CHORUS

Oh sacred Prince: what sighed 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 soar oppressed? Oh would the Gods had favoured us so much: That, as we lived partakers of your pains, And likewise ioyde the fruit of your exploits: So having thus bereft our Sovereigns bliss, They had with more indifferent doom conjoined The Subjects both, and Sovereigns bane in one. It now (alas) engendereth double greéfe, To rue your want, and to bewail our woes. See (worthest King) the hope of all your Realm, Had not his lust to rule prevented all. Lo here the end that Fortune sends at last To him, whom first she heaved to highest happen. The flat r ng look wherewith he long le The smiling Fat S, that oft had fed his Fame : The many wars and Conquests, which he Are dashed at once: one day infers that foe , Whereof so many years of yore were freé. Would Gods your mind had felt no such remorse, And that your foes had no such favour found. So might your friends have had far frendlier Fates, If Rebels for their endue deserts had died. The wickeds death is safety to the joust. To spare the Traitors, was to spoil the true. Of force he hurts the good, that helps the bade. In that you sought your Countries gain, was well: In that you shunned not her lose, was hard. Good is the friend, that seeks to do us good: A mighty friend, that does prevent our harms. Have you throughout your youth made Britons 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? Yea Fortune's self in this afflicted case, Exacts a pain for long continued pomp. She urges now the bliss of wonted weal, And bears him down with weight of former Fam . His praises passed be present shame: Oh tickle trust: While Fortune chops and changeth every Chance What certain bliss can we enjoy a live, Unless, while yet our bliss endures, we die Although your Highness do sustain such greé e, As needs enforceth all your Realm to rue: Yet since such ruth affords no relief, Let endue discretion suage each cureless soar, And bear the harms, that run without redress. The lose is ours, that lose so rare a Prince, The breath less body of Mordred in Armour as he fell is brought upon the Stadge. You only in, that see your foe here foe lde. See see, our idle Hope's, 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 Hod. Oh woeful wars, Oh Mordred's cursed pride, That thus hath wrought both King, and Kingdoms woe Yea: since before his last and outmost gasp, None can be deemed a happy man or blessed, Who dares commit him self to prosperous Fates, Whose death prepared attends not hard at hand? That since death must once determine all. His life may sooner fly, then Fortune flit. Was Mordred's wrong and to unjust deserts That justly mooude your Highness to such wrath: Your claim required no less then those attempts: Your cause right good was praised, and prayed for most. And must we needs (Oh worthiest Peéres) forgo, By this untimely Fate our greatest hope? That in your ripest years and likeliest time, Your chiefest force should on this sudden fallen? Oh willing world to magnify man's state Oh most unwilling to maintain the same. Of all misfortunes and unhappy Fates, Unhappiest seémes, to have been hapie once. Was Arthur sole, that never found his joys Disturbed with woe, nor woes relieved with joy . In prosperous state all Heavenly powers aspi ed Now made a wretch, not one, that spares his spoil.