Chapter II: Act II: SCENE I.--The forest of Bracliande

_Enter_ MERLIN _and_ VIVIEN.

_Merlin._ Tarry we here, for I am fain for rest. [_sinks down._
Oh mighty Slumber, sweet Oblivion,
Make this day night and seal my sleep-ward eyes;
And bear me in thy light and feathery bark
For I am over-weary of this world.

_Vivien._ Give me the book of charms wherein is written
The power whereof that I may guard thy rest.

[_Merlin gives her the book._

_Merlin._ Thou hast poor Merlin on the weaker side.
[_He sleeps._

[VIVIEN _mutters the charm_.

_Vivien._ Sleep! Sleep! [MERLIN _tries to awaken_.

_Merlin._ Ho! Ho! a mountain lieth on me. Take off this mountain!
Ha! Ha! mine olden power, and thou art gone at last!
[_Tries to rise._

_Vivien._ (_Mutters charm._) Sleep! Sleep!

_Merlin._ Methought it thundered, and a drop of rain
Fell on my forehead.

_Vivien._ Sleep! Sleep!
Spirit of slumber, rise from thy dark caves!
[_The spirit of sleep rises up as a
grey mist and looms about._
Wrap him in thy shadowy embrace
And bind him in thy filmy, silken bonds
A thousand ages.

_Merlin._ Oh light, thou goest out! [_Sinks again._

_Vivien._ Come, black Oblivion, from thy shadowy tomb!
[_The spirit of oblivion rises as a black smoke._
Shroud him in thy swart and deep embrace
A thousand ages. Bind his senses fast.
Make him all droppings of a foul decay.
[MERLIN _moans and sinks in sleep_.
[VIVIEN _weaves paces about him. Spirits rise
and wind him in a grey and black smoke_.
Sleep like any rock or clod of earth,
Thou coffin that enclosed a human soul.
The blind, dull years take never note of thee,
For thou art part and parcel of the past.
Now Arthur, that thy great right hand is gone,
Vivien the devil backs to Camelot,
Vivien the scorned, the dust betwixt thy feet,
Doth back to Camelot where vengeance waits.
I am resolved to be the villain dire,
And cunning devil of this present play.
Then hence to Camelot to achieve mine end.
I’ll shadow Mordred, work upon his ill,
And mould him creature to my devil’s will.

[_Curtain._

SCENE II.--_Castle at Camelot._

_Enter_ MORDRED.

_Mordred._ Two roads there are for me in this dark world,
Both shadowed by the gloom of haunted groves.
One leads to quiet and kind nature’s peace.
I’m part inclined to join a brotherhood,
Composed of nature and mine inward thoughts,
And take my shadow from this damnéd court,
Where so much ill begins to lift its head.
The other road leads to no happiness;
But dark ambition--it lowers about my brain,
And hatred at the scorn of human eyes.
Yea, I am half resolved to be a man,
And take a part in this poor shifty world,
And help to pull the ropes behind the scenes
That aid the puppets to their forcéd parts.
Yea, sooth indeed that Vivien hath a devil,
But it is such a sweet and clever devil,
I cannot help but take it to mine arms.
She hath a counsel toward the stormier part.
She puts her little foot on fate’s grim head,
And harks it hiss. I am persuaded much
To make a stir to remedy my wrongs.
And yet my loftier nature cries me no.
Oh! Mordred, what art thou, mis-shapen devil?
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._ 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
A blot on all the beauty of his kind.
Vivien, I would that I were shelved in earth.

_Vivien._ Doubtest thou my love?

_Mordred._ Thou art a strange and subtle human mixture
Of cleverness and charm and swift deceit,
And yet I like thee, though thou voicest me
Upon the evil longings of my nature.
What canst thou love in me?

_Vivien._ Yea all of thee, not thy mis-shapen body,
But thy deep, precious mind, thy spirit rare,
That patent greatness seated on thy brow
Wherefore I’d see thee lift this Arthur down,
And show thy kingship on thy rightful throne.
Thou hast a grievance against this callous world,
If ever man were saddled by grim woe.

_Enter_ LAUNCELOT _at left, followed by_ GUINEVERE.

And here doth come the way as will help thee to it.
[_Pulls_ MORDRED _back into the shadow_.

_Laun._ (_Comes forward followed by_ GUINEVERE.)
My dearest lady why wilt tempt me thus?
Thou art the rightful, wedded spouse of Arthur.

_Guin._ (_Kneels._) Oh! Launcelot thou hast damned me with thy
beauty.
I am no more the rightful wife of Arthur,
I cannot live without thee, Launcelot.

_Laun._ Lady, this stolen sweetness is a hell.
I am no more the Launcelot that I was,
Nor would I be that Launcelot for high Heaven.

[_Both pass on._

_Vivien._ (_Aside to_ MORDRED.) These words are rungs by which to
build thy ladder
Over the ruins of this dooméd kingdom.

_Mordred._ I cannot play thus on my father’s shame,
Even though he hate me. I would rather go
And bury my sorrows in a hermit’s grave
Than build a power upon this human folly.
Even these twain, my heart doth pity them.
Not all their beauty hath kept them from this hell.

_Vivien._ Hast thou no pride, Prince Mordred?
Yea, wait a breath, I’ll show thy wrongs too deep
To languish in a monkish wilderness.
What hast thy soul to do with weeds and turf?
Assert thy greatness or else kill thyself.
Thou art not fit to cumber this flat earth
If thou canst not assert thy dignity.
Were I mis-shapen o’er a thousand times,
Had but one eye, a wen upon my neck,
And swart and foul as foulest Caliban,
And were a man, I’d make my kingship felt--
So all should fear the God that looked a devil.

_Mordred._ Where’er thou comest from, thou comest not from Heaven.

_Vivien._ Yea, what cometh down from Heaven is not for such as
thee.
The day doth come when thou wilt call on me.

_Re-enter_ GUINEVERE _alone_.

_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,
But man of rarest compounds moulded up,
And standing on foundations of a soul,
Hath too much of the god within him hid
To need such shallow, cold, inclement gifts.
Your pities would freeze the icéd heart of winter
Colder within its breast.

_Guin._ And what art thou, strange heap, that speakest thus unto
the queen.

_Mordred._ Madam, I am one who through this world,
Goeth by ways of sorrow and mishap.
Knowest me not, Madam?

_Guin._ Thou seemest like some gloomier Dagonet,
Wearing the proud black of some mock tragedy.
Art thou another fool?

_Vivien._ (_Aside._) Ah! that will touch him.

_Mordred._ A fool, Madam! Callest thou Mordred a fool?
Takest thou him for one who juggles for a court?
A football for the passing to merriment,
Forgotten ere his wit hath passed to sadness.
Because I wear mis-nature on my form,
Knowest thou not the son of Britain’s king?

_Guin._ I know thee not, save that thou art insolent.
Pass! You bar my way.

_Mordred._ Is there so little in this royalty
That men know not a king when he goes forth?
When that great Arthur thou callest lord goes out,
I tell thee, Madam, I am Britain’s king.

_Guin._ Enough insolent! is it some mock tragedy
Thou playest? Or art thou mad?

_Mordred._ Madam though thou wert thousand times a queen,
The day will come when thou wilt eat those words
With the salt rue of utter wretchedness.

_Vivien._ (_Aside_). He hath awakened at last.

_Enter_ LAUNCELOT.

_Guin._ Dost threaten thy queen? Make way, monster!

_Laun._ (_Rushing forward._) Dost thou insult the Queen?

_Mordred._ Nay, not as thou hast insulted great Arthur’s wife.

_Laun._ Toad! abortion! take that, and that. (_Beats him with the
flat of his sword._)

_Mordred._ (_Starting back and drawing._) Thou hast slain pity and
peace forever.
Come on! adulterous knight; and each foul stroke
Dishonoring my poor back, I’ll pay with hate
To fullest usury. (_They close._)

[LAUNCELOT _disarms_ MORDRED.

_Laun._ There go, Mis-shapen. Wert thou not a Prince,
I’d teach thee manners toward thy father’s wife;
Wert thou a man, and not that which thou art,
With this quick blade I’d stop thy craven heart.

_Mordred._ There is nought more to do but to slay me.
(_Bares his breast._) Slay me ere I kill myself.

_Vivien._ Nay! Nay!

_Laun._ Kill thyself, Prince, Launcelot fights with men!
(_To the Queen._) I will follow you, my lady.

_Exit_ LAUNCELOT _and the Queen_.

_Mordred._ (_Flings his sword away._) All sweet compassions,
pityings and resolves
That dwelt in Mordred’s breast are slain at last,
Slain by a woman’s scorn, a man’s brutality.
A last good-bye to all my gladder thoughts.
And hail dark vengeance, plots and evil counsels.
Mordred is mis-shapen, then will he breed chaos.
Mordred is monstrous, then will he breed horrors.
Mordred is dark, then will he cast a shadow,
That ne’er shall loose this kingdom’s light again.

[_Curtain._

SCENE III.--_Another part of the Castle._

_Enter_ VIVIEN.

_Vivien._ Now for the plot to bring this kingdom down.
I’ve racked my wits. Yea, I have got a plan.
Ho! here comes Mordred.

_Enter_ MORDRED.

Art thou resolved to put it to an issue?
Or art thou craven?

_Mordred._ Yea I am all determination now.
Compunction’s dead. Yea, I am over-tired
Of playing the wart upon the hand of time.
But am resolved to be that hand itself,
And move the issues of this foolish world.

_Vivien._ What is thy plot?

_Mordred._ To hold the world at bay.

_Vivien._ ’Tis too vague.

_Mordred._ Yea all this life is vague till evil shrinks
The vistas of our longings down to lusts.
My plot is this, to reach this kingdom by
The sinister door that opens to Launcelot.

_Vivien._ Yea, ’tis my thought.

_Mordred._ To catch the queen in her own guilty net,
Then open her shame to all the gaping world.
’Twill bring great Arthur’s glory by the walls,
With thunder and smoke of splendor to the ground.
Launcelot is half of Arthur’s greatness,
And when he hateth Launcelot for the Queen,
This house of majesty will rend itself,
And Mordred be the raven in the smoke,
Flapping his wings across it’s desolation.

_Vivien._ Yea, then will my hate,--my love,--

_Mordred._ Nay woman do not speak of hates or loves
Or other foolish human hearted moods
Of man’s poor weakness, nay, but steel thyself
To be an engine of the crushing fates;
For he who would be powerful must be iron
And adamant amid this cruel world,
Knowing not heat nor cold, remorse nor shame,
Doing the deed that cometh to his hand.
But we must have a care and watch and wait
And bait the trap and lay the springe and mine.
Not such a greatness crumbles in a day.
Much might be lost by hastening the issue.
Some one must work upon the moody king
And mould him softly, cunningly to knowledge
Of his cuckoldship. It must be deftly done,
Or like spark o’ the powder, it would send
Our plottings and hopings out o’ the skyhole.

_Vivien._ It is well.

_Mordred._ Meanwhile we watch the Queen and Launcelot,
Each action, aye, the changing of their faces;
Till knowledge be garnered of their secret commerce.
Who will approach the King?

_Dagonet._ (_Heard without singing._)

Morning her face is,
Blue seas her eyes,
All of earth’s sweetness
In their light lies.

Coral her lips are,
Red reefs of doom,
There do Love’s ships drive,
Down to their doom.

_Vivien._ Leave it to me, here cometh one who may work the matter.

_Mordred._ Who be it? Not the fool?

_Vivien._ Yea, the fool! He is not all surface, he is deep,
Yea, deep for me.

_Mordred._ May he be trusted?

_Vivien._ Yea, like one who is in love.
Leave me Prince, I would sound him.

_Dagonet._ (_Enters singing._)

There would I shipwreck,
Swooning to death,
Passing to darkness
On the winds of her breath. [_Exit_ MORDRED.
Ho Vivien!

_Vivien._ Well fool, and what wert thou singing?

_Dagonet._ ’Twas but a fool’s carol.

_Vivien._ If thou wert not a fool I would say thou wert in love.

_Dagonet._ (_Starts._) Well guessed, Vivien.
And by Our Lady, thou art in the right of it.

_Vivien._ And who might be the object, sir Fool?

_Dagonet._ Madam, I am deep in love with three mistresses.
To wit, the past, the present, and the future.

_Vivien._ And how be that, Fool?

_Dagonet._ The first be my breakfast which I have had,
The second my dinner which I have just eaten,
And the third be my supper, which like the morrow
Is the more joyful as yet to come.

_Vivien._ Wouldst thou do me a favor?

_Dagonet._ What be it?

_Vivien._ Dost thou love the king?

_Dagonet._ Yea that I do, though he be sometimes like a great
child,
Spoiled on the weather-side.
There be something grieves him.

_Vivien._ Yea, well hath he cause to grieve!

_Dagonet._ Thou dost say so! What be the cause?

_Vivien._ The queen.

_Dagonet._ Why, she be well favored?

_Vivien._ Yea, but treacherous.

_Dagonet._ Aye, knowest thou that?

_Vivien._ Yea, and more!

_Dagonet._ Then is hell come on earth!
What wilt have me do?

_Vivien._ I would have thee warn the king.

_Dagonet._ The king!

_Vivien._ Yea, the king.

_Dagonet._ As well ask the cricket to pipe for the thunderstorm.
Dost thou crave my destruction so dearly?

_Vivien._ Thou alone canst do it and survive,
Thou art of so little worth in his estimation,
And thou must.

_Dagonet._ Yea, Vivien, I will. Oh poor world,
Where e’en royalty cannot ’scape the blight!
God save us all! I will e’en commence now.
Here cometh the king. [_Exit_ VIVIEN.

KING _enters at the left_.

_Dagonet._ Though she bade me hellward, I will obey.
But what evilment is abroad now,
That would I know? There’s something back o’ this.
The king a cuckold! Then Heaven help us all!
I would this were dispatched, yet how to do it,
Passeth mine understanding.

_Arthur._ Well, sir Fool,
Hast a merry message for my heart to-day?

_Dagonet._ Yea Sire.

_Arthur._ Then mouth it, Fool.

_Dagonet._ He who cometh to the wall hath crossed the
last ditch.

_Arthur._ Thine is but grim comfort, Fool.

_Dagonet._ Then is it thine, King, and he who garners not i’ the
morning
Can laugh with death.

_Arthur._ Indeed thou art over-weird,
Come, play me a masque.

_Dagonet._ A masque, Sire! Should it be merry?

_Arthur._ Aye, merry, or thou ruest it!

_Dagonet._ Here be a comedy, Sire;--
There be a king, Sire;--

_Arthur._ Yea.

_Dagonet._ And there be a queen, Sire,
And there be a bishop--nay, a knight.

_Arthur._ And what then?

_Dagonet._ The knight taketh the queen!

_Arthur._ And the king, Fool?

_Dagonet._ Oh he be fools-mated! ha! ha! ha!

_Arthur._ And where be the comedy, Fool?

_Dagonet._ Oh the fiends laugh i’ the pit,
That be the comedy, ha! ha! ha!

_Arthur._ Ha! hast thou a moral?

_Dagonet._ Nay, not a moral, Sire! Morals be not in it.

_Arthur._ Thou art but a wry fool to-day.

_Dagonet._ (_Aside._) My plan faileth.
(_To the king._) Yea Sire, I passed an uncommon sorry night.

_Arthur._ How fool?

_Dagonet._ I dreamed of thee, Sire, and as I love thee,
I liked it not.

_Arthur._ What was thy dream?

_Dagonet._ I dreamed I saw thee stand, and back of thee
A great blackness, that thou sawest not,
And from the shadow loomed--pardon me Sire--the queen
And--and--

_Arthur._ Ha, and what?

_Dagonet._ Forgive thy poor fool, Sire, but methought I saw Sir
Launcelot.

_Arthur._ (_In a terrible passion._) Heaven damn thee, beast!
scum!
(_Knocks Dagonet down and would throttle him._)
Did the greatest knight ’i this kingdom
Dare even dream such a thought, I would hack him to earth.

_Dagonet._ Slay me, great Arthur, but forgive thy fool.

_Arthur._ Knowest thou not thou hast slandered the whole realm?

_Dagonet._ I am but a poor fool, Sire.

_Enter_ GWAINE, _a tall clumsy youth in scullion’s dress_.

_Arthur._ Who art thou?

_Gwaine._ Thou must tell me.

_Arthur._ I am the king.

_Gwaine._ Art thou? Thou lookest like one.

_Arthur._ Whence comest thou?

_Gwaine._ I came out o’ the marches yestermorn,
Where I served my father i’ the bogs,
Intentioning to be a knight,
And they put me down in the kitchen.

_Arthur._ Thou wouldst be a knight?

_Gwaine._ Yea!

_Arthur._ And wherefore?

_Gwaine._ That I might serve the king.

_Arthur._ Thou wouldst serve me?

_Gwaine._ That I would.

_Arthur._ (_Loosening_ DAGONET.) Then hang yonder imp i’ the crane
over the castle wall.

_Gwaine._ Come, rat! (_lifts_ DAGONET _and hangs him on the
crane_.)

_Dagonet._ Oh, Oh, the shame!

_Gwaine._ Hath such as thou shame?

_Dagonet._ Yea, I house me a soul.

_Gwaine._ Then is it poorly lodged. (_goes out._)

_Arthur._ (_Strides back and forth._) Yea a fool!--worse than a
fool!
Arthur, why wilt thou shame thyself even in thought?
Out damned suspicion, that insulteth my dignity!

_Enter_ GUINEVERE.

_Arthur._ Madam, I would entreat thy pardon!

_Guin._ Wherefore my lord?

_Arthur._ For a thought. Guinevere, I am unworthy of thy
queenliness.

_Guin._ Nay, nay my lord, not so. I am but flesh and blood.

_Arthur._ Thou art a Queen!

_Guin._ Yea, and a weak woman.

_Arthur._ It seemeth we be strangers even yet.

_Guin._ Aye, my lord.

_Arthur._ Thou art cold, Madam, and I like that iciness.
It well becometh the left side of this whiteness I uphold.
What wouldst with Arthur, this morning, my Queen?

_Guin._ I would know of the tournament thou hast in hand.

_Arthur._ Yea, the tournament!--the tournament!
I fear I am over moody and forgetful at times.
Hast thou seen Launcelot?

_Guin._ (_Starts._) Why Launcelot, my lord? He is not the King.

_Arthur._ Yea, not the king, but he hath charge of such matters.
Knowest thou my lady, that Arthur loveth Launcelot.
Yea, had Arthur a brother or a son, would he were Launcelot
And were Launcelot evil, the Heavens would distil poison.

_Guin._ Yea, my lord, but thou forgettest the tourney.

_Arthur._ Heralds have been sent out and from all parts of the
kingdom.
Jousts are invited, with strange and wondrous tests.

_Re-enter_ GWAINE.

_Gwaine._ Well, what next?

_Arthur._ Sirrah! the Queen!

_Gwaine._ (_Doffs his cap._) Morrow, Madam.

_Arthur._ To your knees! by my blade, to your knees!

_Gwaine._ By my legs, I am no lick-spittle to claw the earth.
Kneel to your own woman, I’ll to none.

_Arthur._ Death! down on your life! (_Draws._)

_Guin._ Nay, nay he will kneel.

_Gwaine._ Not he, King or other man, I can crack a neck.
Come on, give me a quarterstaff and I’ll knock your
Kings like nine-pins.

_Guin._ (_Gets between._) Nay! nay!

_Arthur._ Wilt thou kneel?

_Gwaine._ I will fight, but I will not kneel.
Not to mine own mother, Gwaine is honest but a plain man.

_Guin._ And thou shalt not kneel, if thou wilt not.
Thou art well favored, had’st thou manners.

_Gwaine._ Manners, Madam, like fine feathers,
But hide the lice ’i the bird.
Gwaine loveth acts not appearances.

_Arthur._ Madam, wilt thou that I make him kneel?

_Guin._ Nay, but grant his wish.

_Arthur._ What wilt thou, knave?

_Gwaine._ That I be made a knight.

_Arthur._ Thou must kneel to be knighted.

_Gwaine._ Not to man.

_Arthur._ To thy God, then.

_Gwaine._ So be it, if it must. (_Kneels._)

_Arthur._ What be thy name?

_Gwaine._ They called me Gwaine ’i the Marches.

_Arthur._ (_Lifts his sword._)

_Gwaine._ (_Leaps to his feet._) Wouldst thou hit a man when he is
down?

_Arthur._ I would knight thee, clown, ’tis the mode.

_Gwaine._ Oh! but be careful King ’i the doing. (_Kneels._)

_Arthur._ Art thou of noble blood?

_Gwaine._ Dost thou mean honest--Gwaine is plain, if thou meanest
’i the getting, no one can call Gwaine’s mother a whore.

_Arthur._ (_Raises his sword and strikes him with the flat on the
shoulder._) Rise, Sir Gwaine.

_Gwaine._ (_Rises._) Is it done, King?

_Arthur._ It is in sooth.

_Gwaine._ Then King am I thine, but yours first, Madam.
Gwaine is plain but honest, I would have a sword, King.

_Arthur._ Go, get thee one.

_Gwaine._ Dost thou mean it, King?

_Arthur._ Yea.

_Gwaine._ (_Going to the Arras and taking one down proceeds to
buckle it on._) Then this one pleaseth me.

_Guin._ Stop, knight! ’Tis the king’s.

_Gwaine._ Then will it be the king’s still. (_Goes out._)

_Arthur._ What more wouldst thou with me, my lady?

_Guin._ I would speak of one Mordred.

_Arthur._ My son! what of him?

_Guin._ My lord, I would have him banished the Court.
He is sinister on my sight and exceeding forward.
I like him not, wilt thou promise?

_Arthur._ It is a heavy matter. We will consider it.

SCENE IV.--_Enter_ ELAINE _and her retinue_.

_A Squire._ Lady, this is the place, we will retire.
Within short space the Queen doth come this way.

[_Exit all except_ ELAINE.

_Elaine._ They say she is all goodness, she will grant
That I may meet this noble knight and fair,
And know my love returned, or else I die.

_Enter_ GUINEVERE _and ladies_.

_Guin._ Lady, what wouldst thou? (_Elaine kneels._)

_Elaine._ Oh most noble lady, I am a maid,
Called Elaine, daughter unto Astolat’s lord,
Who cometh unto thee, Madam, for kind help
Upon the matter of a maiden’s love.
It rendeth me so, unless it be returned
My heart will burst in twain, and I will die.

_Guin._ Maiden, thy tale is sad, be thy quest pure,
The queen will help thee, be thy person wronged,
By Arthur’s mighty kingdom, thou art ’venged.

_Elaine._ Nay Madam, Elaine’s love is white and pure,
And he she loves is noble as any knight
In all this kingdom. Forgive my boldness, Madam,
And by that love thou bearest to the king,
Our great lord, high Arthur, help me now,
And bring me to the face of him I love.

_Guin._ Of truth, thou hast a boldness in thy love.
(_Aside._) There is an innocence in this fair maid
Doth make me pity her, so deep in love
For some false face that made a summer toy
Of her frank passion. Yea, I pity her.
(_To Elaine._) Maiden, to-morrow we do hold a tourney.
Thou wilt be present with us in the Court,
And thou canst note the knights and seek thy lover,
If he be ’mid the guests of noble Arthur.

_Elaine._ Oh thank thee, noble Madam, may kind Heaven
Bless thee in thy great wifehood to the King.

_Guin._ Come, Maiden, thou wilt follow in our train.

[_Exit all._

SCENE V.--_The Court._

_Enter_ VIVIEN _disguised as a strange maiden, followed by
men bearing a great stone with a sword thrust in it_.

_Arthur._ Whence comest thou unto our Court, strange Maiden?
And on what quest art thou sent?

_Vivien._ Nine days are past and gone, most noble King,
Since thou didst advertise throughout the land
The kingdom be opened for tests at Camelot
And marvellous feats might here performed be.
Wherefore I, knowing of that noble pride
With which you hold the flower of your great Court
For manhood’s purity, woman’s chastity,
Have deigned to show before the world, great King,
The truth whereof thou boastest.

_Arthur._ It is bold indeed, but Arthur keeps his word.
What be the tests?

_Vivien._ First, here, to test thy knighthood’s purity,
We bring a sword sunk fast in yonder stone
By magic’s force, and he who plucks it forth
Must be a knight who hath not known a woman,
Save in the lawful mode of marriage bed.
(_To Launcelot._) Wouldst try, pure Knight?

_Laun._ Yea, I would, doth great Arthur will,
Though all the fiends of hell clutched nether end.
Do other knights but make the trial first.

(_A number of knights come forward, try to pull the sword out of the
stone but fail._

_Launcelot then places his feet on the stone and grasps the sword
and pulls with all his might, but the sword remains fixed._)

_Arthur._ It is in sooth a marvel!

_Laun._ It seemeth grown therein,
Yea, I will bend and strain until it comes.
It will not! (_Stands to take a breath._)

_Guin._ It is enough!

_Vivien._ Wouldst thou try again pure Knight?

_Laun._ Yea I will try till I die, if it come not.
(_Tries again, bends his whole strength, then staggers to his
feet._) Methought the earth’s roots hung thereon.
I am shamed!

_Arthur._ ’Tis enough!

_Vivien._ Wilt not try again, pure Knight?

_Laun._ (_With set face._) Yea, now for Camelot’s glory.
Launcelot’s manhood pulls on this side, Hell on that.

(_Braces himself and gives one terrible tug, then falls back
fainting._)

_Elaine._ ’Tis he! (_Rushes out and falls fainting on his
breast. The Queen’s women lift her and bear her out._)

_Guin._ Great Heaven!

_Arthur._ ’Tis enough! away with it, Maiden, thy magic hath
outdone our noblest worth.

_Vivien._ (_Scornfully._) Is there no pure man will make trial?

_Gwaine._ (_Emerges from the throng still dressed in scullions
dress._)
Yea, I will try, although I rend the stone.
(_Leaps on to the stone and plucks the sword out with both hands,
with a great pull, and waves it aloft with an exultant shout. The
throng starts back._)
How now, mighty King?

_Arthur._ ’Tis a great marvel!

_Laun._ (_Steps forth._) The man that hath done that must face
Launcelot to the death,--to the death! (_Faces Gwaine and
draws._)

_Guin._ My God! (_Her maids support her, she hides her face in her
mantle._)

_Gwaine._ I would not slay thee.

_Laun._ Thou can’st not!--Keep you! (_They fight. Knights try to
separate them._)

_Arthur._ Nay, back, more room! give them more room.

(_Continue fighting, each draws blood, but neither gives way._)

_Guin._ (_Aside to the maids._) Be he slain?

_A Maid._ Neither be slain, Madam.

_Arthur._ Enough! I say enough!

_Laun._ Sire!

_Gwaine._ Must we stop the exercise?

_Arthur._ It is enough, you are both brave knights.

_Laun._ Gwaine, thou art better than I.

_Gwaine._ Thou art the best I have met.
Wilt thou take the hand of Gwaine?

_Laun._ Yea I will, though it hath pressed me hard.

_Arthur._ Clear the Court. (_Trumpets blow and the throng falls
back._)

SCENE VI.--_An outer room in the Castle_--GUINEVERE _walking back
and forth. Enter_ LAUNCELOT, _kneels, would take her hand_.

_Laun._ Madam!

(_Guinevere draws back coldly._)

_Laun._ Madam, what means this coldness?
Thou wert not ever wont to meet me thus?

_Guin._ Where hast thou left the maid of Astolat?

_Laun._ Maid of Astolat!

_Guin._ Yea that frail pink-and-white that pillowed thy breast,
What time thou did’st faint, some slim cowslip miss
Such as do flatter you strong men by their weakness.
Go flippant knight and seek your skim-milk love.
Guinevere would hate thee but for scorn.
God curse the day I ever let thee love!

_Laun._ Madam each word thou utterest, like a dagger,
Doth stab with cruel agonies my heart.
If Launcelot hath sinned in loving thee,
That love is maiden unto all save thee.
Yea I am damnèd daily for thy face,
And even thou dost scorn me.

_Guin._ A truce of words, I saw with mine own eyes,
What all the Court and all the world doth know.
Launcelot’s Love, the Maid of Astolat,
Is mouthed by all fool’s lips in all men’s ears,
Till Guinevere is even Mordred’s scorn.
I’d slay thee, were I only but a man.

_Laun._ Madam! by my love!--

_Guin._ By thy love, a flimsy foresworn thing,
A toylet of a moment! Such as thou!
And I! I gave--, By Heaven! I pluck thee out,
And thrust thee from me, thou false handsome face!
Thou devil-eyed to lead hearts on to ruin!

_Laun._ Madam, wilt thou not hear?

_Guin._ Nay, nay, begone! I scorn thee, yea, I hate!

_Laun._ (_Sadly._) Yea Guinevere I go, to come no more.
It is well seen that thou hast tired of me.
Thou hast driven Launcelot mad! mad!
The world reels round me, I am all alone.
All else the visions of a noisome dream.
I am mad, mad, Guinevere!
And dost thou smile? here’s for the lonely dark!
Ho! ho! the world’s one hideous mockery.
(_Leaps from the casement._)

_Guin._ Nay, nay, Launcelot! Launcelot!
Come back! I love thee, I forgive thee all!
(_Falls on her face._) Oh Heaven! I have driven him away,
Nevermore, Oh, never to return.
O Love! O Love! my maddened heart will break.
O foolish stars! why smile on this grim night
Lighting the heartless heaven with your eyes?
O foolish birds, why pipe across the dark,
Calling the rosy morn, the false-faced morn,
While hearts are breaking here amid the dark?
Launcelot! Launcelot! Hark! he returns.
Nay, ’tis the foolish wind wooing the silly trees.
He never will return, nor will forgive.
O poor white hand! he nevermore will clasp,
O wayward lips! he nevermore will kiss.
O heart, break! break!
(_Enter a maid._) Madam, here cometh the King.

(_Guin. Rises._)

_Arthur._ Madam, watchest thou alone the splendor of the night?

_Guin._ Yea, there is a burden in the distant sea,
And a soft sadness from the far-off night
Of ghost-winds footing under the haunted dark.
It groweth chill, my Lord.

_Arthur._ We will go within. (_Exit both._)

_Enter_ GWAINE _and_ DAGONET.

_Gwaine._ Yea, mad! mad! stark raving mad, you say?

_Dagonet._ Yea, mad. His eyes were like balls ’o fire.
An’ his face fixed like he followed a vision,
Or walked ’i his sleep.
An’ his hands did beat the air the while he shouted a war song.
It hath frighted me out of a week’s sleep.

_Gwaine._ Yea, he is indeed mad. ’Tis this crazy love.
And he such a man, the best ’i the world.
I will take horse and follow him.
Drop that lanthorn, Fool, and help me wi’ this buskin,
’Tis new to me. The best ’i the world, damn this love!
Fool, wert thou ever in love?

_Dagonet._ Yea, thou knowest I be a fool.

_Gwaine._ Then be wise like Gwaine, Fool, and scorn love;
’Tis but a mad fever ’o the head and marrow.
It creepeth in by the eyes and spoileth a good man.
It killeth sleep and maketh a mock at feeding.
It heateth the blood and routeth caution.
’Ware of love, Fool, an’ thou would’st be wise.

_Dagonet._ Yea, thy words be like what the wind said to the wall.

_Gwaine._ And what be that?

_Dagonet._ Stand up while I blow thee down!
Art thou off now?

_Gwaine._ Yea, till I find him.

Tell the King Gwaine hath ta’en French leave, but he will come
again when he bringeth the best man ’i the Kingdom.

Ho! without there! Fool, go ahead with that lanthorn.

[_Curtain._

SCENE VII.--_Enter_ VIVIEN _and_ MORDRED.

_Vivien._ Prince, and do you weaken now again?

_Mordred._ Yea, Vivien, I have only half a heart
For this damned business.

_Vivien._ ’Tis but a lack of manhood in thy blood,
That runs to water dwelling on puerile things,
Like parent-love and other sickly longings,
Forgotten with forgetting of the paps.
Now me, my memory knows no parentage
Save circumstance and mine own nimble wits.
’Tis but our acts that build the bridge of fate
Across this perilous river men call life.
Some kneel and pray, trust some fond deity,
And build in fancy safety for themselves,
Then soon are churning ’mid the ravening flood.
Others do build them piers of solid stone,
Or use men’s bodies for to tread upon.
These get the surest over.--Hast seen the Queen?

_Mordred._ Ha, that one name hath more to conjure with
Than all your sophistries, to my dark soul.
Yea, how I hate that woman! I am but
The hideous toad that poisons on her sight.
Though I may sense the glories of this earth
With all its wealth, the heaven o’er-bridged with stars,
And know love’s heights and depths, and pity’s well,
Brimming with pearls of tears and woman’s eyes;
I am but hideous Mordred after all.

_Vivien._ Yea, in her eyes art hideous, not in mine.

_Mordred._ Woman, thou liest! It were natural
To love the perfect shape and noble form,
The sunny face and splendid laughing eye;
But canst thou love the wry and gnarléd shape
And beetle-browed, night-shaded soul like mine?
I am a toad, a bat, a gnarléd stump.
These hideous in nature are my kin.
Woman, thou liest, when thou speakest of love!

_Vivien._ Nay, Mordred, do not scorn me! Thou’rt a man
In more than mere out-seeming, ’tis thy fate
Thy whole grim spirit Vivien pitieth.
Would’st thou but love me, Vivien would be
Thy queen, thy slave, the ’venger of thy wrongs,
That call to heaven.

_Mordred._ Nay, nay, it cannot be, thou wastest words.
I like thee least in this strange mood of thine.
Love is no word for Mordred, rather hate,
And thou wert made for plottings, not for joys.
Yea, we will marry in compact of ill,
And will beget as child, black, black revenge.
This is my mood.

_Vivien._ Now thou art natural, there is much to do.
Our schemes o’er-reached, proud Arthur’s jealousy
As yet untouched, and Launcelot fled the Court
In some queer madness. How likest the conditions?

_Mordred._ He must come back, I am a devil at root.
We’ll seethe him in the Queen’s despairs and sorrows.
I have a plan,--she giveth soon a feast
Of autumn fruits unto her favorite knights,
And I will go, although she hates my face,
For I misdoubt she fears me even now.
There is a joy to know, if thou art not loved,
That thou canst wield an influence over those
Who otherwise would pass thee by in scorn.
Well I do know a poison, subtle, sharp,
That when it bites it is the tooth of death.
This will I get inserted in some fruit,
And manage that one knight will eat of it,
Sir Patrise, brother unto that Sir Mador;
Who hates the Queen for that she scorned his love
And not being present will call for loud revenge
Upon his brother’s death ’gainst Guinevere
Proud Arthur, then, will call upon some knight
To prove her innocence upon the sword,
And her extremity makes Launcelot sane.
He will return, then I will trap him with her,
Set Arthur and Launcelot at bitter war,
And wrest the kingdom from their weakened hands.
This is my plot, now for the working of it.
Down all compunction! Mount all dark resolves!
Let me be Mordred inward as well as out,
All inky poison of soul, even that I,
Who’d trample others, must crush out myself.

_Vivien._ Yea, Prince, indeed, ’tis seen thou hast a mind
Of subtle working fit to rule a King.
Thou wilt be greater than great Arthur yet,
When thou sittest in his place.

_Mordred._ Nay woman, tantalize me not with hopes.
’Tis not the splendid end that leads me on.
’Tis but the getting there that Mordred loves.
The mood of one who’d trample on the flowers
In some fair garden whence he is excluded.
Here is the poison. That will be thy part
To get it hidden in the special fruit,
And get it fed unto the special man,
Whose snuffing out will pander to our end.

_Vivien._ Give me the poison!

_Mordred._ Here it is, this small pill,
So petty, but powerful.
’Tis wondrous that this tiny polished globe,
Could hide betwixt the finger and the thumb,
Hath power to open the gateways of this world,
And in a sudden sleep dislodge a soul.
Hast thou an agent for to do this work?

_Vivien._ Yea, that I have.

_Mordred._ Not the fool again?

_Vivien._ Yea, the fool!

_Mordred._ See he doth this better than the last. ’Tis the more
perilous. Thinkest he will undertake it?

_Vivien._ Yea, he will.

_Mordred._ By what compulsion?

_Vivien._ By that most powerful of all most powerful compulsions.
He loveth me.

_Mordred._ And thou wilt use him, put him on the rack,
Which is thine influence?

_Vivien._ See my little finger, he is as the yarn
That I may wind around it.

_Mordred._ Thou art a Devil! Ho! Ho! Mordred hath mirth!
And this be life! Mordred hath mirth, yea, Vivien, mirth!
See woman that thou failest not,
Mordred is roused, it must be.
[_Exit_ MORDRED.

_Vivien._ Ho! Ho! Thou art travelling my road at last.
I must haste from hence and find Dagonet.

SCENE VIII.--_Enter_ DAGONET.

_Dagonet._ I’m but the ghost of mine old former self,
Who once a jester, am now but the jest
Of some outrageous fortune. Sleep hath fled,
My meat hath no more taste unto my mouth.
The wine but heavy lees within the cup.
I am so held in love for Vivien,
That I must end this foolish spark o’ life.
My heart leaps up for joy to see her face,
A silly joy, such as a child might have,
Loving some star for plaything, out of reach.
Oh what would I not do to even dare
To press the velvet of her dainty hand!
Back, down, poor foolish dreams! Now I must play
The frothy merriment of a world that’s grey.

(_Sings._)

There may be poison in the cup
But still the foam must cling.
To keep the strong world’s courage up
Poor fools must laugh and sing;
With sobs below and smiles above,
Amasking day by day,
On trampled, bleeding hopes of love.
So whirls the world away!

There may be breaking of the heart
Though merry laughs the eye.
Still we poor fools must act our part,
And laugh, and weep, and die.
Still must we sportive battles wage,
With foam of lightsome breath,
While underneath the currents rage
And wrecks are churned to death.

_Enter_ VIVIEN, DAGONET _starts_.

_Vivien._ Thou growest grewsome, Dagonet; where hast lost thy
mirth?

_Dagonet._ I know not, Vivien, I know not, belike I am a fool
indeed. Poor Dagonet is no more himself.

_Vivien._ Poor Dagonet.

_Dagonet._ Why not call me fool, dost thou pity me?

_Vivien._ Yea, I do.

_Dagonet._ And since when?

_Vivien._ Since I knew that thou wert a man.

_Dagonet._ Dagonet, the fool, a man?

_Vivien._ Yea since I knew as thou couldst love indeed.

_Dagonet._ That I love, Vivien, what knowest thou?

_Vivien._ Yea, that thou hast a heart under thy mask. Yea,
more, for whom thou hast this feeling. Wouldst thou win her
grace?

_Dagonet._ (_Falls on his knees._) Yea, yea, Vivien, for one
look, one smile. Oh Vivien, well thou knowest I am thy slave.

_Vivien._ What would’st thou do for my love?

_Dagonet._ Thou hast my heart bare in thy sight. Write on it
what characters thou likest, for I am thine. I tell thee I am
thy dog, thy slave.

_Vivien._ Not dog, nor slave, but lover. (_Vivien holds out her
hand, Dagonet crawls near and takes it._)

_Dagonet._ Oh Vivien, dost thou mean this?

_Vivien._ Yea, in sooth I will try thy love. Would’st thou win
my love Dagonet?

_Dagonet._ Dost thou mock me?

_Vivien._ Nay. (_Takes a little box from her girdle and opens
it._) Dost see this pill? (_Leans near and whispers in his
ear. Dagonet starts back!_) Nay! nay! not that!

_Vivien._ That or nought!

_Dagonet._ Wouldst thou use me thus?

_Vivien._ Thou art the man who’d win my love! I tell thee so
must all who’d love Vivien.

_Dagonet._ Nay, nay, I must think. This is indeed death, death.

_Vivien._ Yea, death or nought! I thought thou wert a man?

_Dagonet._ For that reason am I now in hell.

_Vivien._ (_Takes his hand._) Dagonet, dost thou love me?

_Dagonet._ Oh God! Yea Vivien, give me the pill, I am not
myself any more. I am thine, I will do it. Vivien, thou wilt
not fail me?

_Vivien._ See that thou dost not fail me, and be sure that thou
doest this well.

_Dagonet._ I will. [_Exit_ VIVIEN

_Dagonet._ At last Dagonet thou hast thy wish, and hast crossed
the barrier that separates comedy from dark tragedy.
Dagonet, now thou art a man!
Thou art pitied! Thou canst win love.
Thou canst snuff the candle out o’ a life.
Dost know thy features any more? And all for love!

(_Sings._)

O Love, that lights this world
Yet leaves us i’ the dark;--
I led thee to my couch,
A grave-cloth was thy sark!
O Love, we would be clothed,
And thou hast left us stark.

Yea, I am on fire. Snow! snow! Would I had snow to cool me.
Fool, thou art no more a fool. Dagonet, thou art a man!
Thou lovest. This must be done. (_Goes out._)

[_Curtain._