Enter Arthur, Conon, Aurelius, Albanact, and Soldiers.
Con. Now there remains but this one labour more;
And, if we have the hearts of true-born Britons,
The forcing of the castle crowns the day.
Aur. The works are weak, the garrison but thin,
Dispirited with frequent overthrows,
Already wavering on their ill-manned walls.
Alb. They shift their places oft, and sculk from war;
Sure signs of pale despair, and easy rout:
It shews they place their confidence in magic,