Our end so near: all crave each other’s help.
Cador. O king, behold the fruit of all our fame!
Lo, here our pomp, consumed with ourselves:
What all our age with all our wars had won,
Lo, here one day hath lost it all at once!
Well, so it likes the heavens: thus fortune gibes;
She hoisteth up to hurl the deeper down.
First Chorus. O sacred prince! what sight is this we see?
Why have the fates reserved us to these woes?
Our only hope, the stay of all our realm,