With dying hand he hews his father’s head:
So through his own annoy he ’nnoys his liege,
And gains by death access to daunt his sire.
There Mordred fell, but like a prince he fell;
And as a branch of great Pendragon’s graft
His life breathes out: his eyes forsake the sun,
And fatal clouds infer a lasting ’clipse.
There Arthur staggering scant sustain’d himself;
There Cador found a deep and deadly wound;
There ceas’d the wars, and there was Britain lost!