NUNTIUS

THOU Echo shrill that hauntest the hollow hisses, Leave off that wont to snatch the latter word: Howl on a whole discourse of our distress, Clip of no clause: found out a perfect sense. But (ah) my tongue denies my speech his aid: Great force does driven it forth: a greater keeps It in. I rue surprised with woontlesse woes. Small griefs can speak: the great astonished stand. And think you these to be and end to sins? No. Crime proceédes: those made but one degreé. What mischiefs erst were done, term sacred deeds: Call nothing sin, but what hath since insu'd. A greater grief requires your tears: Behold These fresh annoys: your last mishaps be stale. Oh: nothing less. Would Gods it were but so. Arthur hath woonne: but we have lost the field. The field? Nay all the Realm, and Britons bounds. Then list a while: this instant shall unwrap Those acts, those wars, those hard events, that all The future age shall ever have cause to curse. Now that the time drew on, when both the Camps Should meét in Cornwell fields appointed place: The reckelesse troops, whom Fates forbade to live Till noon, or night, did storm and rave for wars. They swarmde about their Guides, and clustering called For signs to fight, and fierce with uproars ell, They onward hailed the hastening hours of death. A direful frenzy rose: each man his own, And public Fates all heédlesse headlong flung. On Mordred's side were sixty thousand men, Some borrowed powers, some Brytans bred at home. The Saxons, Irish, Normans, Picts, and Scots Were first in place, the Brytanes followed last. On Arthurs side there were as many more. Islandians, Goths, Noruegians, Albans, Danes, Were foreign aides, which Arthur brought from France, A trusty troop, and tried at many a trench. That now the day was come, wherein our State For aye should fallen, whenceforth men might inquire What Britain was: these wars thus near bewrayed. Nor could the Heavens no longer hide these harms, But by prodigious signs portende our plagues. For lo: er both the Camps encountering coapt, The Skies and Poles opposed themselves with storms. Both East, and West with tempests dark were dimmed, And showers of Hail, and Rain outrageous poured. The Heavens were rend, each side the lightnings flashed, And Clouds with hideous claps did thundering roar. The armies all aghast did senseless stand, Mistrusting much, both Force, and Foes, and Fates. Was harden to say, which of the two appalled Them most, the monstrous air, or too much fear. When Arthur spied his Soldiers thus amazed, And hope extinct, and deadly dread drawn on: My mates (quoth he) the Gods do skowre the skies, To see whose cause and courage craves their care. The Fates contend to work some strange event: And Fortune seéks by storms in Heavens and Earth, What pagions she may play for my behoof. Of whom she knows, she then deserves not well, When lingering ought, she comes not at the first. Thus said: rejoicing at his dauntless mind, They all reuiude, and former fear recoylde. By that the light of Titan's troubled beams Had pearceing scattered down the drooping fogs, And greeted both the Camps with mutual view: Their choler swells, while fell disposed minds Bounce in their breasts, and stir uncertain storms. Then paleness won and stern with cheerless change, Possessing bleak their lips and bloodless cheékes, With troublous trembling shows their death is never. When Mordred saw the danger thus approached, And boisterous throngs of Warriors threatening blood: His instant ruins gave a nod at Fates, And mind though prove to Mars, yet daunted paused. The heart which promised erst a sure success, Now throbs in doubts: nor can his own attempts, Afford him fear, nor Arthurs yeélde him hope. This passion lasts not long, he soon recalls His ancient guise, and wonted rage returns. He loathes delays, and scorched with Sceptres lust, The time and place, wherein he oft had wished To hazard all upon extremest Chance, He offered spies, and spied pursues with speéde. Then both the Armies met with equal might, This stirred with wrath, that with desire to rule: And equal prowess was a spur to both. The Irish King whirlde out a poisoned Dart, That lighting pierced deep in Howels brains, A peérelesse Prince and never of Arthurs blood. Hereat the Air with uproar loud resounds, Which efts on mountains rough rebounding rears. The Trumpets hoarse their trembling tunes do tear And thundering Drums their dreadful Larums ring. The Standards broad are blown, and Ensigns spread, And every Nation bends his wonted wars. Some never their foes, some further off do wound, With dart, or sword, or shaft, or pike, or spear, The weapons hide the Heavens: a night composed Of warlike Engines overshades the field. From every side these fatal signs are sent: And boisterous bangs with thumping thwacks fallen thick. Had both these Camps been of usurping Kings, Had every man thereof a Mordred been, No fiercelier had they fought for all their Crowns. The murders meanelesse waxed, no art in fight, Nor way to ward nor try each others skill, But thence the blade, and hence the blood ensues. They did. And he himself the spur of fiends And Gorgons all, least any partly of his Escaped freé from gilded, inflame their minds to wrath. And, with a valour more, then Virtue yeélds, He chearde them all, and at their back with long Outreached spear, stirde up each lingering hand. All fury Like frounst up with frantic frets. He bids them leave and shun the meaner sort, He shows the Kings, and Britons noblest peers. There fell Aschillus stout of Denmark King, There valiant Gawin Arthurs Nephew deer, And late by Angels death made Alban King, By Mordred's hand hath lost both life and Crown. There Gilla wounded Cador Cornish Duke, In hope to win the Dukedom for his meed. The Norway King, the Saxons Duke, and Picts, In woeful sort fell groveling to the ground. There Prince and Peasant both lay hurlde on heaps: Mars frownde on Arthurs mates: the Fates waxed fierce, And jointly ran their raze with Mordred's rage. These odds endure not long, for Mars retires, And Fortune pleased with Arthurs moderate fear, Returns more full, and friendlyer then her wont. For when he saw the powers of Fates opposed, And that the dreadful hour thus hastened on: Perplexed much in mind, at length resolves, That fear is covered best by daring most. Then forth he pitched: the Saxon Duke withstood, Whom with one stroke he headless sent to Hell. Not far from thence he spied the Irish King, Whose life he took as price of broken truce. Then Cador forward pressed, and happily met The Traitor Gilla, worker of these wars, Of whom by death he took his endue revenge. The remnant then of both the Camps concur, They Britons all, or most: few Forreines left. These wage the wars, and hence the death's ensue. Nor one, nor tother side, that can destroy His foes so fast, as 'tis it self destroyed. The brothers broach their blood: the Sire his Sons, The Son again would prove by too much Wrath, That he, whom thus he slew, was not his Sire. No blood nor kin can suage their ireful moods. No foreign foe they seek, nor care to find: The Britons blood is sought on every side. A vain discourse it were to paint at large The several Fates, and foils of either side. To tell what groans and sighs the parting Ghosts Sent forth: who dying bore the fellest breast: Who changed cheer at any Britons fallen: Who oftenest struck: who best bestowed his blade: Who ventured most: who stood: who fell: who failde: Effect declares it all: thus fared the field. Of both these Hosts so huge and main at first, There were not left on either side a score For Son, and Sire to win, and lose the Realm. The which when Mordred saw, and that his Sire Gainst foes, and Fares themselves would win the field He sighed, and betwixt despair and rage he cried, Here (Arthur) here, and hence the Conquest comes: While Mordred lives, the Crown is yet vnwoonne. Hereat the prince of prowess much amazed, With thrilling tears, and countenance cast on ground, Did groaning fetch a deep and earnefull sighs. Anon they fierce encountering both concurred, With grisly looks, and faces Like their Fates: But dispar minds, and inward moods unlike. The Sire with mind to safeguard both, or one The Son to spoil the one, or hazard both. No fear, nor fellness failde on either side: The wager lay on both their lives and bloods. At length when Mordred spied his force to faint, And felt him self oppressed with Arthurs strength, (Oh hapless lad, a match unmeet for him) He loathes to live in that afflicted state, And valiant with a forced Virtue, longs To die the death in which perplexed mind, With grinning teéth, and crabbed looks he cries, I cannot win: yet will I not be won. What should we shun our Fates, or play with Mars, Or thus defraud the wars of both our bloods? Whereto do we reserve our selves? Or why Be we not sought ere this, amongst the dead? So many thousands murdered in our cause, Must we survive, and neither win nor lose? The Fates that will not smile on either side, May frown on both: So saying forth he flings, And desperate runs on point of Arthurs Sword, (A Sword (alas) prepared for no such use) Whereon engoarde he glides, till never approached, With dying hand he hues his father's head. So through his own annoy, he noise his Liege And gains by death access to daunt his Sire. There Mordred fell, but Like a Prince he fell. And as a branch of great Pendragons graft His life breathes out, his eyes forsake the Sun, And fatal Clouds infer a lasting Clips. There Arthur staggering scant sustained him self, There Cador found a deep and deadly wound, There ceased the wars, and there was Britain lost There lay the chosen youths of Mars, there lay The peérelesse Knights, Bellona's bravest train. There lay the Mirrors rare of Martial praise, There lay the hope and branch of Brutus suppressed. There Fortune laid the prime of Britons pride, There laid her pomp, all topsy turuie turned. Exit. LO here at length the stately type of Troy, And Britain land the promised seat of Brutus. Decked with so many spoils of conquered Kings. Hail native soil, these nine years space unseen: To Thee hath long renowned Room at last Held up her hands, bereft of former pomp. But first inflamed with wonted valures heat, Amid our sorest S edge and thickest broils, She stoutly fought, and fiercely waged wars. Tiberius courage gave, upbraiding oft The Roman force, their wonted luck, and long Retained rule, by wars throughout the world. What shame it were, since such achieved spoils, And conquests gained both far and wide, to want Of courage then, when most it should be moved. How Britons erst paid tribute for their peace, But now rebel, and dare them at their doors: For what was France but theirs? Herewith incensed They fiercely raved, and bent their force a fresh. Which Arthur spying, cried with thundering voice, Fie, (Britons) fie: what hath bewitched you thus? So many Nations foilde, must Roman foil? What sloth is this? Have you forgotten to war, Which never knew hour of peace? Turn to your foes, Where you may both in blood, and fight your fill. Let courage work: what can he not that dares? Thus he puissant guide in doubtful wars, A shamed to shun his foes, inflamed his friends. Then yeélding to his stately Stead the reigns, He furious drives the Roman troops about: He plies each place, least Fates might altar ought, Pursuing hap, and urging each success. He yeélds in nought, but instantly persists In all attempts, wherein what so withstands His wish, he joys to work a way by wrack. And matching death to death, no passage seeks, But what destruction works, with blade or blood. He scorns the yielded way, he fiercely raves To break and bruise the ranks in thickest throngs, All headlong bent, and prove to present spoil. The foes enforced withstand: but much dismayed They senseless fight, while millions loose their lives. At length Tiberius, pierced with point of spear, Does bleéding fallen, engoard with deadly wound. Hereat the rest recoil, and headlong fly, Each man to save himself. The battle quails And Britons win unto their most renown. Then Arthur took Tiberius breathless Corpse, And sent it to the Senators at Room, With charge to say: This is the tribute endue Which Arthur ought, as time hereafter serves, He'll pay the Like again: the while he rests Your debtor thus. But Oh! this this sweet success Pursued with greater harms, turned soon to sour. For lo: when foreign soils and seas were passed With safe return, and that the King should land: Who, but his only son (Oh outrage rare) With hugy host withstood him at the shore? There were prepared the foreign aides from far, There were the borrowed powers of diverse Kings, There were our parents, brothers, sons and kin, Their wrath, their ire, there Mordred was thy rage. Where erst we sought abroad for foes to foil, Behold, our Fates had sent us foes unsought. When foreign Realms supplanted want supply: Oh blessed Home, that hath such boon in store. But let this partly of Arthurs prowess lurk, Nor let it e'r appear by my report, What monstrous mischiefs rave in civil wars. Oh rather let endue tears, and wailings want: Let all in silence sink, what hence insu'd. What best deserves mention here, is this: That Mordred vanquished trusted to his flight, That Arthur each where victor is returned. And lo: where Mordred comes with heavy head, He wields no slender weight that wields a Crown. Exit.