To wake this human summer-morn to life,

And know this June-day conscious of its joy:

But when I bent and touched her on the arm,

I only woke a living terror there

Of eyes and limbs that fled from my amaze.

I saw it once within the Priestman’s face

The only and the last time I was shriven.

I have no need for shriving priestmen since.

My spirit tells me if they hold no power

To conjure out that devil in themselves,

That darting horror that offends mine eyes,

They ne’er can cast the devils from this life,

And all their vaunts but jugglers’ juggling lies.

Merlin. Oh sad, warped youth, aged before thy time,

With that worst, saddest of wisdoms on this earth,

The knowledge of thine own deformity!

[Trumpets without.

Back Mordred! here cometh the king!

Enter Arthur in his state robes.

Arthur

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