Thou wilt be sweet as Launcelot in the grave,

Though thou canst never smile on Guinevere,

Or other star of brightness, stand by Arthur

Like lofty pine that girds the hills of snow.

Yea, I am half constrained to be a devil,

And take this mighty kingdom by the walls,

And shake it till its deep foundations thunder.

There is no love for Mordred in these precincts;

Took he the lonely road tomorrow morn,

They’d cover his face and laugh the world along,

Unmindful of his setting.

Enter Vivien.

Vivien

Vivien. Nay not so, there are two as would grieve thee.

Mordred. Aye, two?

Vivien. Yea, two, I and thy dog.

Mordred. Yea sooth would grieve my poor four-footed beast.

Better that Mordred had been got a dog,

With four good legs and strength of limbs and back,

A pattern to his species, than be thus

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