MORDRED

THE hour which erst I always feared most, The certain ruin of nigh desperate state, Is happened now: why turnest thou (mind) thy back? Why at the first assault dost thou recoil? Trust to't: the angry Heavens contrive some spite, And dreadful doom, 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 while we may prepare our graves, Though thou Wertenberg S owe, we hasten of our selves. The hour that gave, did also take our lives: No sooner men, then mortal were we born. I see mine end draws on, I feel my plagues. Oh Queen! my sweet associate in this plunge, And desperate plighted, behold, the time is come, That either justifies our former faults, Or shortly sets us freé from every fear. What means this course? Is Arthurs wedlock safe? Or can he love, that hath joust cause to hate? That nothing else were to be feared: Is most apparent, that he hates at home, What e'r he be, whose fancy strays abroad? Think then, our love is not unknown to him: Whereof what patience can be safely hopte? Nor love, nor sovereignty can bear a peére. 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 to late, When you have passed to far? You feéde vain Hope's. They, that conspire in faults offend a Like: Crime makes them equal, whom it jointly stains. If for my sake you then partook my gilded, You cannot guiltless seem, the crime was joint. will war. I have as great a share in chance, as he. The safest passage is from bade to worse. He is a fool, that puts a mean in crimes. So sword and fire will often sear the soar. In desperate times, the headlong way is best. No more then faithful friends. Whose rule wants right, his safety's in his Sword. For Sword and Sceptre comes to Kings at once. Weak is the Sceptres hold, that seékes but right, The Can e whereof hath dangered many Crowns. As much as water differeth from the fire, So much man's profit jars from what is joust. A freé recourse to wrong does oft secure The doubtful seat, and plucks down many a foe. The Sword must seldom cease: a Sovereigns hand Is scantly safe, but while it smites. Let him Usurp no Crown, that likes a guiltless life: Aspiring power and Justice ield agreé. He always fears, that shames to offer wrong. Come son, come sire, I first prefer my self. And since a wrong must be, then it excels, When t'is to gain a Crown. I hate a peére, I loath, I yrke, I do detest a head. B'it 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. Fame go's not with our Ghosts, the senseless soul Once gone, neglects what vulgar bruit reports. She is both light and vain. She's soon suppressed. Tongues are vntamde: 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 redeéme us from all foes Beside, yet Death redeémes us not from Tongues. E'r Arthur land, the Sea shall blush with blood. And all the Stronds with smoking slaughters reéke. Now (Mars) protect me in my first attempt. If Mordred escape, this Realm shall want no wars. ANd hath he won? Be Stronds & shores possessed? Is Mordred foilde? the realm is yet unwon: And Mordred lives reserved for Arthurs death: Well: was my first conflict: I knew not yet What wars required: but now my sword is fleshed, And taught to gore and both 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 it'll) I vow by Heaven, by Earth, by Hell, by all, That either thou, or I, or both shall . Whose breast is freé from rage may soon b'aduisde. 'Tis better for a King to kill his foes. The Subjects must not judge their Kings decrees. He is a fool, that fears what he may. He that amongst so many, so unjust, Seeks to be joust, seeks peril to him self. The Laws do licence as the Sovereign lists. Imperial power abhors to be restrainde. The Fates have heau'de and raised my force on high. I would be feared: A Kingdom's kept by fear. The timorous Subject dares attempt no chaundge. As safe To be obaide. Where Rulers dare command but what is well: Pour is but prayer, commandment but request. My will must go for right. My sword shall force assent: What? shall I stand while Arthur sheds my blood? And must I yield my neck unto the Axe? Whom Fates constrain, let him forgo his bliss: But he that neédlesse yields unto his bane, When he may shun, does well deserve to lose The good he cannot use: who would sustain A baser life, that may maintain the best? We cannot partly the Crown: A regal Throne Is not for two: The Sceptre fits but one. But whither is the fitter of us two, That must our swords decern: and shortly shall. Must I to gain renown, incur my plague, Or hoping praise sustain and exiles life? Must I for Countries ease disease my self, Or for their love despise my own estate? No. 'Tis my happen that Britain serves my turn, That fear of me does 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 nilles, Men be compelde as well to praise, as bear, And Subjects wills enforced against their wills. 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. Each Crown is made of that attractive mould, That of it self it draws a full defence. The hugest crimes bring best success to some. Why may not I be rare? It is my hope. So hap may hit, Where hope does aim. So hope is first, and hoists the sail. 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. And mine ascends to high to wish his life. It is my fault, that he does want his right: It is his own, to vex the Realm with wars. T'is his insatiate mind, that is not so content, Which hath so many Kingdoms more beside. The greater is my conquest, if I win. 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 t'were a shame to lose, no praise to win: But with a famous foe, succeéde 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 then 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. The Crown I'll keep my self: 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? Trust me: a huge and mighty kingdom 'tis, To bear the want of Kingdom, Realm, and Crown. Since therefore fear, and hope, and happen in wars Be all obscure, till their success be seen: Your speech does rather driven me on to try, And trust them all, mine only refuge now. No, were they wars that grew from out the ground. The smallest axe may fell the hugest oak. He falls well, that falling fells his foe. Small manhood were to turn my back to Chance, 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 sagges, To fix so much the faster foot on ground. No fear but does foreiudge, and many fallen Into their Fate, while they do fear their Fate. Where courage quails, the fear exceeds the harm, Yea worse than war it self, is fear of war. 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 raze: 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 does Like me best. Wherefore e'r Arthur breath, or gather strength, Assault we him: least he assault us first. He either must destroy, or be destroide. The mischief's in the amid: catch he that can. A f kle mind that every reason rules. I rest resolved: and to my Sire say thus: If here he stay but three days to and 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 Cornewalle if he dare, I'll try it out. LO, where (as they decreed) my faithful friends Have kept their time, be all your powers repaired? 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 endue 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. 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 Brytish lands that lie Between the flood of Humber, and the Scots. Beside as much in Kenned as Horsus and Hengistus had, when Vortigern was King. (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. Lord Gilla, if my hope may take success, And that I be thereby undoubted King, The Cornish Dukedom I allot to you. Since then our rest is on't, and we agreed To war it out: what rests now but blows? Driven 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 whatsoever 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 it self. 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 (Oh Heavens) or Poles, or Powers divine Do grant so great rewards for those that win? Since then our common good, and each men 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 my self, What e'r he be, that seés my foe vnfoilde. Fear not the field because of Mordred's faults, Nor shrink one jot the more for Arthurs right. Full safely Fortune guideth many a gilded, And Fates have none but wretches whom they wrench. Wherefore make speéde to cheer your Soldiers hearts, That to their fires you yet may add more flames. The side that seékes to win in civil wars, Must not content it self with wonted heat. A troubled head: my mind revolts to fear, And bears my body back: I inward f éle my fallen. My thoughts misgeue 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 fallen my self 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 graven and tomb to all his Realm. Exeunt. 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 happen: Where many meet, it lies not all in one. What though he vanquished have the Roman troops? That boots him not: him self is vanquished here. Then weigh your words again: if Conquerors ought To seek for peace: The Conquered must perforce. But he'ill not yeélde, he'il purchase peace with wars. Well: yield that will: I neither will, nor can: Come peace, come wars, choose him: my danger's his, His saffetie 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. Speak brother: what commandment sends my Sire? What message do you bring? My life, or death? Whose refuge lies in chance, what dares he not?