GILDAS. Come, cruel griefs, spare not to stretch our strengths, Whiles baleful breasts invite our thumping fists. Let every sign that mournful passions work, Express what piteous plights our minds amaze. This day supplants what no day can supply; These hands have wrought those wastes, that never age, Nor all the brood of Brute shall e’er repair: That future men may joy the surer rest, These wars prevent their birth and nip their spring. What nations erst the former age subdu’d With hourly toils to Britain’s yoke, this day Hath set at large, and backwards turn’d the fates. Henceforth the Kerns may safely tread their bogs; The Scots may now their inroads old renew, The Saxons well may vow their former claims, And Danes without their danger drive us out. These wars found not th’ effect of wonted wars, Nor doth their weight the like impression work: There several fates annoy’d but several men; Here all the realm and people find one fate: What there did reach but to a soldier’s death, Contains the death of all a nation here. These blades have given this isle a greater wound Than time can heal--the fruit of civil wars: A kingdom’s hand hath gor’d a kingdom’s heart. CONAN. When fame shall blaze these acts in latter years, And time to come, so many ages hence, Shall efts report our toils and British pains; Or when perhaps our children’s children read Our woful wars display’d with skilful pen, They’ll think they hear some sounds of future facts, And not the ruins old of pomp long past; ’Twill move their minds to rath, and frame afresh New hopes and fears, and vows, and many a wish, And Arthur’s cause shall still be favour’d most. He was the joy and hope, and hap, of all, The realm’s defence, the sole delay of fates; He was our wall and fort: twice thirteen years His shoulders did the Briton state support. Whiles yet he reign’d, no foreign foes prevail’d, Nor once could hope to bind the Briton bounds; But still both far and near were forc’d to fly; They thrall to us, we to ourselves were free. But now, and henceforth aye, adieu that hope, Adieu 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 ne’er in case to heal! Henceforth, the weight of fates thus fallen aside, We rest 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._ CHORUS.