And all the splendid cortege thou hast ordered,

With retinue befitting thy commands.

God’s benison go with thee, great Arthur,

This most auspicious day thou goest forth

To meet the high and beauteous Guinevere,

Thy chosen mate and queen of this fair realm.

Arthur. I go not forth!

Launcelot. Thou goest not, and why?

Arthur. Deem it not strange my Launcelot that I sit

Here thus disconsolate my betrothal morn,

Nor over eager for to play the lover,

And decked in splendor go to meet the queen.

Launcelot thine Arthur hath a sorrow.

Hast seen my son Mordred?

Launcelot. Yea Arthur, I have seen this Mordred.

Yea, mine Arthur, thou hast indeed a sorrow,

And could thy Launcelot but help thee bear it!

Arthur. What thinkest thou of this Mordred, this my son?

Likest thou him not?

Launcelot. He is so strange, so small, so queer of limb,

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