HOWELL

The noble neck disdains the servile yoke, Where rule hath pleased, subjection seems strange. A King ought always to prefer his Realm, Before the love he bears to kin or son. Your Realm destroide is near restored again, But time may send you kine and sons enough. What mean these words? Is Arthur forc'de to fear, Is this the fruit of your continual wars, Even from the first remembrance of your youth? If Fortune fawns. LO here and Herault sent from Mordred's Camp, A froward message, if I read aright: We might not stir his wrath: perhaps this may: Persuasions cannot move a Bryt ines mood, And yet none sooner stung with present wrong. If we without offence (Oh greatest guide Of Brytish name? may pour our joust 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 need to work, as wish your weal. 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 bade 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. The name of rule should move a princely mind. The greatest good that Fortune can afford. 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 lose.