To spend both limb and life in your defence,
Cast off all doubts and rest yourself on Mars:
A hopeless fear forbids a happy fate.
Arthur. In sooth (good Cador), so our fortune fares,
As needs we must return to wonted force.
To wars we must; but such unhappy wars,
As leave no hope for right or wrong to ’scape.
Myself foresees the fate; it cannot fall
Without our dearest blood: much may the mind
Of pensive sire presage, whose son so sins.