And if there be white shrift for such as me

In Heaven’s mercy, I would crave it now;

Though little of hope have I, if thou dost hear.

Hermit. Wouldst thou confess, my son, the church hath power

To white the blackest sinner crawling foul

From earth’s most sensuous cesspool, doth he but

Come in the earnest sorrow of his heart

And lay his sins within her holy keeping.

But well I know that thou art that great Arthur,

The hope of all for succor to this realm:—

For other man hath never worn such grace

And nobleness of bearing as thou wearest.

Fear not my son, whatever be the sin

Of thy hot youth, the past will be forgiven,

And holy Church will freely pardon one

And all the evil deeds that thou hast done.

Arthur. Father, my life is haunted with one thought

That comes between me and my sweetest hopes.

[Pg 3]

[Pg 3]

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