This house Shall not forget its ancient courtesies While I am master. These are sorry manners: I never taught you such. In his own time Our noble guest shall tell us what he will Or, if he choose, be nameless. Now, no more. LAVAINE (_eagerly_) Is it Sir Launcelot? LAUNCELOT I am Launcelot. Sir, Pardon me, if for causes of my own I let my name sleep in the dark awhile. SIR BERNARD We should have guessed it. Though we dwell retired In Astolat, doubt not those deeds of fame Which you have done for Britain and our King And made a glory in the land--doubt not We have them all by heart. LAVAINE Drank them like wine. SIR BERNARD Our children’s children will be telling them By the fire. The famed Sir Launcelot! and this, This is our guest--Sir Launcelot! Good news. TORRE Good news, that he has thieved your daughter’s heart! But here he stays no moment more. I’ll fetch King Arthur’s herald and proclaim him. LAUNCELOT Spare Your pains, sir. I have spoken with that herald And ride with him at once; I had come now For my farewell. TORRE By heaven, and not too soon. SIR BERNARD Torre! LAUNCELOT Let him speak. SIR BERNARD Nay, Sir---- TORRE Have you not eyes? This paragon of Courts, smiled on of Queens, Deigns for his rustic leisure to make sport Of our simplicity. Elaine has given Her whole heart to him, and he’ll toss her now To oblivion. SIR BERNARD Torre, you have dishonoured me---- LAVAINE Shame, Torre! SIR BERNARD Dishonoured me and all my house. TORRE I am rough: but truth is rough; and the bur sticks. LAUNCELOT Sir Bernard, I owe your daughter all the breath I breathe. She found me at the gasp of death; she brought me Of her sweet pity hither, healed my wound, And more; for when black clouds were on my mind She let the morning shine full into it; I felt her like the sky, the morning dew. If--if there be some fondness, some young spring Of fondness in her heart, Time soon amends Such wounds. She is a child. If this be gone More deep than tenderness and pity’s tears I have means to cure it. Let me speak with her. TORRE He shall not, father. SIR BERNARD This to me! Now leave us, Or ask a pardon that is ill deserved. ELAINE _enters_ SIR BERNARD Sir Launcelot---- (ELAINE, _hearing the name, gives a little cry of wonder_.) Elaine! Speak with her, then. You have my trust. My sons, come. TORRE You are blind. We shall taste bitterness ere this be done.