CADOR

The time (puissant Prince) permits not now To moan our wrongs, or search each several soar. Since Arthur thus hath ransacked all abroad, What marvel is'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 joust attempts Mars gives a rightful doom. 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 then lenity in Kings, Remiss indulgence soon undoes a Realm. He teaches how to sin, that winks at sins, And bids offend, that suffers and offence. The only hope of leave increases 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. I never yet saw hurt so smoothly healed, But that the skarre bewrayed the former wound: Yea, where the salve did soonest close the skin, The soar was oftener covered up than cured. Which festering deep and filde within, at last With sudden breach grew greater than at first, What then for minds, which have revenging moods, And never forget the cross they forced bear? Whereto if reconcilement come, it makes The one secure, while tother works his will. Atonement sealed defeats, but oft defers Revenge: beware a reconciled foe. Resist these doubts: 'tis ill to yield to harms. T'is safest then to dare when most you fear. Put case you win, what grief? To rule is much. Who covets not a Crown. The Commons help the King. At least the Peers. Yet Sovereignty. Doube not, the Realm is yours. And shall be still. 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 Countries good and Subjects joust request, Should lightly be contemned by a King? When Lucius sent but for his tribute endue, You went with thirteéne Kings to root him out: Have Romans, for requiring but their own, Abode your nine years brunts: Shall Mordred escape, 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 Room Inflame your mind with thirst of full revenge. Seémes it so sour to win by civil wars? Were it to gore with Pike my father's braest, Were it to rive and cleave my brother's head, Were it to tear peécemeale 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 rede: Her bulwarks, fortress, rampiers, walls and fence, These arms should rear the Rams to run them down. Wherefore you Princes, and the rest my mates, If what I have auerd in all your names, Be likewise such as stands to your content, Let all your Yea avow my promise true. SInce thus (victorious King) your Peéres, allies, Your Lords, and all your powers be ready pressed, For good, for bade, for whatsoever shall hap, To spend both limb and life in your defence: Cast of all doubts, and rest your self on Mars : A hopeless fear forbids a happy Fate. Oh King, behold the fruit of all our Fame: Lo here our Pomp consumed with our selves, What all our age with all our wars had woonne, Lo here one day hath lost it all at once. Well: so it likes the Heavens: thus Fortune gibes: She hoiseth up to hurl the deeper down. And yet so far as Mars could bide a mean, You hatelesse sought the safeguard of them all. Whereto the better cause, or badder Chance Did draw, you still inclined: preferring oft The weaker side, sometime for love, sometime For right, (as Fortune swaide) your Son, your self. So pity spared, what reason sought to spoil: Till all at length, with equal spoil was spent. The hot spurde youth that forste the forward steédes, While needs he would his Father's Chariot guide, Neglecting what his Sire had said in charge, The fires, which first he flung about the poles, Himself at last most woeful wretch inflamed. So to much love to hover in the Heavens Made him to pay the price of rash attempts. Let plaints and mournings pass, set moans a partly. They made much of themselves: Yea too too much They loved to live, that seeing all their Realm Thus topsy turvey turned, would grudge to die. Then may you rule. That hangs fast. Right holds it up. T'were we Your crown were won.