Re-enter Guinevere alone.

Guinevere

Vivien. Stay lady, I would speak with thee.

Guin. What art thou, woman?

Vivien. I am a maiden here about thy court,

Of whom ’tis said that she did love great Arthur,

Our high, lord Arthur, whom thou lovest so well;

If this be my poor crime, forgive me lady,

Seeing thou thyself art happier in the same.

Thou art the splendid moon to his great planet,

And we but stars that vanish at thy rising.

Guin. What wouldst thou with me?

Vivien. I would bring unto thy notice one,

Wronged of nature and his human kind,

Knowing where thine admiration stopped,

Might follow thy pity.

Mordred. Nay, all but pity. Pity is such a gift

That all the world would grant it, none receive.

Grant me thy scorn, lady, but withhold thy pity.

Thou mightst pity a horse or dog or fowl,

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