Who oft’nest stroke; who best bestow’d his blade;
Who vent’red most; who stood, who fell, who fail’d.
Th’ effect declares it all: thus far the field.
Of both these hosts, so huge and main at first,
There were not left on either side a score,
For son and sire to win and lose the realm.
The which when Mordred saw, and that his sire
’Gainst foes and fates themselves would win the field,
He sigh’d and ’twixt despair and rage he cried:
Here (Arthur), here, and hence the conquest comes: