(Her stately train with influence divine,
And mild aspect all prone to Britain’s good)
Foresee what present plagues do threat this isle,
Prevent not this my wreak. For you there rests
A happier age, a thousand years to come;
An age for peace, religion, wealth, and ease,
When all the world shall wonder at your bliss:
That, that is yours! Leave this to Gorlois’ ghost.
And see where comes one engine of my hate,
With moods and manners fit for my revenge.