore ye Peers, and Lordings lift aloft,  
And whosoever in Thrones that judge your thralls:  
Let not your Sovereignty heave you to high,  
Nor their subjection press them down too low.  
It is not pride, that can augment your power,  
Nor lowly looks, that long can keep them safe:  
The Fates have found a way, whereby ere long  
The proud must leave their hope, the meek their fear.  
Who ere received such favour from above,  
That could assure one day unto himself?  
Him, whom the Morning found both stout and strong,  
The Evening left all groveling on the ground.  
This breath and heat wherewith man's life is fed  
Is but a flash, or flame, that shines a while,  
And once extinct, is as it ne'er had been.  
Corruption hourly frets the Body's frame,  
Youth tends to age, and age to death by kind.  
Short is the race, prefixed is the end,  
Swift is the time, wherein man's life doth run.  
But by his deeds t'extend renown and fame,  
That only virtue works, which never fades.  
FINIS.  
Thomas Hughes.  
Sat cytò, si sat benè: utcunque:  
Quod non dat spes, dat optio.   

¶ Here after follow such speeches as were penned by others, and pronounced in stead of some of the former speeches penned by Thomas Hughes.  

A speech penned by William Falbecke gentleman, one of the society of Grays-Inn, and pronounced in stead of Gorlois his first speech penned by Thomas Hughes, and set down in the first Scene of the first Act.  
Allecto: thou that hast excluded me  
From fields Elysyan, where the guiltless souls  
Avoid the scourge of Radamanthus' Ire:  
Let it be lawful, (sith I am removed  
From blessed islands, to this cursed shore,  
This loathed earth where Arthur's table stands,  
With Ordure foul of Harpies fierce disdained,)  
The fates and burden secrets to disclose  
Of black cocytus and of Acheron,  
The floods of death the lakes of burning souls.  
Where Hellish frogs do prophecy revenge:  
Where Tartar's sprights with careful heed attend  
The dismal summons of Alecto's mouth.  
myself by precept of Proserpina,  
Commanded was in presence to appear,  
Before the synod of the damned spirits.  
In fearful mood I did perform their hest,  
And at my entrance in th'enchanted snakes,  
Which wrap themselves about the furies necks,  
Did hiss for joy: and from the dreadful benthe  
The supreme fury thus assigned her charge.  
Gorlois quoth she thou thither must ascend.  
Whence through the rancour of malicious foes  
Wearied with wounds thou didst descend to us.  
Make Britain now the mark of thy revenge  
On ruthless Britons and Pendragon's race,  
Disburse the treasure of thy Hellish plagues.  
Let blood contend with blood, Father with Son,  
Subject with Prince, and let confusion reign.  
She therewithal enjoined the dusky clouds  
Which with their darkness turned the earth to Hell,  
Convert to blood and pour down streams of blood.  
Cornwall shall groan, and Arthur's soul shall sigh,  
Before the conscience of Guenevora  
The map of hell shall hang and fiends shall rage:  
And Gorlois ghost exacting punishment.  
With dreams, with horrors and with deadly trance  
Shall gripe their hearts: the vision of his corpse  
shallbe to them, as was the terror vile  
Of flaming whips to Agamemnon's son.  
And when the Trumpet calls them from their rest  
Aurora shall with watery cheeks behold  
Their slaughtered bodies prostrate to her beams.  
And on the banks of Cambala shall lie  
The bones of Arthur and of Arthur's knights:  
Whose fleet is now triumphing on the seas.  
But shall be welcomed with a Tragedy.  
Thy native soil shallbe thy fatal gulf  
Arthur: thy place of birth thy place of death.  
Mordred shallbe the hammer of my hate  
To beat the bones of Cornish Lords to dust.  
Ye ravening birds under Celeno's power,  
I do adjure you in Alecto's name.  
Follow the sword of Mordred where he goes.  
Follow the sword of Mordred for your food.  
Aspiring Mordred, thou must also die.  
And on the Altar of Proserpina  
Thy vital blood unto my Ghost shall fume.  
Heaven. Earth. and hell, concur t'o plague the man.  
That is the plague of Heaven, Earth, and hell.  
Thou bids Allecto: I pursue my charge.  
Let thy Cerastae whistle in mine ears,  
And let the bells of Pluto ring revenge.   

¶ One other speech penned by the same gentleman, and pronounced in stead of Gorlois his last speech penned by Thomas Hughes, and set down in the second Scene of the fift and last Act.  
DEath hath his conquest: hell hath had his wish.  
Gorlois his vow: Allecto her desire.  
Sin hath his pay: and blood is quit with blood.  
Revenge in Triumph bears the struggling hearts.  
Now Gorlois pierce the craggy Rocks of hell.  
Through chinks whereof infernal sprites do glance,  
Return this answer to the furies court.  
That Cornwall trembles with the thought of war:  
And Tamer's flood with drooping pace doth flow,  
For fear of touching cannibals bloody stream.  
Britain remember. write it on thy walls.  
Which neither time nor tyranny may raze.  
That Rebels. traitors and conspirators,  
The seminary of lewd Catiline,  
The Bastard Covey of Italian birds.  
Shall feel the flames of ever flaming fire.  
Which are not quenched with a sea of tears.  
And since in thee some glorious star must shine.  
When many years and ages are expired  
Whose beams shall clear the mist of miscontent  
And make the damp of Pluto's pit retire.  
Gorlois will never fray the Britons more.  
For Britain then becomes an angel's land.  
Both Devils and sprites must yield to angels' power,  
Unto the goddess of the angel's land.  
Vaunt Britain vaunt, of her renowned reign,  
Whose face deters the hags of hell from thee:  
Whose virtues hold the plagues of heaven from thee,  
Whose presence makes the earth fruitful to thee:  
And with foresight of her thrice happy days,  
Britain I leave thee to an endless praise.  
Besides these speeches there was also penned a Chorus for the first act, and another for the second act, by Master Francis Flower, which were pronounced accordingly. The dumb shows were partly devised by Master Christopher Yelverton, Master Francis Bacon, Master john Lancaster and others, partly by the said Master Flower, who with Master Penroodocke and the said Master Lancaster directed these proceedings at Court.