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 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 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 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? 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 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. MORDRED. Lo, where (as they decreed) my faithful friends Have kept their time. Be all your powers repair’d? GILLA. They be, and all with ardent minds: to Mars They cry for wars, and longing for th’ alarm, Even now they wish t’ encounter with their foes.