Nay, for the Queen must joy With all her knights in so surpassing news. We shall see Launcelot bring to Court at last A bride. Sirs, drink with me to Launcelot and his bride! AGRAVAINE, COLEGREVANCE, PATRICE, AND MADOR To Launcelot and his bride! GUENEVERE I also drink to Launcelot’s fair bride. And now, sirs, I will pray you pardon me. (_To_ SIR LUCAN) Sir Lucan, bid my woman to attend me. (_Pause._) GAWAINE (_in a low voice_) Mordred, this marring of the feast is yours. MORDRED I spoke but praises. GAWAINE Honey, dropping venom. AGRAVAINE Gawaine, you are ever shaping taunts at us. BEDIVERE Sirs, sirs, the Queen! MORDRED I spoke no word but what should honour her. BORS Sir Mordred, we That are the friends of Launcelot know not you So fond a lover of his fame; so pardon If phrases of such fashion seemed to taste ... I say no more. Yet be assured, if ill Be meant to Launcelot, rue to him that means it. COLEGREVANCE A threat! By Uther’s beard, we’ll not be threatened. MORDRED Colegrevance, be still. What said the Queen. Accord old feuds, be friends. Which of us now shows her obedience? KAY Were Launcelot here---- AGRAVAINE Launcelot, Launcelot! Must we be ever plagued with Launcelot? BORS Yesterday, Agravaine, you had some cause. (_A laugh from_ LAUNCELOT’S _friends_.) AGRAVAINE I defy you all. BEDIVERE The Queen! AGRAVAINE The Queen, it seems, Has bidden us to be gibed at. MORDRED Peace, sirs, peace. The Queen bade us be merry. I ask your pardon if I spoke amiss, I marvel that a sleeve, a mere red sleeve---- GAWAINE, BEDIVERE, BORS, KAY Mordred! GUENEVERE (_rising in wrath_) Unmannerly dastard! (_Pause and a low laugh from_ AGRAVAINE.) Nay, forgive me, sirs; I am not all recovered from my sickness: Pardon me if I leave you; stir not. Come. [_Exit with ladies._ GAWAINE (_after a pause, to_ MORDRED) What devil pricked your tongue to speak of that? MORDRED Why should I not?... Were it not injury to think such thoughts I would say---- GAWAINE To your meaning, and be done. MORDRED (_slowly_) I would say Gawaine hints of some dishonour, Some secret that must not be told abroad. Would Gawaine say the Queen Is jealous because Launcelot---- GAWAINE Slanderer! MORDRED It was not I that hinted. LAVAINE The red sleeve, I tell you again, Sir Mordred, was my sister’s. For Elaine’s sake and in mere courtesy Sir Launcelot wore it. MORDRED