To play thus on his fancy with thine arts.

Merlin. And dost thou love him still?

Mordred. Yea, love is not a thing so lightly placed,

That it may perish easy. Thou mayst kill

The king in him, thou canst not kill the father.

Though thou mightst make me bitter to conspire

And topple his great kingdom round his head,

Yet I would ever love him ’neath it all.

The Arthur of thine ambitions may be dead,

But not the Arthur of my childhood’s longing,

Though this poor King who hunteth his lost crown

[Pg 13]

[Pg 13]

Be but the walking shape of all those dreams.

And temptest thou me, thou Merlin, thus to hate?

Merlin. Yea, Mordred, I am cruel, I am fate.

I tempt thee but to live, and dost thou live,

Enalienate from all this love of earth,

And they but crumble this phantom round their heads.

Thou art the key by which I may unlock

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