In outward simile in his whole life’s being,

As Christ did bear men’s sins upon the tree;

Who knowing all the ill that thou had’st done him,

[Pg 10]

[Pg 10]

Still had sufficient sense of inward greatness

To love the father who begat him thus;

I feel if thou art that great Arthur dreamed

Of me these many years of toil and care

That I have worked to make thee what thou art;

That knowing this son of thine, distorted, wry,

Diminutive in outward human shape,

And void of all those graces thou hast loved

To group about thy visions of thy court,

Hath such a soul within him like a jewel

In some enchanted casket, that were rare

In all the lore and wisdom of this age,

That thou wouldst love him only all the more

For that poor, wry, misshapen shell of his.

Arthur. Oh cruel! cruel! cruel!

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