The pillar of our state, thus sore oppress’d!
O, would the gods had favour’d us so much,
That as we lived partakers of your pains,
And likewise joy’d the fruit of your exploits,
So having thus bereft our sovereign’s bliss,
They had with more indifferent doom conjoin’d
The subjects’ both and sovereign’s bane in one!
It now (alas) engendereth double grief,
To rue your want and to bewail our woes.
Arthur. Rue not, my Britons, what my rage hath wrought,