That in your ripest years and likeliest time
Your chiefest force should on this sudden fall?
[Third Chorus.] See, see our idle hopes, our brittle trust,
[Fourth Chorus.] Our vain desires, our over-fickle state
Which, though a while they sail on quiet seas,
Yet sink in surge, ere they arrive to road.
O woful wars! O Mordred’s cursed pride,
That thus hath wrought both king and kingdom’s woe!
Cador. Let plaints and mournings pass; set moans apart.
They made much of themselves, yea, too—too much;