Welcome and salutation to you all. Our banquet loses what it least should lose On such a day as this; my lord the King Had thought to celebrate his feast with those That bore his banners into victory: But sudden cares absent him. Pray, be seated. Your Queen is honoured being in his place. Brave knights, my welcome, A Queen’s dear welcome. Glad am I, Sir Gawaine, To greet the legend of the land for valour, Proud in unchampioned causes; And you, Sir Mordred, far-seeing in counsel; Sir Bedivere, our sovereign’s pillar of trust; Sir Kay, Sir Bors, Sir Agravaine, Sir Lucan, Sir Colegrevance----Is not Sir Launcelot here? SIR KAY (_to a lady_) Go, tell Sir Launcelot the Queen asks for him. GUENEVERE Welcome to you, Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris. Never a Queen Had round her such array of peers renowned In arms and courtesy. GAWAINE Most royal Queen! MORDRED The honour that you do us dumbs our speech. (_The_ QUEEN _seats herself upon a raised daïs at the back. All take their seats and the banquet begins. Each knight is attended by his squire._) GUENEVERE I grieve my sickness robbed me of yesterday’s Great jousts: I had thought to glory in them, and joy In the prowess of antagonists so noble. BEDIVERE Our grief it was, your presence shone not on us. BORS Ah, Madam, had you seen Sir Launcelot there! KAY He never rode so terrible a course In all his days. BEDIVERE There was no man could stand Against the fury of his setting on. COLEGREVANCE Why, all men have their lucky day. KAY And this Was not denoted in your stars. COLEGREVANCE For me These jousts are toys. What comfort’s in a partridge to good hunger? Give me a pasty royally bastioned, stuffed For siege, a challenge to the assault; and give me Battle’s reality, not miming spears. When the blood’s up and runs hot in the veins Then you shall see these hands of mine at work, Not play. KAY And yet methought the blood was up, When Launcelot bore you down. MORDRED Ah, yesterday Launcelot was an army, not a man. AGRAVAINE It seems he is too weary with his feats To grace this royal table! GUENEVERE Dear my lords, I raise a cup to your good fellowship. If, as may chance, the semblance of division Or the beginning of an enmity Set any of you askance at one another, Let it be melted in this cordial wine. Shall it not? If a word has flown, forget it, If any old wound be open, let it close, And mould to-night your fellowship anew. Drink with me all: “King Arthur’s fellowship!”