Arthur. Nay, rather (Cador) let them run their race,
And leave the heavens revengers of my wrong.
Since Britain’s prosperous state is thus debas’d
In servile sort to Mordred’s cursed pride,
Let me be thrall, and lead a private life:
None can refuse the yoke his country bears.
But as for wars, in sooth, my flesh abhors
To bid the battle to my proper blood.
Great is the love which nature doth inforce
From kin to kin, but most from sire to son.