NUNCIUS. There fell Aschillus stout, of Denmark king; There valiant Gawin, Arthur’s nephew dear, And late by Augel’s 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 Saxon’s duke, and Picts, In woeful sort fell grovelling to the ground. There prince and peasant both lay hurl’d on heaps: Mars frown’d on Arthur’s mates: the fates wax’d fierce, And jointly ran this race with Mordred’s rage. CONAN. But with what joy (alas) shall he return, That thus returns the happier for this field? NUNCIUS. These odds endure not long, for Mars retires, And fortune, pleas’d with Arthur’s moderate fear, Returns more full, and friendlier than her wont. For when he saw the powers of fates oppos’d, And that the dreadful hour was hastened on, Perplexed much in mind at length resolves, That fear is covered best by daring most. Then forth he pitch’d: 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 press’d, and haply met The traitor Gilla, worker of these wars, Of whom by death he took his due revenge. The remnant then of both the camps concur, They Britons all, or most, few foreigns left: These wage the wars and hence the deaths ensue: Nor t’ one nor t’ other side that can destroy Her foes so fast, as ’tis itself destroyed. The brethren broach their blood; the sire, the son’s, 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 Briton’s 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 bare the fellest breast; Who changed cheer at any Briton’s fall; Who oft’nest stroke; who best bestow’d his blade; Who vent’red most; who stood, who fell, who fail’d. Th’ effect declares it all: thus far 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 fates themselves would win the field, He sigh’d and ’twixt despair and rage he cried: Here (Arthur), here, and hence the conquest comes: Whiles Mordred lives, the crown is yet unwon! Hereat the prince of prowess, much amaz’d, With thrilling tears and count’nance cast on ground, Did groaning fetch a deep and earnful sigh. Anon, they fierce encountering both concurr’d With grisly looks and faces like their fates; But dispar minds and inward moods unlike. The sire with mind to safeguard both, or t’ one;