Can Arthur please you nowhere but in wars?
Be witness, heavens, how far ’tis from my mind
Therewith to spoil or sack my native soil.
I cannot yield; it brooks not in my breast
To seek her ruin whom I erst have rul’d,
What relics now soe’er both civil broils
And foreign wars have left, let those remain:
Th’ are few enough, and Britons fall too fast.
THE SECOND SCENE.
An Herald from Mordred.