Guenevera.The love, that for his rage will not be rul’d,Must be restrain’d: fame shall receive no foil.Let Arthur live; whereof to make him sureMyself will die, and so prevent his harms.Why stayest thou thus amaz’d, O slothful wrath?Mischief is meant; despatch it on thyself.Angharat.Her breast, not yet appeas’d from former rage,Hath chang’d her wrath which, wanting means to workAnother’s woe (for such is fury’s wont),Seeks out his own, and raves upon itself.Assuage (alas) that over fervent ire:Through too much anger you offend too much.Thereby the rather you deserve to liveFor seeming worthy in yourself to die.Guenevera.Death is decreed; what kind of death, I doubt:Whether to drown or stifle[255]up this breath,Or forcing blood to die with dint of knife.All hope of prosperous hap is gone. My fame,My faith, my spouse—no good is left unlost!Myself am left: there’s left both seas and lands,And sword, and fire and chains, and choice of harms.O gnawing, easeless grief! who now can healMy maimed mind? It must be heal’d by death.Angharat.No mischief must be done while I be by;Or, if there must, there must be more than one.If death it be you seek, I seek it too;Alone you may not die, with me you may.Guenevera.They that will drive th’ unwilling to their death,Or frustrate death in those that fain would die,Offend alike. They spoil, that bootless spare.Angharat.But will my tears and mournings move you nought?Guenevera.Then it is best to die when friends do mourn.Angharat.Each-where is death! the fates have well ordain’d,That each man may bereave himself of life,But none of death: death is so sure a doom,A thousand ways do guide us to our graves.Who then can ever come too late to that,Whence, when he is come, he never can return?Or what avails to hasten on our ends,And long for that which destinies have sworn!Look back in time: too late is to repent,When furious rage hath once cut off the choice.Guenevera.Death is an end of pain, no pain itself.Is’t meet a plague for such excessive wrongShould be so short? Should one stroke answer all?[Soliloquizes] And would’st thou die? well, that contents the laws:What, then, for Arthur’s ire? What for thy fame,Which thou hast stain’d? What for thy stock thou sham’st?Not death nor life alone can give a fullRevenge: join both in one—die and yet live.Where pain may not be oft, let it be long.Seek out some lingering death, whereby thy corpseMay neither touch the dead nor joy the quick.Die, but no common death: pass nature’s bounds.Angharat.Set plaints aside: despair yields no relief;The more you search a wound the more it stings.Guenevera.When guilty minds torment themselves, they heal,Whiles wounds be cur’d, grief is a salve for grief.Angharat.Grief is no just esteemer of our deeds.What so hath yet been done, proceeds from chance.Guenevera.The mind and not the chance doth make th’ unchaste.Angharat.Then is your fault from fate; you rest excus’d.None can be deemed faulty for her fate.Guenevera.No fate, but manners fail, when we offend.Impute mishaps to fates, to manners faults.Angharat.Love is an error that may blind the best.Guenevera.A mighty error oft hath seem’d a sin.My death is vowed, and death must needs take place.But such a death as stands with just remorse:Death to the world and to her slippery joys:A full divorce from all this courtly pomp,Where daily penance, done for each offence,May render due revenge for every wrong.Which to accomplish, pray my dearest friends,That they forthwith, attir’d in saddest guise,Conduct me to the cloister next hereby,There to profess, and to renounce the world.Angharat.Alas! what change were that! from kingly roofsTo cloistered cells—to live and die at once!To want your stately troops, your friends and kin,To shun the shows and sights of stately court;To see in sort alive your country’s death.Yea, whatsoe’er even death itself withdrawsFrom any else, that life withdraws from you.Yet since your highness is so fully bent,I will obey: the whiles assuage your grief.[Exit.
Guenevera.The love, that for his rage will not be rul’d,Must be restrain’d: fame shall receive no foil.Let Arthur live; whereof to make him sureMyself will die, and so prevent his harms.Why stayest thou thus amaz’d, O slothful wrath?Mischief is meant; despatch it on thyself.
Guenevera.The love, that for his rage will not be rul’d,
Must be restrain’d: fame shall receive no foil.
Let Arthur live; whereof to make him sure
Myself will die, and so prevent his harms.
Why stayest thou thus amaz’d, O slothful wrath?
Mischief is meant; despatch it on thyself.
Angharat.Her breast, not yet appeas’d from former rage,Hath chang’d her wrath which, wanting means to workAnother’s woe (for such is fury’s wont),Seeks out his own, and raves upon itself.Assuage (alas) that over fervent ire:Through too much anger you offend too much.Thereby the rather you deserve to liveFor seeming worthy in yourself to die.
Angharat.Her breast, not yet appeas’d from former rage,
Hath chang’d her wrath which, wanting means to work
Another’s woe (for such is fury’s wont),
Seeks out his own, and raves upon itself.
Assuage (alas) that over fervent ire:
Through too much anger you offend too much.
Thereby the rather you deserve to live
For seeming worthy in yourself to die.
Guenevera.Death is decreed; what kind of death, I doubt:Whether to drown or stifle[255]up this breath,Or forcing blood to die with dint of knife.All hope of prosperous hap is gone. My fame,My faith, my spouse—no good is left unlost!Myself am left: there’s left both seas and lands,And sword, and fire and chains, and choice of harms.O gnawing, easeless grief! who now can healMy maimed mind? It must be heal’d by death.
Guenevera.Death is decreed; what kind of death, I doubt:
Whether to drown or stifle[255]up this breath,
Or forcing blood to die with dint of knife.
All hope of prosperous hap is gone. My fame,
My faith, my spouse—no good is left unlost!
Myself am left: there’s left both seas and lands,
And sword, and fire and chains, and choice of harms.
O gnawing, easeless grief! who now can heal
My maimed mind? It must be heal’d by death.
Angharat.No mischief must be done while I be by;Or, if there must, there must be more than one.If death it be you seek, I seek it too;Alone you may not die, with me you may.
Angharat.No mischief must be done while I be by;
Or, if there must, there must be more than one.
If death it be you seek, I seek it too;
Alone you may not die, with me you may.
Guenevera.They that will drive th’ unwilling to their death,Or frustrate death in those that fain would die,Offend alike. They spoil, that bootless spare.
Guenevera.They that will drive th’ unwilling to their death,
Or frustrate death in those that fain would die,
Offend alike. They spoil, that bootless spare.
Angharat.But will my tears and mournings move you nought?
Angharat.But will my tears and mournings move you nought?
Guenevera.Then it is best to die when friends do mourn.
Guenevera.Then it is best to die when friends do mourn.
Angharat.Each-where is death! the fates have well ordain’d,That each man may bereave himself of life,But none of death: death is so sure a doom,A thousand ways do guide us to our graves.Who then can ever come too late to that,Whence, when he is come, he never can return?Or what avails to hasten on our ends,And long for that which destinies have sworn!Look back in time: too late is to repent,When furious rage hath once cut off the choice.
Angharat.Each-where is death! the fates have well ordain’d,
That each man may bereave himself of life,
But none of death: death is so sure a doom,
A thousand ways do guide us to our graves.
Who then can ever come too late to that,
Whence, when he is come, he never can return?
Or what avails to hasten on our ends,
And long for that which destinies have sworn!
Look back in time: too late is to repent,
When furious rage hath once cut off the choice.
Guenevera.Death is an end of pain, no pain itself.Is’t meet a plague for such excessive wrongShould be so short? Should one stroke answer all?[Soliloquizes] And would’st thou die? well, that contents the laws:What, then, for Arthur’s ire? What for thy fame,Which thou hast stain’d? What for thy stock thou sham’st?Not death nor life alone can give a fullRevenge: join both in one—die and yet live.Where pain may not be oft, let it be long.Seek out some lingering death, whereby thy corpseMay neither touch the dead nor joy the quick.Die, but no common death: pass nature’s bounds.
Guenevera.Death is an end of pain, no pain itself.
Is’t meet a plague for such excessive wrong
Should be so short? Should one stroke answer all?
[Soliloquizes] And would’st thou die? well, that contents the laws:
What, then, for Arthur’s ire? What for thy fame,
Which thou hast stain’d? What for thy stock thou sham’st?
Not death nor life alone can give a full
Revenge: join both in one—die and yet live.
Where pain may not be oft, let it be long.
Seek out some lingering death, whereby thy corpse
May neither touch the dead nor joy the quick.
Die, but no common death: pass nature’s bounds.
Angharat.Set plaints aside: despair yields no relief;The more you search a wound the more it stings.
Angharat.Set plaints aside: despair yields no relief;
The more you search a wound the more it stings.
Guenevera.When guilty minds torment themselves, they heal,Whiles wounds be cur’d, grief is a salve for grief.
Guenevera.When guilty minds torment themselves, they heal,
Whiles wounds be cur’d, grief is a salve for grief.
Angharat.Grief is no just esteemer of our deeds.What so hath yet been done, proceeds from chance.
Angharat.Grief is no just esteemer of our deeds.
What so hath yet been done, proceeds from chance.
Guenevera.The mind and not the chance doth make th’ unchaste.
Guenevera.The mind and not the chance doth make th’ unchaste.
Angharat.Then is your fault from fate; you rest excus’d.None can be deemed faulty for her fate.
Angharat.Then is your fault from fate; you rest excus’d.
None can be deemed faulty for her fate.
Guenevera.No fate, but manners fail, when we offend.Impute mishaps to fates, to manners faults.
Guenevera.No fate, but manners fail, when we offend.
Impute mishaps to fates, to manners faults.
Angharat.Love is an error that may blind the best.
Angharat.Love is an error that may blind the best.
Guenevera.A mighty error oft hath seem’d a sin.My death is vowed, and death must needs take place.But such a death as stands with just remorse:Death to the world and to her slippery joys:A full divorce from all this courtly pomp,Where daily penance, done for each offence,May render due revenge for every wrong.Which to accomplish, pray my dearest friends,That they forthwith, attir’d in saddest guise,Conduct me to the cloister next hereby,There to profess, and to renounce the world.
Guenevera.A mighty error oft hath seem’d a sin.
My death is vowed, and death must needs take place.
But such a death as stands with just remorse:
Death to the world and to her slippery joys:
A full divorce from all this courtly pomp,
Where daily penance, done for each offence,
May render due revenge for every wrong.
Which to accomplish, pray my dearest friends,
That they forthwith, attir’d in saddest guise,
Conduct me to the cloister next hereby,
There to profess, and to renounce the world.
Angharat.Alas! what change were that! from kingly roofsTo cloistered cells—to live and die at once!To want your stately troops, your friends and kin,To shun the shows and sights of stately court;To see in sort alive your country’s death.Yea, whatsoe’er even death itself withdrawsFrom any else, that life withdraws from you.Yet since your highness is so fully bent,I will obey: the whiles assuage your grief.[Exit.
Angharat.Alas! what change were that! from kingly roofs
To cloistered cells—to live and die at once!
To want your stately troops, your friends and kin,
To shun the shows and sights of stately court;
To see in sort alive your country’s death.
Yea, whatsoe’er even death itself withdraws
From any else, that life withdraws from you.
Yet since your highness is so fully bent,
I will obey: the whiles assuage your grief.
[Exit.
THE FOURTH SCENE
Mordred, Guenevera, Conan.
Mordred.The hour, which erst I always feared mostThe certain ruin of my desperate state,Is happened now! why turn’st thou (mind) thy back?Why at the first assault dost thou recoil?Trust to’t, the angry heavens contrive some spite,And dreadful doom t’augment thy cursed hap.Oppose to each revenge thy guilty head,And shun no pain, nor plague fit for thy fact.What shouldst thou fear, that see’st not what to hope?[256]No danger’s left before: all’s at thy back.He safely stands, that stands beyond his harms.Thine (death) is all that east and west can see:For thee we live, our coming is not long:Spare us but whiles we may prepare our graves.Though thou wert slow, we hasten of ourselves.The hour that gave did also take our lives:No sooner men than mortal were we born.I see mine end draws on, I feel my plagues.Guenevera.No plague for one ill-born to die as ill.Mordred.O Queen! my sweet associate in this plungeAnd desperate plight, behold, the time is come,That either justifies our former faults,Or shortly sets us free from every fear.Guenevera.My fear is past, and wedlock love hath won.Retire we thither yet, whence first we oughtNot to have stirr’d. Call back chaste faith again.The way that leads to good is ne’er too late:Who so repents is guiltless of his crimes.Mordred.What means this course? Is Arthur’s wedlock safe,Or can he love, that hath just cause to hate?That nothing else were to be fear’d:Is most apparent, that he hates at home,Whate’er he be whose fancy strays abroad.Think, then, our love is not unknown to him,Whereof what patience can be safely hop’d?Nor love nor sovereignty can bear a peer.Guenevera.Why dost thou still stir up my flames delay’d?His strays and errors must not move my mind:A law for private men binds not the king.What, that I ought not to condemn my liege,Nor can, thus guilty to mine own offence!Where both have done amiss, both will relent:He will forgive that needs must be forgiven.Mordred.A likely thing, your faults must make you friends;What sets you both at odds must join you both.Think well, he casts already for revenge,And how to plague us both. I know his law;A judge severe to us, mild to himself.What then avails you to return too late,When you have passed too far? You feed vain hopes.Guenevera.The further past, the more this fault is yours.It served your turn t’ usurp your father’s crown:His is the crime, whom crime stands most in stead.Mordred.They that conspire in faults offend alike:Crime makes them equal, whom it jointly stains.If for my sake you then pertook my guilt,You cannot guiltless seem: the crime was joint.Guenevera.Well should[257]she seem most guiltless unto thee,Whate’er she be, that’s guilty for thy sake.The remnant of that sober mind, which thouHad’st heretofore ne’er vanquish’d, yet resists.Suppress, for shame, that impious mouth so taught,And so much skill’d t’ abuse the wedded bed.Look back to former fates: Troy still had stood,Had not her prince made light of wedlock’s lore.The vice that threw down Troy doth threat thy throne.Take heed: there Mordred stands, whence Paris fell.[Exit.Conan.Since that your highness knows for certain truth,What power your sire prepares to claim his right.It nearly now concerns you to resolveIn humblest sort to reconcile yourselfGainst his return.Mordred.Will war?Conan.That lies in chance.Mordred.I have as great a share in chance as he.Conan.His ways be blind that maketh chance his guide.Mordred.Whose refuge lies in chance, what dares he not?Conan.Wars were a crime far worse than all the rest.Mordred.The safest passage is from bad to worse.Conan.That were to pass too far and put no mean.Mordred.He is a fool that puts a mean in crimes.Conan.But sword and fire would cause a common wound.Mordred.So sword and fire will often sear the sore.Conan.Extremest cures must not be used first.Mordred.In desperate times the headlong way is best.Conan.Y’ have many foes.Mordred.No more than faithful friends.Conan.Trust t’ it, their faith will faint, where fortune fails.Where many men pretend a love to one,Whose power may do what good or harm he will,’Tis hard to say which be his faithful friends.Dame Flattery flitteth oft: she loves and hatesWith time, a present friend, an absent foe.Mordred.But yet I’ll hope the best.[258]Conan.Even then you fearThe worst: fears follow hopes, as fumes do flames.Mischief is sometimes safe, but ne’er secure.The wrongful sceptre’s held with trembling hand.Mordred.Whose rule wants right, his safety’s in his sword;For sword and sceptre comes to kings at once.Conan.The kingliest point is to affect but right.Mordred.Weak is the sceptre’s hold that seeks but right.The care whereof hath danger’d many crowns.As much as water differeth from the fire,So much man’s profit jars from what is just.A free recourse to wrong doth oft secureThe doubtful seat, and plucks down many a foeThe sword must seldom cease: a sovereign’s handIs scantly safe, but whiles it smites. Let himUsurp no crown that likes a guiltless life:Aspiring power and justice seld agree.He always fears that shames to offer wrong.Conan.What son would use such wrong against his sire?Mordred.Come, son, come, sire, I first prefer myself;And since a wrong must be, then it excelsWhen ’tis to gain a crown. I hate a peer:I loathe, I irk, I do detest a head.B’ it nature, be it reason, be it pride,I love to rule! my mind, nor with, nor by,Nor after any claims, but chief and first!Conan.But think what fame and grievous bruits would runOf such disloyal and unjust attempts.Mordred.Fame goes not with our ghosts: the senseless soul,Once gone, neglects what vulgar bruit reports.She is both light and vain.Conan.She noteth, though.Mordred.She feareth states.[259]Conan.She carpeth, ne’ertheless.Mordred.She’s soon suppress’d.Conan.As soon she springs again.Tongues are untam’d and fame is envy’s dog,That absent barks, and present fawns as fast.It fearing dares, and yet hath never done,But dures: though death redeem us all from foesBesides, yet death redeems us not from tongues.[260]Mordred.Ere Arthur land, the sea shall blush with blood,And all the strands with smoking slaughters reek.Now (Mars) protect me in my first attempt!If Mordred scape, this realm shall want no wars.[Exeunt.
Mordred.The hour, which erst I always feared mostThe certain ruin of my desperate state,Is happened now! why turn’st thou (mind) thy back?Why at the first assault dost thou recoil?Trust to’t, the angry heavens contrive some spite,And dreadful doom t’augment thy cursed hap.Oppose to each revenge thy guilty head,And shun no pain, nor plague fit for thy fact.What shouldst thou fear, that see’st not what to hope?[256]No danger’s left before: all’s at thy back.He safely stands, that stands beyond his harms.Thine (death) is all that east and west can see:For thee we live, our coming is not long:Spare us but whiles we may prepare our graves.Though thou wert slow, we hasten of ourselves.The hour that gave did also take our lives:No sooner men than mortal were we born.I see mine end draws on, I feel my plagues.
Mordred.The hour, which erst I always feared most
The certain ruin of my desperate state,
Is happened now! why turn’st thou (mind) thy back?
Why at the first assault dost thou recoil?
Trust to’t, the angry heavens contrive some spite,
And dreadful doom t’augment thy cursed hap.
Oppose to each revenge thy guilty head,
And shun no pain, nor plague fit for thy fact.
What shouldst thou fear, that see’st not what to hope?[256]
No danger’s left before: all’s at thy back.
He safely stands, that stands beyond his harms.
Thine (death) is all that east and west can see:
For thee we live, our coming is not long:
Spare us but whiles we may prepare our graves.
Though thou wert slow, we hasten of ourselves.
The hour that gave did also take our lives:
No sooner men than mortal were we born.
I see mine end draws on, I feel my plagues.
Guenevera.No plague for one ill-born to die as ill.
Guenevera.No plague for one ill-born to die as ill.
Mordred.O Queen! my sweet associate in this plungeAnd desperate plight, behold, the time is come,That either justifies our former faults,Or shortly sets us free from every fear.
Mordred.O Queen! my sweet associate in this plunge
And desperate plight, behold, the time is come,
That either justifies our former faults,
Or shortly sets us free from every fear.
Guenevera.My fear is past, and wedlock love hath won.Retire we thither yet, whence first we oughtNot to have stirr’d. Call back chaste faith again.The way that leads to good is ne’er too late:Who so repents is guiltless of his crimes.
Guenevera.My fear is past, and wedlock love hath won.
Retire we thither yet, whence first we ought
Not to have stirr’d. Call back chaste faith again.
The way that leads to good is ne’er too late:
Who so repents is guiltless of his crimes.
Mordred.What means this course? Is Arthur’s wedlock safe,Or can he love, that hath just cause to hate?That nothing else were to be fear’d:Is most apparent, that he hates at home,Whate’er he be whose fancy strays abroad.Think, then, our love is not unknown to him,Whereof what patience can be safely hop’d?Nor love nor sovereignty can bear a peer.
Mordred.What means this course? Is Arthur’s wedlock safe,
Or can he love, that hath just cause to hate?
That nothing else were to be fear’d:
Is most apparent, that he hates at home,
Whate’er he be whose fancy strays abroad.
Think, then, our love is not unknown to him,
Whereof what patience can be safely hop’d?
Nor love nor sovereignty can bear a peer.
Guenevera.Why dost thou still stir up my flames delay’d?His strays and errors must not move my mind:A law for private men binds not the king.What, that I ought not to condemn my liege,Nor can, thus guilty to mine own offence!Where both have done amiss, both will relent:He will forgive that needs must be forgiven.
Guenevera.Why dost thou still stir up my flames delay’d?
His strays and errors must not move my mind:
A law for private men binds not the king.
What, that I ought not to condemn my liege,
Nor can, thus guilty to mine own offence!
Where both have done amiss, both will relent:
He will forgive that needs must be forgiven.
Mordred.A likely thing, your faults must make you friends;What sets you both at odds must join you both.Think well, he casts already for revenge,And how to plague us both. I know his law;A judge severe to us, mild to himself.What then avails you to return too late,When you have passed too far? You feed vain hopes.
Mordred.A likely thing, your faults must make you friends;
What sets you both at odds must join you both.
Think well, he casts already for revenge,
And how to plague us both. I know his law;
A judge severe to us, mild to himself.
What then avails you to return too late,
When you have passed too far? You feed vain hopes.
Guenevera.The further past, the more this fault is yours.It served your turn t’ usurp your father’s crown:His is the crime, whom crime stands most in stead.
Guenevera.The further past, the more this fault is yours.
It served your turn t’ usurp your father’s crown:
His is the crime, whom crime stands most in stead.
Mordred.They that conspire in faults offend alike:Crime makes them equal, whom it jointly stains.If for my sake you then pertook my guilt,You cannot guiltless seem: the crime was joint.
Mordred.They that conspire in faults offend alike:
Crime makes them equal, whom it jointly stains.
If for my sake you then pertook my guilt,
You cannot guiltless seem: the crime was joint.
Guenevera.Well should[257]she seem most guiltless unto thee,Whate’er she be, that’s guilty for thy sake.The remnant of that sober mind, which thouHad’st heretofore ne’er vanquish’d, yet resists.Suppress, for shame, that impious mouth so taught,And so much skill’d t’ abuse the wedded bed.Look back to former fates: Troy still had stood,Had not her prince made light of wedlock’s lore.The vice that threw down Troy doth threat thy throne.Take heed: there Mordred stands, whence Paris fell.[Exit.
Guenevera.Well should[257]she seem most guiltless unto thee,
Whate’er she be, that’s guilty for thy sake.
The remnant of that sober mind, which thou
Had’st heretofore ne’er vanquish’d, yet resists.
Suppress, for shame, that impious mouth so taught,
And so much skill’d t’ abuse the wedded bed.
Look back to former fates: Troy still had stood,
Had not her prince made light of wedlock’s lore.
The vice that threw down Troy doth threat thy throne.
Take heed: there Mordred stands, whence Paris fell.
[Exit.
Conan.Since that your highness knows for certain truth,What power your sire prepares to claim his right.It nearly now concerns you to resolveIn humblest sort to reconcile yourselfGainst his return.
Conan.Since that your highness knows for certain truth,
What power your sire prepares to claim his right.
It nearly now concerns you to resolve
In humblest sort to reconcile yourself
Gainst his return.
Mordred.Will war?
Mordred.Will war?
Conan.That lies in chance.
Conan.That lies in chance.
Mordred.I have as great a share in chance as he.
Mordred.I have as great a share in chance as he.
Conan.His ways be blind that maketh chance his guide.
Conan.His ways be blind that maketh chance his guide.
Mordred.Whose refuge lies in chance, what dares he not?
Mordred.Whose refuge lies in chance, what dares he not?
Conan.Wars were a crime far worse than all the rest.
Conan.Wars were a crime far worse than all the rest.
Mordred.The safest passage is from bad to worse.
Mordred.The safest passage is from bad to worse.
Conan.That were to pass too far and put no mean.
Conan.That were to pass too far and put no mean.
Mordred.He is a fool that puts a mean in crimes.
Mordred.He is a fool that puts a mean in crimes.
Conan.But sword and fire would cause a common wound.
Conan.But sword and fire would cause a common wound.
Mordred.So sword and fire will often sear the sore.
Mordred.So sword and fire will often sear the sore.
Conan.Extremest cures must not be used first.
Conan.Extremest cures must not be used first.
Mordred.In desperate times the headlong way is best.
Mordred.In desperate times the headlong way is best.
Conan.Y’ have many foes.
Conan.Y’ have many foes.
Mordred.No more than faithful friends.
Mordred.No more than faithful friends.
Conan.Trust t’ it, their faith will faint, where fortune fails.Where many men pretend a love to one,Whose power may do what good or harm he will,’Tis hard to say which be his faithful friends.Dame Flattery flitteth oft: she loves and hatesWith time, a present friend, an absent foe.
Conan.Trust t’ it, their faith will faint, where fortune fails.
Where many men pretend a love to one,
Whose power may do what good or harm he will,
’Tis hard to say which be his faithful friends.
Dame Flattery flitteth oft: she loves and hates
With time, a present friend, an absent foe.
Mordred.But yet I’ll hope the best.[258]
Mordred.But yet I’ll hope the best.[258]
Conan.Even then you fearThe worst: fears follow hopes, as fumes do flames.Mischief is sometimes safe, but ne’er secure.The wrongful sceptre’s held with trembling hand.
Conan.Even then you fear
The worst: fears follow hopes, as fumes do flames.
Mischief is sometimes safe, but ne’er secure.
The wrongful sceptre’s held with trembling hand.
Mordred.Whose rule wants right, his safety’s in his sword;For sword and sceptre comes to kings at once.
Mordred.Whose rule wants right, his safety’s in his sword;
For sword and sceptre comes to kings at once.
Conan.The kingliest point is to affect but right.
Conan.The kingliest point is to affect but right.
Mordred.Weak is the sceptre’s hold that seeks but right.The care whereof hath danger’d many crowns.As much as water differeth from the fire,So much man’s profit jars from what is just.A free recourse to wrong doth oft secureThe doubtful seat, and plucks down many a foeThe sword must seldom cease: a sovereign’s handIs scantly safe, but whiles it smites. Let himUsurp no crown that likes a guiltless life:Aspiring power and justice seld agree.He always fears that shames to offer wrong.
Mordred.Weak is the sceptre’s hold that seeks but right.
The care whereof hath danger’d many crowns.
As much as water differeth from the fire,
So much man’s profit jars from what is just.
A free recourse to wrong doth oft secure
The doubtful seat, and plucks down many a foe
The sword must seldom cease: a sovereign’s hand
Is scantly safe, but whiles it smites. Let him
Usurp no crown that likes a guiltless life:
Aspiring power and justice seld agree.
He always fears that shames to offer wrong.
Conan.What son would use such wrong against his sire?
Conan.What son would use such wrong against his sire?
Mordred.Come, son, come, sire, I first prefer myself;And since a wrong must be, then it excelsWhen ’tis to gain a crown. I hate a peer:I loathe, I irk, I do detest a head.B’ it nature, be it reason, be it pride,I love to rule! my mind, nor with, nor by,Nor after any claims, but chief and first!
Mordred.Come, son, come, sire, I first prefer myself;
And since a wrong must be, then it excels
When ’tis to gain a crown. I hate a peer:
I loathe, I irk, I do detest a head.
B’ it nature, be it reason, be it pride,
I love to rule! my mind, nor with, nor by,
Nor after any claims, but chief and first!
Conan.But think what fame and grievous bruits would runOf such disloyal and unjust attempts.
Conan.But think what fame and grievous bruits would run
Of such disloyal and unjust attempts.
Mordred.Fame goes not with our ghosts: the senseless soul,Once gone, neglects what vulgar bruit reports.She is both light and vain.
Mordred.Fame goes not with our ghosts: the senseless soul,
Once gone, neglects what vulgar bruit reports.
She is both light and vain.
Conan.She noteth, though.
Conan.She noteth, though.
Mordred.She feareth states.[259]
Mordred.She feareth states.[259]
Conan.She carpeth, ne’ertheless.
Conan.She carpeth, ne’ertheless.
Mordred.She’s soon suppress’d.
Mordred.She’s soon suppress’d.
Conan.As soon she springs again.Tongues are untam’d and fame is envy’s dog,That absent barks, and present fawns as fast.It fearing dares, and yet hath never done,But dures: though death redeem us all from foesBesides, yet death redeems us not from tongues.[260]
Conan.As soon she springs again.
Tongues are untam’d and fame is envy’s dog,
That absent barks, and present fawns as fast.
It fearing dares, and yet hath never done,
But dures: though death redeem us all from foes
Besides, yet death redeems us not from tongues.[260]
Mordred.Ere Arthur land, the sea shall blush with blood,And all the strands with smoking slaughters reek.Now (Mars) protect me in my first attempt!If Mordred scape, this realm shall want no wars.[Exeunt.
Mordred.Ere Arthur land, the sea shall blush with blood,
And all the strands with smoking slaughters reek.
Now (Mars) protect me in my first attempt!
If Mordred scape, this realm shall want no wars.
[Exeunt.
Chorus.
1.
See here the drifts of Gorlois, Cornish Duke,And deep desire to shake his sovereign’s throne.How foul his fall, how bitter his rebuke,Whiles wife, and weal, and life, and all be gone!He now in hell tormented wants that good.Lo, lo, the end of traitorous bones and blood!
See here the drifts of Gorlois, Cornish Duke,
And deep desire to shake his sovereign’s throne.
How foul his fall, how bitter his rebuke,
Whiles wife, and weal, and life, and all be gone!
He now in hell tormented wants that good.
Lo, lo, the end of traitorous bones and blood!
2.
Pendragon broil’d with flames of filthy fires,By Merlin’s mists enjoy’d Igerna’s bed:Next spoiled Gorlois, doubling his desires;Then was himself through force of poison sped.Who sows in sin, in sin shall reap his pain:The doom is sworn: death guerdons death again.
Pendragon broil’d with flames of filthy fires,
By Merlin’s mists enjoy’d Igerna’s bed:
Next spoiled Gorlois, doubling his desires;
Then was himself through force of poison sped.
Who sows in sin, in sin shall reap his pain:
The doom is sworn: death guerdons death again.
3.
Whiles Arthur wars abroad and reaps renown,Guenevera prefers his son’s desire;And traitorous Mordred still usurps the crown,Affording fuel to her quenchless fire,But death’s too good, and life too sweet for these,That wanting both should taste of neither’s ease.
Whiles Arthur wars abroad and reaps renown,
Guenevera prefers his son’s desire;
And traitorous Mordred still usurps the crown,
Affording fuel to her quenchless fire,
But death’s too good, and life too sweet for these,
That wanting both should taste of neither’s ease.
4.
In Rome the gaping gulf would not decrease,Till Curtius corse had closed her yearning jaws:In Thebes the rot and murrain would not cease,Till Laius brood had paid for breach of laws:In Britain wars and discord will not stent,Till Uther’s line and offspring quite be spent.
In Rome the gaping gulf would not decrease,
Till Curtius corse had closed her yearning jaws:
In Thebes the rot and murrain would not cease,
Till Laius brood had paid for breach of laws:
In Britain wars and discord will not stent,
Till Uther’s line and offspring quite be spent.
The Argument of the Second Act.
1. In the first scene a Nuntio declareth the success of Arthur’s wars in France, and Mordred’s foil, that resisted his landing.
2. In the second scene, Mordred enraged at the overthrow voweth a second battle; notwithstanding Conan’s dissuasion to the contrary.
3. In the third scene, Gawin (brother to Mordred by the mother) [comes] with an herald from Arthur to imparley of peace, but after some debate thereof, peace is rejected.
4. In the fourth scene, the King of Ireland and other foreign princes assure Mordred of their assistance against Arthur.
The Argument and Manner of the Second Dumb-Show.
Whiles the music sounded, there came out of Mordred’s house a man stately attired, representing a king who, walking once about the stage, then out of the house appointed for Arthur there came three Nymphs apparelled accordingly, the first holding a Cornucopia in her hand, the second a golden branch of olive, the third a sheaf of corn. These orderly, one after another, offered these presents to the king, who scornfully refused: a second after which there came a man bareheaded, with long black shagged hair down to his shoulders, apparelled with an Irish jacket and shirt, having an Irish dagger by his side, and a dart in his hand. Who first with a threatening countenance looking about, and then spying the king, did furiously chase and drive him into Mordred’s house. The king represented Mordred; the three Nymphs with their proffers the treaty of peace, for the which Arthur sent Gawin with an herald unto Mordred, who rejected it: the Irishman signified Revenge and Fury, which Mordred conceived after his foil on the shores, whereunto Mordred headlong yieldeth himself.
THE SECOND ACT AND FIRST SCENE.
Nuntius.
Nuntius.Lo, here at length the stately type of Troy,And Britain land the promis’d seat of Brute,Deck’d with so many spoils of conquered kings!Hail, native soil, these nine years’ space unseen!To thee hath long-renowned Rome at lastHeld up her hands, bereft of former pomp.But first, inflam’d with wonted valour’s heat,Amidst our sorest siege and thickest broilsShe stoutly fought, and fiercely waged wars.Tiberius courage gave, upbraiding oftThe Roman force, their wonted luck, and longRetained rule by wars throughout the world.What shame it were since such achieved spoils,And conquests gain’d both far and wide, to wantOf courage then, when most it should be mov’d!How Britons erst paid tribute for their peace,But now rebel and dare them at their doors.For what was France but theirs? Herewith incens’d,They fiercely rav’d, and bent their force afresh.Which Arthur spying, cried with thundering voice;Fie (Britons) fie! what hath bewitch’d you thus?So many nations foil’d, must Romans foil?What sloth is this? Have you forgot to war,Which ne’er knew hour of peace? turn to your foes,Where you may bathe in blood and fight your fill.Let courage work! what can he not that dares?Thus he, [the] puissant guide in doubtful wars,Asham’d to shun his foes, inflam’d his friends.Then yielding to his stately steed the reins,He furious drives the Roman troops about:He plies each place, lest fates mought alter ought,Pursuing hap, and urging each success.He yields in nought, but instantly persists,In all attempts, wherein whatso withstandsHis wish, he joys to work away by wrack;And matching death to death, no passage seeksBut what destruction works with blade or blood.He scorns the yielded way; he fiercely ravesTo break and bruise the ranks in thickest throngs,All headlong bent and prone to present spoil.The foes enforc’d withstand; but much dismay’dThey senseless fight, while millions lose their lives.At length Tiberius, pierc’d with point of spear,Doth bleeding fall, engor’d with deadly wound.Hereat the rest recoil and headlong fly,Each man to save himself. The battle quails,And Britons win unto their most renown.Then Arthur took Tiberius’ breathless corse,And sent it to the Senators at Rome,With charge to say: This is the tribute dueWhich Arthur ought: as time hereafter serves;He’ll pay the like again, the while he restsYour debtor thus. But O! this sweet success,Pursu’d with greater harms, turn’d soon to sour.For lo, when foreign soils and seas were pastWith safe return, and that the king should land,Who but his only son (O outrage rare)With hugy host withstood him on the shore!There were prepar’d the foreign aids from far:There were the borrowed powers of divers kings;There were our parents, brethren, sons and kin,Their wrath, their ire; there, Mordred, was thy rage.Where erst we sought abroad for foes to foil,Behold, our Fates had sent us foes unsought.When foreign realms supplanted want supply,O blessed home, that hath such boon in store!But let this part of Arthur’s prowess lurk,Nor let it e’er appear by my report,What monstrous mischiefs rage in civil wars.O, rather let due tears and wailings want!Let all in silence sink what hence ensu’d.What best deserveth mention here is this:That Mordred vanquish’d trusted to his flight,That Arthur eachwhere victor is return’d.And lo, where Mordred comes with heavy head:He wields no slender weight that wields a crown.[Exit.
Nuntius.Lo, here at length the stately type of Troy,
And Britain land the promis’d seat of Brute,
Deck’d with so many spoils of conquered kings!
Hail, native soil, these nine years’ space unseen!
To thee hath long-renowned Rome at last
Held up her hands, bereft of former pomp.
But first, inflam’d with wonted valour’s heat,
Amidst our sorest siege and thickest broils
She stoutly fought, and fiercely waged wars.
Tiberius courage gave, upbraiding oft
The Roman force, their wonted luck, and long
Retained rule by wars throughout the world.
What shame it were since such achieved spoils,
And conquests gain’d both far and wide, to want
Of courage then, when most it should be mov’d!
How Britons erst paid tribute for their peace,
But now rebel and dare them at their doors.
For what was France but theirs? Herewith incens’d,
They fiercely rav’d, and bent their force afresh.
Which Arthur spying, cried with thundering voice;
Fie (Britons) fie! what hath bewitch’d you thus?
So many nations foil’d, must Romans foil?
What sloth is this? Have you forgot to war,
Which ne’er knew hour of peace? turn to your foes,
Where you may bathe in blood and fight your fill.
Let courage work! what can he not that dares?
Thus he, [the] puissant guide in doubtful wars,
Asham’d to shun his foes, inflam’d his friends.
Then yielding to his stately steed the reins,
He furious drives the Roman troops about:
He plies each place, lest fates mought alter ought,
Pursuing hap, and urging each success.
He yields in nought, but instantly persists,
In all attempts, wherein whatso withstands
His wish, he joys to work away by wrack;
And matching death to death, no passage seeks
But what destruction works with blade or blood.
He scorns the yielded way; he fiercely raves
To break and bruise the ranks in thickest throngs,
All headlong bent and prone to present spoil.
The foes enforc’d withstand; but much dismay’d
They senseless fight, while millions lose their lives.
At length Tiberius, pierc’d with point of spear,
Doth bleeding fall, engor’d with deadly wound.
Hereat the rest recoil and headlong fly,
Each man to save himself. The battle quails,
And Britons win unto their most renown.
Then Arthur took Tiberius’ breathless corse,
And sent it to the Senators at Rome,
With charge to say: This is the tribute due
Which Arthur ought: as time hereafter serves;
He’ll pay the like again, the while he rests
Your debtor thus. But O! this sweet success,
Pursu’d with greater harms, turn’d soon to sour.
For lo, when foreign soils and seas were past
With safe return, and that the king should land,
Who but his only son (O outrage rare)
With hugy host withstood him on the shore!
There were prepar’d the foreign aids from far:
There were the borrowed powers of divers kings;
There were our parents, brethren, sons and kin,
Their wrath, their ire; there, Mordred, was thy rage.
Where erst we sought abroad for foes to foil,
Behold, our Fates had sent us foes unsought.
When foreign realms supplanted want supply,
O blessed home, that hath such boon in store!
But let this part of Arthur’s prowess lurk,
Nor let it e’er appear by my report,
What monstrous mischiefs rage in civil wars.
O, rather let due tears and wailings want!
Let all in silence sink what hence ensu’d.
What best deserveth mention here is this:
That Mordred vanquish’d trusted to his flight,
That Arthur eachwhere victor is return’d.
And lo, where Mordred comes with heavy head:
He wields no slender weight that wields a crown.
[Exit.
THE SECOND SCENE.
Mordred,Conan.
Mordred.And hath he won? Be strands and shores possessed?Is Mordred foil’d? the realm is yet unwon,And Mordred lives, reserv’d for Arthur’s death!Well, ’twas my first conflict: I knew not yetWhat wars requir’d: but now my sword is flesh’d,And taught to gore and bathe in hottest blood.Then think not, Arthur, that the crown is won!Thy first success may rue our next assault;Even at our next encounter (hap when ’twill)I vow by heaven, by earth, by hell, by all,That either thou or I, or both shall die!Conan.Nought should be rashly vow’d against your sire.Mordred.Whose breast is free from rage may soon b’ advised.Conan.The best redress from rage is to relent.Mordred.’Tis better for a king to kill his foes.Conan.So that the subjects also judge them foes.Mordred.The subjects must not judge their king’s decrees.Conan.The subjects’ force is great.Mordred.[261]Greater the king’s.Conan.The more you may, the more you ought to fear.Mordred.He is a fool that feareth what he may.Conan.Not what you may, but what you ought, is just.Mordred.He that amongst so many so unjustSeeks to be just, seeks peril to himself.Conan.A greater peril comes by breach of laws.Mordred.The laws do licence as the sovereign lists.Conan.Least ought he list, whom laws do licence most.Mordred.Imperial power abhors to be restrain’d.Conan.As much do meaner grooms[262]to be compell’d.Mordred.The fates have heav’d and rais’d my force on high.Conan.The gentler should you press those that are low.Mordred.I would be fear’d.Conan.The cause why subjects hate.Mordred.A kingdom’s kept by fear.Conan.And lost by hate.He fears as man[y] himself whom many fear.Mordred.The timorous subject dares attempt no change.Conan.What dares not desperate dread?Mordred.[263]What? torture, threats.Conan.O spare! ’twere safer to be lov’d.Mordred.As safe to be obey’d.Conan.Whiles you command but well.Mordred.Where rulers dare command but what is well,Pow’r is but prayer, commandment but request.Conan.If pow’r be join’d with right, men must obey.Mordred.My will must go for right.Conan.If they assent.Mordred.My sword shall force assent.Conan.No, gods forbid!Mordred.What! shall I stand, whiles Arthur sheds my blood?And must I yield my neck unto the axe?Whom fates constrain, let him forego his bliss;But he that needless yields unto his bane,When he may shun, doth well deserve to loseThe good he cannot use. Who would sustainA baser life, that may maintain the best?We cannot part the crown: a regal throneIs not for two: the sceptre fits but one.But whether is the fitter of us two,That must our swords discern, and shortly shall.Conan.How much were you to be renowned more,If casting off these ruinous attempts,You would take care how to supply the loss,Which former wars and foreign broils have wrought;How to deserve the people’s hearts with peace,With quiet rest and deep-desired easeNot to increase the rage that long hath reign’d,Nor to destroy the realm you seek to rule.Your father rear’d it up, you pluck it down.You lose your country, whiles you win it thus:To make it yours, you strive to make it none.Where kings impose too much, the commons grudge;[264]Good-will withdraws; assent becomes but slow.Mordred.Must I to gain renown incur my plague,Or hoping praise sustain an exile’s life?Must I for country’s ease disease myself,Or for their love despise my own estate?[265]No. ’Tis my hap that Britain serves my turn;That fear of me doth make the subjects crouch;That what they grudge they do constrained yield.If their assents be slow, my wrath is swift:When favour fails to bend, let fury break.If they be yet to learn, let terror teach,What kings may do, what subjects ought to bear.Then is a kingdom at a wished stay,When whatsoever the sovereign wills or nills,Men be compell’d as well to praise as bear,And subjects’ wills enforc’d against their wills.Conan.But whoso seeks true praise and just renown,Would rather seek their praising hearts than tongues.Mordred.True praise may happen to the basest groom;A forced praise to none but to a prince.I wish that most, that subjects most repine.Conan.But yet where wars do threaten your estate,There needeth friends to fortify your crown.Mordred.Each crown is made of that attractive mould,That of itself it draws a full defence.Conan.That is a just and no usurped crown;And better were an exile’s life, than thusDisloyally to wrong your sire and liege.Think not that impious crimes can prosper long:A time they ’scape, in time they be repaid.Mordred.The hugest crimes bring best success to some.Conan.Those some be rare.Mordred.Why may not I be rare?Conan.It was their hap.Mordred.It is my hope.Conan.But hope may miss, where hap doth hurl.Mordred.So hap may hit, where hope doth aim.Conan.But hap is last, and rules the stern.Mordred.So hope is first, and hoists the sail.Conan.Yet fear; the first and last do seld agree.Mordred.Nay, dare; the first and last have many means.But cease at length; your speech molests me much.My mind is fix’d: give Mordred leave to doWhat Conan neither can allow nor like.Conan.But lo, an Herald sent from Arthur’s host.Gods grant his message may portend our good.[266]
Mordred.And hath he won? Be strands and shores possessed?Is Mordred foil’d? the realm is yet unwon,And Mordred lives, reserv’d for Arthur’s death!Well, ’twas my first conflict: I knew not yetWhat wars requir’d: but now my sword is flesh’d,And taught to gore and bathe in hottest blood.Then think not, Arthur, that the crown is won!Thy first success may rue our next assault;Even at our next encounter (hap when ’twill)I vow by heaven, by earth, by hell, by all,That either thou or I, or both shall die!
Mordred.And hath he won? Be strands and shores possessed?
Is Mordred foil’d? the realm is yet unwon,
And Mordred lives, reserv’d for Arthur’s death!
Well, ’twas my first conflict: I knew not yet
What wars requir’d: but now my sword is flesh’d,
And taught to gore and bathe in hottest blood.
Then think not, Arthur, that the crown is won!
Thy first success may rue our next assault;
Even at our next encounter (hap when ’twill)
I vow by heaven, by earth, by hell, by all,
That either thou or I, or both shall die!
Conan.Nought should be rashly vow’d against your sire.
Conan.Nought should be rashly vow’d against your sire.
Mordred.Whose breast is free from rage may soon b’ advised.
Mordred.Whose breast is free from rage may soon b’ advised.
Conan.The best redress from rage is to relent.
Conan.The best redress from rage is to relent.
Mordred.’Tis better for a king to kill his foes.
Mordred.’Tis better for a king to kill his foes.
Conan.So that the subjects also judge them foes.
Conan.So that the subjects also judge them foes.
Mordred.The subjects must not judge their king’s decrees.
Mordred.The subjects must not judge their king’s decrees.
Conan.The subjects’ force is great.
Conan.The subjects’ force is great.
Mordred.[261]Greater the king’s.
Mordred.[261]Greater the king’s.
Conan.The more you may, the more you ought to fear.
Conan.The more you may, the more you ought to fear.
Mordred.He is a fool that feareth what he may.
Mordred.He is a fool that feareth what he may.
Conan.Not what you may, but what you ought, is just.
Conan.Not what you may, but what you ought, is just.
Mordred.He that amongst so many so unjustSeeks to be just, seeks peril to himself.
Mordred.He that amongst so many so unjust
Seeks to be just, seeks peril to himself.
Conan.A greater peril comes by breach of laws.
Conan.A greater peril comes by breach of laws.
Mordred.The laws do licence as the sovereign lists.
Mordred.The laws do licence as the sovereign lists.
Conan.Least ought he list, whom laws do licence most.
Conan.Least ought he list, whom laws do licence most.
Mordred.Imperial power abhors to be restrain’d.
Mordred.Imperial power abhors to be restrain’d.
Conan.As much do meaner grooms[262]to be compell’d.
Conan.As much do meaner grooms[262]to be compell’d.
Mordred.The fates have heav’d and rais’d my force on high.
Mordred.The fates have heav’d and rais’d my force on high.
Conan.The gentler should you press those that are low.
Conan.The gentler should you press those that are low.
Mordred.I would be fear’d.
Mordred.I would be fear’d.
Conan.The cause why subjects hate.
Conan.The cause why subjects hate.
Mordred.A kingdom’s kept by fear.
Mordred.A kingdom’s kept by fear.
Conan.And lost by hate.He fears as man[y] himself whom many fear.
Conan.And lost by hate.
He fears as man[y] himself whom many fear.
Mordred.The timorous subject dares attempt no change.
Mordred.The timorous subject dares attempt no change.
Conan.What dares not desperate dread?
Conan.What dares not desperate dread?
Mordred.[263]What? torture, threats.
Mordred.[263]What? torture, threats.
Conan.O spare! ’twere safer to be lov’d.
Conan.O spare! ’twere safer to be lov’d.
Mordred.As safe to be obey’d.
Mordred.As safe to be obey’d.
Conan.Whiles you command but well.
Conan.Whiles you command but well.
Mordred.Where rulers dare command but what is well,Pow’r is but prayer, commandment but request.
Mordred.Where rulers dare command but what is well,
Pow’r is but prayer, commandment but request.
Conan.If pow’r be join’d with right, men must obey.
Conan.If pow’r be join’d with right, men must obey.
Mordred.My will must go for right.
Mordred.My will must go for right.
Conan.If they assent.
Conan.If they assent.
Mordred.My sword shall force assent.
Mordred.My sword shall force assent.
Conan.No, gods forbid!
Conan.No, gods forbid!
Mordred.What! shall I stand, whiles Arthur sheds my blood?And must I yield my neck unto the axe?Whom fates constrain, let him forego his bliss;But he that needless yields unto his bane,When he may shun, doth well deserve to loseThe good he cannot use. Who would sustainA baser life, that may maintain the best?We cannot part the crown: a regal throneIs not for two: the sceptre fits but one.But whether is the fitter of us two,That must our swords discern, and shortly shall.
Mordred.What! shall I stand, whiles Arthur sheds my blood?
And must I yield my neck unto the axe?
Whom fates constrain, let him forego his bliss;
But he that needless yields unto his bane,
When he may shun, doth well deserve to lose
The good he cannot use. Who would sustain
A baser life, that may maintain the best?
We cannot part the crown: a regal throne
Is not for two: the sceptre fits but one.
But whether is the fitter of us two,
That must our swords discern, and shortly shall.
Conan.How much were you to be renowned more,If casting off these ruinous attempts,You would take care how to supply the loss,Which former wars and foreign broils have wrought;How to deserve the people’s hearts with peace,With quiet rest and deep-desired easeNot to increase the rage that long hath reign’d,Nor to destroy the realm you seek to rule.Your father rear’d it up, you pluck it down.You lose your country, whiles you win it thus:To make it yours, you strive to make it none.Where kings impose too much, the commons grudge;[264]Good-will withdraws; assent becomes but slow.
Conan.How much were you to be renowned more,
If casting off these ruinous attempts,
You would take care how to supply the loss,
Which former wars and foreign broils have wrought;
How to deserve the people’s hearts with peace,
With quiet rest and deep-desired ease
Not to increase the rage that long hath reign’d,
Nor to destroy the realm you seek to rule.
Your father rear’d it up, you pluck it down.
You lose your country, whiles you win it thus:
To make it yours, you strive to make it none.
Where kings impose too much, the commons grudge;[264]
Good-will withdraws; assent becomes but slow.
Mordred.Must I to gain renown incur my plague,Or hoping praise sustain an exile’s life?Must I for country’s ease disease myself,Or for their love despise my own estate?[265]No. ’Tis my hap that Britain serves my turn;That fear of me doth make the subjects crouch;That what they grudge they do constrained yield.If their assents be slow, my wrath is swift:When favour fails to bend, let fury break.If they be yet to learn, let terror teach,What kings may do, what subjects ought to bear.Then is a kingdom at a wished stay,When whatsoever the sovereign wills or nills,Men be compell’d as well to praise as bear,And subjects’ wills enforc’d against their wills.
Mordred.Must I to gain renown incur my plague,
Or hoping praise sustain an exile’s life?
Must I for country’s ease disease myself,
Or for their love despise my own estate?[265]
No. ’Tis my hap that Britain serves my turn;
That fear of me doth make the subjects crouch;
That what they grudge they do constrained yield.
If their assents be slow, my wrath is swift:
When favour fails to bend, let fury break.
If they be yet to learn, let terror teach,
What kings may do, what subjects ought to bear.
Then is a kingdom at a wished stay,
When whatsoever the sovereign wills or nills,
Men be compell’d as well to praise as bear,
And subjects’ wills enforc’d against their wills.
Conan.But whoso seeks true praise and just renown,Would rather seek their praising hearts than tongues.
Conan.But whoso seeks true praise and just renown,
Would rather seek their praising hearts than tongues.
Mordred.True praise may happen to the basest groom;A forced praise to none but to a prince.I wish that most, that subjects most repine.
Mordred.True praise may happen to the basest groom;
A forced praise to none but to a prince.
I wish that most, that subjects most repine.
Conan.But yet where wars do threaten your estate,There needeth friends to fortify your crown.
Conan.But yet where wars do threaten your estate,
There needeth friends to fortify your crown.
Mordred.Each crown is made of that attractive mould,That of itself it draws a full defence.
Mordred.Each crown is made of that attractive mould,
That of itself it draws a full defence.
Conan.That is a just and no usurped crown;And better were an exile’s life, than thusDisloyally to wrong your sire and liege.Think not that impious crimes can prosper long:A time they ’scape, in time they be repaid.
Conan.That is a just and no usurped crown;
And better were an exile’s life, than thus
Disloyally to wrong your sire and liege.
Think not that impious crimes can prosper long:
A time they ’scape, in time they be repaid.
Mordred.The hugest crimes bring best success to some.
Mordred.The hugest crimes bring best success to some.
Conan.Those some be rare.
Conan.Those some be rare.
Mordred.Why may not I be rare?
Mordred.Why may not I be rare?
Conan.It was their hap.
Conan.It was their hap.
Mordred.It is my hope.
Mordred.It is my hope.
Conan.But hope may miss, where hap doth hurl.
Conan.But hope may miss, where hap doth hurl.
Mordred.So hap may hit, where hope doth aim.
Mordred.So hap may hit, where hope doth aim.
Conan.But hap is last, and rules the stern.
Conan.But hap is last, and rules the stern.
Mordred.So hope is first, and hoists the sail.
Mordred.So hope is first, and hoists the sail.
Conan.Yet fear; the first and last do seld agree.
Conan.Yet fear; the first and last do seld agree.
Mordred.Nay, dare; the first and last have many means.But cease at length; your speech molests me much.My mind is fix’d: give Mordred leave to doWhat Conan neither can allow nor like.
Mordred.Nay, dare; the first and last have many means.
But cease at length; your speech molests me much.
My mind is fix’d: give Mordred leave to do
What Conan neither can allow nor like.
Conan.But lo, an Herald sent from Arthur’s host.Gods grant his message may portend our good.[266]
Conan.But lo, an Herald sent from Arthur’s host.
Gods grant his message may portend our good.[266]
THE THIRD SCENE.
Herald,Gawin,Mordred.
Herald.Your sire, O Prince, considering what distressThe realm sustains by both your mutual wars,Hath sent your brother Gawin, Alban king,To treat of truce, and to imparle of peace.Mordred.Speak, brother: what commandment sends our sire?What message do you bring? My life or death?Gawin.A message far unmeet, most needful tho’.The sire commands not where the son rebels:His love descends too deep to wish your death.Mordred.And mine ascends too high to wish his life.Gawin.Yet thus he off’reth. Though your faults be greatAnd most disloyal, to his deep abuse,Yet yield yourself, he’ll be as prone to grace,As you to ruth—an uncle, sire, and liege.And fitter were your due submission done,Than wrongful wars to reave his right and realm.Mordred.It is my fault that he doth want his right:It is his own to vex the realm with wars.Gawin.It is his right that he attempts to seek:It is your wrong that driveth him thereto.Mordred.’Tis his insatiate mind, that is not so content,Which hath so many kingdoms more besides.Gawin.The more you ought to tremble at his pow’r.Mordred.The greater is my conquest, if I win.Gawin.The more your foil, if you should hap to lose:For Arthur’s fame and valour’s such, as youShould rather imitate, or at the leastEnvy, if hope of better fancies fail’d:For whereas envy reigns, though it repines,Yet doth it fear a greater than itself.Mordred.He that envies the valour of his foe,Detects a want of valour in himself.He fondly fights that fights with such a foe,Where ’twere a shame to lose, no praise to win;But with a famous foe succeed what will,To win is great renown, to lose less foil.His conquests, were they more, dismay me not:The oft’ner they have been, the more they threat:No danger can be thought both safe and oft;And who hath oft’ner waged wars than he?Escapes secure him not: he owes the price:Whom chance hath often miss’d, chance hits at length;Or if that chance have furthered his success,So may she mine, for chance hath made me king.Gawin.As chance hath made you king, so chance may change.Provide for peace: that’s it the highest peers,No state except, even conquerors, ought to seek.Remember Arthur’s strength, his conquests late,His fiery mind, his high-aspiring heart.Mark then the odds: he expert, you untried;He ripe, you green. Yield you, whiles yet you may;He will not yield: he wins his peace with wars.Mordred.If chance may change, his chance was last to win;The likelier now to lose. His haughty heartAnd mind I know: I feel mine own no less.As for his strength and skill, I leave to hap:Where many meet, it lies not all in one.What though he vanquish’d have the Roman troops,That boots him not: himself is vanquish’d here.Then weigh your words again: if conquerors oughtTo seek for peace, the conquered must perforce.But he’ll not yield; he’ll purchase peace with wars.Well, yield that will; I neither will nor can.Come peace, come wars, choose him; my danger’s his,His safety mine: our states do stand alike.If peace be good, as good for him as me;If wars be good, as good for me as him.Gawin.What cursed wars (alas) were those, whereinBoth son and sire should so oppose themselves!Him whom you now, unhappy man, pursue,If you should win, yourself would first bewail.Give him his crown: to keep it peril breeds.Mordred.The crown I’ll keep myself, ensue what will.Death must be once; how soon, I least respect.He best provides that can beware in time,Not why nor when, but whence and where he falls.What fool, to live a year or twain in rest,Would lose the state and honour of a crown?Gawin.Consider then your father’s grief and want,Whom you bereave of kingdom, realm, and crown,Mordred.Trust me, a huge and mighty kingdom ’tisTo bear the want of kingdom, realm, and crown.Gawin.A common want, which works each worlding’s woe:That many have too much, but none enough.It were his praise could he be so content,Which makes you guilty of the greater wrong.Wherefore think on the doubtful state of wars.Where Mars hath sway, he keeps no certain course:Sometimes he lets the weaker to prevail,Sometimes the stronger troops: hope, fear, and rageWith eyeless lot rules all uncertain good,Most certain harms be his assured haps.No luck can last; now here, now there it lights:No state alike, chance blindly snatcheth all,And fortune maketh guilty whom she lists.Mordred.Since therefore fear and hope, and hap in wars,Be all obscure, till their success be seen,Your speech doth rather drive me on to try,And trust them all, mine only refuge now.Gawin.And fear you not so strange and uncouth wars?Mordred.No, were they wars that grew from out the ground!Gawin.Nor yet your sire so huge, yourself so small?Mordred.The smallest axe may fell the hugest oak.Gawin.Nor that, in felling him, yourself may fall?Mordred.He falleth well, that falling fells his foe.Gawin.Nor common chance, whereto each man is thrall?Mordred.Small manhood were to turn my back to chance.Gawin.Nor that, if chance afflict, kings brook it not?Mordred.I bear no breast so unprepar’d for harms.Even that I hold the kingliest point of all,To brook afflictions well: and by how muchThe more his state and tottering empire sags,To fix so much the faster foot on ground.No fear but doth forejudge, and many fallInto their fate, whiles they do fear their fate.Where courage quails, the fear exceeds the harm:Yea, worse than war itself is fear of war.[267]Gawin.War seemeth sweet to such as have not tried;[268]But wisdom wills we should forecast the worse.The end allows the act: that plot is wise,That knows his means, and least relies on chance.Eschew the course where error lurks; there growsBut grief where pain is spent, no hope to speed.Strive not above your strength; for where your forceIs overmatch’d with your attempts, it faints,And fruitless leaves what bootless it began.Mordred.All things are rul’d in constant course: no fateBut is foreset: the first day leads the last.No wisdom then, but difference in conceit,Which works in many men as many minds.You love the mean, and follow virtue’s race:I like the top, and aim at greater bliss.You rest content: my mind aspires to more.In brief, you fear, I hope; you doubt, I dare.Since, then, the sagest counsels are but strifes,Where equal wits may wrest each side alike,Let counsel go: my purpose must proceed.Each likes his course, mine own doth like me best.Wherefore, ere Arthur breathe or gather strength,Assault we him, lest he assault us first.He either must destroy, or be destroy’d:The mischief’s in the midst; catch he that can.Gawin.But will no reason rule that desperate mind?Mordred.A fickle mind that every reason rules!I rest resolv’d, and to my sire say thus:—If here he stay but three days to an end,And not forthwith discharge his band and host,’Tis Mordred’s oath, assure himself to die.But if he find his courage so to serve,As for to stand to his defence with force,In Cornwall, if he dare, I’ll try it out.Gawin.O strange contempt! like as the craggy rockResists the streams and flings the waltering wavesAloof, so he rejects and scorns my words.[Exit.[269]
Herald.Your sire, O Prince, considering what distressThe realm sustains by both your mutual wars,Hath sent your brother Gawin, Alban king,To treat of truce, and to imparle of peace.
Herald.Your sire, O Prince, considering what distress
The realm sustains by both your mutual wars,
Hath sent your brother Gawin, Alban king,
To treat of truce, and to imparle of peace.
Mordred.Speak, brother: what commandment sends our sire?What message do you bring? My life or death?
Mordred.Speak, brother: what commandment sends our sire?
What message do you bring? My life or death?
Gawin.A message far unmeet, most needful tho’.The sire commands not where the son rebels:His love descends too deep to wish your death.
Gawin.A message far unmeet, most needful tho’.
The sire commands not where the son rebels:
His love descends too deep to wish your death.
Mordred.And mine ascends too high to wish his life.
Mordred.And mine ascends too high to wish his life.
Gawin.Yet thus he off’reth. Though your faults be greatAnd most disloyal, to his deep abuse,Yet yield yourself, he’ll be as prone to grace,As you to ruth—an uncle, sire, and liege.And fitter were your due submission done,Than wrongful wars to reave his right and realm.
Gawin.Yet thus he off’reth. Though your faults be great
And most disloyal, to his deep abuse,
Yet yield yourself, he’ll be as prone to grace,
As you to ruth—an uncle, sire, and liege.
And fitter were your due submission done,
Than wrongful wars to reave his right and realm.
Mordred.It is my fault that he doth want his right:It is his own to vex the realm with wars.
Mordred.It is my fault that he doth want his right:
It is his own to vex the realm with wars.
Gawin.It is his right that he attempts to seek:It is your wrong that driveth him thereto.
Gawin.It is his right that he attempts to seek:
It is your wrong that driveth him thereto.
Mordred.’Tis his insatiate mind, that is not so content,Which hath so many kingdoms more besides.
Mordred.’Tis his insatiate mind, that is not so content,
Which hath so many kingdoms more besides.
Gawin.The more you ought to tremble at his pow’r.
Gawin.The more you ought to tremble at his pow’r.
Mordred.The greater is my conquest, if I win.
Mordred.The greater is my conquest, if I win.
Gawin.The more your foil, if you should hap to lose:For Arthur’s fame and valour’s such, as youShould rather imitate, or at the leastEnvy, if hope of better fancies fail’d:For whereas envy reigns, though it repines,Yet doth it fear a greater than itself.
Gawin.The more your foil, if you should hap to lose:
For Arthur’s fame and valour’s such, as you
Should rather imitate, or at the least
Envy, if hope of better fancies fail’d:
For whereas envy reigns, though it repines,
Yet doth it fear a greater than itself.
Mordred.He that envies the valour of his foe,Detects a want of valour in himself.He fondly fights that fights with such a foe,Where ’twere a shame to lose, no praise to win;But with a famous foe succeed what will,To win is great renown, to lose less foil.His conquests, were they more, dismay me not:The oft’ner they have been, the more they threat:No danger can be thought both safe and oft;And who hath oft’ner waged wars than he?Escapes secure him not: he owes the price:Whom chance hath often miss’d, chance hits at length;Or if that chance have furthered his success,So may she mine, for chance hath made me king.
Mordred.He that envies the valour of his foe,
Detects a want of valour in himself.
He fondly fights that fights with such a foe,
Where ’twere a shame to lose, no praise to win;
But with a famous foe succeed what will,
To win is great renown, to lose less foil.
His conquests, were they more, dismay me not:
The oft’ner they have been, the more they threat:
No danger can be thought both safe and oft;
And who hath oft’ner waged wars than he?
Escapes secure him not: he owes the price:
Whom chance hath often miss’d, chance hits at length;
Or if that chance have furthered his success,
So may she mine, for chance hath made me king.
Gawin.As chance hath made you king, so chance may change.Provide for peace: that’s it the highest peers,No state except, even conquerors, ought to seek.Remember Arthur’s strength, his conquests late,His fiery mind, his high-aspiring heart.Mark then the odds: he expert, you untried;He ripe, you green. Yield you, whiles yet you may;He will not yield: he wins his peace with wars.
Gawin.As chance hath made you king, so chance may change.
Provide for peace: that’s it the highest peers,
No state except, even conquerors, ought to seek.
Remember Arthur’s strength, his conquests late,
His fiery mind, his high-aspiring heart.
Mark then the odds: he expert, you untried;
He ripe, you green. Yield you, whiles yet you may;
He will not yield: he wins his peace with wars.
Mordred.If chance may change, his chance was last to win;The likelier now to lose. His haughty heartAnd mind I know: I feel mine own no less.As for his strength and skill, I leave to hap:Where many meet, it lies not all in one.What though he vanquish’d have the Roman troops,That boots him not: himself is vanquish’d here.Then weigh your words again: if conquerors oughtTo seek for peace, the conquered must perforce.But he’ll not yield; he’ll purchase peace with wars.Well, yield that will; I neither will nor can.Come peace, come wars, choose him; my danger’s his,His safety mine: our states do stand alike.If peace be good, as good for him as me;If wars be good, as good for me as him.
Mordred.If chance may change, his chance was last to win;
The likelier now to lose. His haughty heart
And mind I know: I feel mine own no less.
As for his strength and skill, I leave to hap:
Where many meet, it lies not all in one.
What though he vanquish’d have the Roman troops,
That boots him not: himself is vanquish’d here.
Then weigh your words again: if conquerors ought
To seek for peace, the conquered must perforce.
But he’ll not yield; he’ll purchase peace with wars.
Well, yield that will; I neither will nor can.
Come peace, come wars, choose him; my danger’s his,
His safety mine: our states do stand alike.
If peace be good, as good for him as me;
If wars be good, as good for me as him.
Gawin.What cursed wars (alas) were those, whereinBoth son and sire should so oppose themselves!Him whom you now, unhappy man, pursue,If you should win, yourself would first bewail.Give him his crown: to keep it peril breeds.
Gawin.What cursed wars (alas) were those, wherein
Both son and sire should so oppose themselves!
Him whom you now, unhappy man, pursue,
If you should win, yourself would first bewail.
Give him his crown: to keep it peril breeds.
Mordred.The crown I’ll keep myself, ensue what will.Death must be once; how soon, I least respect.He best provides that can beware in time,Not why nor when, but whence and where he falls.What fool, to live a year or twain in rest,Would lose the state and honour of a crown?
Mordred.The crown I’ll keep myself, ensue what will.
Death must be once; how soon, I least respect.
He best provides that can beware in time,
Not why nor when, but whence and where he falls.
What fool, to live a year or twain in rest,
Would lose the state and honour of a crown?
Gawin.Consider then your father’s grief and want,Whom you bereave of kingdom, realm, and crown,
Gawin.Consider then your father’s grief and want,
Whom you bereave of kingdom, realm, and crown,
Mordred.Trust me, a huge and mighty kingdom ’tisTo bear the want of kingdom, realm, and crown.
Mordred.Trust me, a huge and mighty kingdom ’tis
To bear the want of kingdom, realm, and crown.
Gawin.A common want, which works each worlding’s woe:That many have too much, but none enough.It were his praise could he be so content,Which makes you guilty of the greater wrong.Wherefore think on the doubtful state of wars.Where Mars hath sway, he keeps no certain course:Sometimes he lets the weaker to prevail,Sometimes the stronger troops: hope, fear, and rageWith eyeless lot rules all uncertain good,Most certain harms be his assured haps.No luck can last; now here, now there it lights:No state alike, chance blindly snatcheth all,And fortune maketh guilty whom she lists.
Gawin.A common want, which works each worlding’s woe:
That many have too much, but none enough.
It were his praise could he be so content,
Which makes you guilty of the greater wrong.
Wherefore think on the doubtful state of wars.
Where Mars hath sway, he keeps no certain course:
Sometimes he lets the weaker to prevail,
Sometimes the stronger troops: hope, fear, and rage
With eyeless lot rules all uncertain good,
Most certain harms be his assured haps.
No luck can last; now here, now there it lights:
No state alike, chance blindly snatcheth all,
And fortune maketh guilty whom she lists.
Mordred.Since therefore fear and hope, and hap in wars,Be all obscure, till their success be seen,Your speech doth rather drive me on to try,And trust them all, mine only refuge now.
Mordred.Since therefore fear and hope, and hap in wars,
Be all obscure, till their success be seen,
Your speech doth rather drive me on to try,
And trust them all, mine only refuge now.
Gawin.And fear you not so strange and uncouth wars?
Gawin.And fear you not so strange and uncouth wars?
Mordred.No, were they wars that grew from out the ground!
Mordred.No, were they wars that grew from out the ground!
Gawin.Nor yet your sire so huge, yourself so small?
Gawin.Nor yet your sire so huge, yourself so small?
Mordred.The smallest axe may fell the hugest oak.
Mordred.The smallest axe may fell the hugest oak.
Gawin.Nor that, in felling him, yourself may fall?
Gawin.Nor that, in felling him, yourself may fall?
Mordred.He falleth well, that falling fells his foe.
Mordred.He falleth well, that falling fells his foe.
Gawin.Nor common chance, whereto each man is thrall?
Gawin.Nor common chance, whereto each man is thrall?
Mordred.Small manhood were to turn my back to chance.
Mordred.Small manhood were to turn my back to chance.
Gawin.Nor that, if chance afflict, kings brook it not?
Gawin.Nor that, if chance afflict, kings brook it not?
Mordred.I bear no breast so unprepar’d for harms.Even that I hold the kingliest point of all,To brook afflictions well: and by how muchThe more his state and tottering empire sags,To fix so much the faster foot on ground.No fear but doth forejudge, and many fallInto their fate, whiles they do fear their fate.Where courage quails, the fear exceeds the harm:Yea, worse than war itself is fear of war.[267]
Mordred.I bear no breast so unprepar’d for harms.
Even that I hold the kingliest point of all,
To brook afflictions well: and by how much
The more his state and tottering empire sags,
To fix so much the faster foot on ground.
No fear but doth forejudge, and many fall
Into their fate, whiles they do fear their fate.
Where courage quails, the fear exceeds the harm:
Yea, worse than war itself is fear of war.[267]
Gawin.War seemeth sweet to such as have not tried;[268]But wisdom wills we should forecast the worse.The end allows the act: that plot is wise,That knows his means, and least relies on chance.Eschew the course where error lurks; there growsBut grief where pain is spent, no hope to speed.Strive not above your strength; for where your forceIs overmatch’d with your attempts, it faints,And fruitless leaves what bootless it began.
Gawin.War seemeth sweet to such as have not tried;[268]
But wisdom wills we should forecast the worse.
The end allows the act: that plot is wise,
That knows his means, and least relies on chance.
Eschew the course where error lurks; there grows
But grief where pain is spent, no hope to speed.
Strive not above your strength; for where your force
Is overmatch’d with your attempts, it faints,
And fruitless leaves what bootless it began.
Mordred.All things are rul’d in constant course: no fateBut is foreset: the first day leads the last.No wisdom then, but difference in conceit,Which works in many men as many minds.You love the mean, and follow virtue’s race:I like the top, and aim at greater bliss.You rest content: my mind aspires to more.In brief, you fear, I hope; you doubt, I dare.Since, then, the sagest counsels are but strifes,Where equal wits may wrest each side alike,Let counsel go: my purpose must proceed.Each likes his course, mine own doth like me best.Wherefore, ere Arthur breathe or gather strength,Assault we him, lest he assault us first.He either must destroy, or be destroy’d:The mischief’s in the midst; catch he that can.
Mordred.All things are rul’d in constant course: no fate
But is foreset: the first day leads the last.
No wisdom then, but difference in conceit,
Which works in many men as many minds.
You love the mean, and follow virtue’s race:
I like the top, and aim at greater bliss.
You rest content: my mind aspires to more.
In brief, you fear, I hope; you doubt, I dare.
Since, then, the sagest counsels are but strifes,
Where equal wits may wrest each side alike,
Let counsel go: my purpose must proceed.
Each likes his course, mine own doth like me best.
Wherefore, ere Arthur breathe or gather strength,
Assault we him, lest he assault us first.
He either must destroy, or be destroy’d:
The mischief’s in the midst; catch he that can.
Gawin.But will no reason rule that desperate mind?
Gawin.But will no reason rule that desperate mind?
Mordred.A fickle mind that every reason rules!I rest resolv’d, and to my sire say thus:—If here he stay but three days to an end,And not forthwith discharge his band and host,’Tis Mordred’s oath, assure himself to die.But if he find his courage so to serve,As for to stand to his defence with force,In Cornwall, if he dare, I’ll try it out.
Mordred.A fickle mind that every reason rules!
I rest resolv’d, and to my sire say thus:—
If here he stay but three days to an end,
And not forthwith discharge his band and host,
’Tis Mordred’s oath, assure himself to die.
But if he find his courage so to serve,
As for to stand to his defence with force,
In Cornwall, if he dare, I’ll try it out.
Gawin.O strange contempt! like as the craggy rockResists the streams and flings the waltering wavesAloof, so he rejects and scorns my words.[Exit.[269]
Gawin.O strange contempt! like as the craggy rock
Resists the streams and flings the waltering waves
Aloof, so he rejects and scorns my words.
[Exit.[269]
THE FOURTH SCENE.
Mordred,Gilla,Gillamor,Cheldrichus,Dux Pictorum,Conan.