CONAN

Since that your highness knows for certain truth What power your sire prepares to claim his right: It neérely now concerns you to resolve In humbliest sort to reconcile your self. Gainst his return: that lies in chaun His ways be blind, that makes chance his guide. Wars were a crime far worse then all the rest. That were to pass too far, and put no mean. But sword and fire would cause a common wound. Extremest cures must not be used first. Y'haue many foes. 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: T'is hard to say, which be his faithful friends. Dame Flattery flits oft: she loves and hates With time, a present friend and absent foe. But yet y'll hope the best: Even then you fear The worst Fears follow Hope's, as fumes do flames. Mischief is sometime safe: but never secure: The wrongful Scepter's held with trembling hand. The Kingliest point is to affect but right, What son would use such wrong against his sire? Yet think what fame and grievous bruits would run Of such disloyal and unjust attempts. Nought should be rashly vowed against your sire. The best redress for rage is to relent. So that the Subjects also judge them foes. The Subjects force is great. The more you may, the more you ought to fear. Not what you may, but what you ought is joust, A greater peril comes by breach of laws. Lest ought he list, whom laws do licence most. As much do meaner rooms to be compelled. The gentler should you press those, that are low. The cause why Subjects hate. And lost by hate. He fears as man himself, whom many fear. What dares not desperate dread? What torture threats. Oh spare, tweare safer to be lou'de. While you command but well. If pour be joined with right, men must obey. If they assent. No Gods forbid. How much were you to be renowned more, If casting off these ruinous attempts, You would take care how to supply the lose, Which former wars, and foreign broils have wrought. How to deserve the peoples hearts with peace, With quiet rest, and deep desired ease. Not to increase the rage that long hath raignde, Nor to destroy the realm, you seek to rule. Your Father rearde it up, you pluck it down. You lose your Country while 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. But who so seeks true praise, and joust renown, Would rather seek their praising hearts, then tongues. But yet where wars do threaten your estate, There needs friends to fortify your Crown. That is a joust, and no vsupred Crown. And better were and exiles life, then thus Disloyally to wrong yove Sire and Liege. Think not that impious crimes can prosper long, A time they escape, in time they be repayed. Those some be rare. It was their hap. But hope May miss, where hap does hurl. Yet fear: the first and last do sielde agreé. But lo and Herault sent from Arthurs host: Gods grant his message may portend our good. WOuld God your highness had been more advised, Ere too much will had drawn your wits too far: Then had no wars indangerd you, nor yours, Nor Mordred's cause required foreign care. 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 esteémde what honest faith required In matters meet for their estates and place: Than how to feéde each found affection prove To bade effects, whence their disgrace might 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 even as Counters go sometime for one, Sometime for thousands more, sometime for none: So men in greatest countenance with their King, Can work by fit persuasion sometime much: But sometime less: and sometime nought at all. Speak on, what grief so e'r our Fates afford. Tell on (my friend) suspend our minds no more: Hath Arthur lost? Hath Mordred woonne the field? But what? Did Mordred's eyes endure this sighed? But with what joy (alas) shall he return, That thus returns, the happier for this field? When Fame shall blaze these acts in latter years, And time to come so many ages hence Shall efts report our toils and Brytish 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 Hope's, and fears, and vows, and many a wish, And Arthurs 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. While yet he reigned, no foreign foes preuailde, Nor once could hope to bind the Britain bounds: But still both far and never were forced to fly, They thrall to us, we to our selves were free. But now, and henceforth aye, adue that hope, Adue 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 never in case to heal. Henceforth the weight of Fates thus fallen aside, We res 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. She notes though. She fears States. She carpeth never the less. As soon she springs again, But hap is last, and rules The stern.