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,
O blessed home, that hath such boon in store!
But let this part of Arthur’s prowess lurk,
Nor let it e’er appear by my report,
What monstrous mischiefs rage in civil wars.
O, rather let due tears and wailings want!
Let all in silence sink what hence ensu’d.