I grow old, I begin to doubt and fear. Rather a thousand enemies that shout Their hate, than one that smiles behind me---- GUENEVERE (_softly_) Arthur! ARTHUR And Launcelot gone from me! But why? I grope Into the silence, and find nothing. GUENEVERE (_more loudly_) Arthur! ARTHUR (_turning_) My Queen! GUENEVERE You have bid me no good-morrow yet. ARTHUR Good-morrow, Guenevere. GUENEVERE (_after a pause_) I think they wait you. ARTHUR In time. What ails my Queen? GUENEVERE Nothing at all. I am but an idle corner of your kingdom; You are called to graver matters. ARTHUR Guenevere, If that this robe of care that now is on me Seem to absent my heart, take it not ill, You know where my heart lives. Perplexities Even now beset me. (_Murmurs without._) GUENEVERE Hark! Someone cried “Launcelot”! If it were he! (_Louder murmurs._) They do cry “Launcelot”! ARTHUR Can it be? GUENEVERE It is! ARTHUR The world is changed if I have Launcelot. Come we to meet him. GUENEVERE (_afraid of showing her joy_) If it be ill news? ARTHUR What is it ails you, Guenevere? You hear The joy cry in those voices. Come. GUENEVERE Go you. ARTHUR He comes, my friend, my Launcelot! It is true! LAUNCELOT _enters and falls on his knee before_ ARTHUR. LAVAINE _follows at a distance_. LAUNCELOT (_kneeling_) My King! ARTHUR My friend! Rise, look me in the face, That I may be assured it is my friend Beside me once again. LAUNCELOT (_rising_) To the last hour. And last drop of my blood. ARTHUR See, Guenevere, Our hope is havened. Our Launcelot returns. Whence come you? Tell me. LAUNCELOT Ah, what matters whence, Since I am come to serve my only King? ARTHUR Pale, too! I think some suffering’s written here. LAUNCELOT I am but new-recovered from a wound. ARTHUR In battle? LAUNCELOT Nothing glorious, my King. I rode in the forest on a winter’s day, Thinking my thoughts. A misty day it was With a pale sun, and red leaves underfoot. I let my horse pace on, lost in a muse; But, as it chanced, a hunter in those woods Was shooting at the deer, and aimed so ill His arrow found its quarry in my side. GUENEVERE Ah! LAUNCELOT I fell. I knew no more. But for good hap, Some clown had tracked me to those muddy leaves, Me that had shaped a splendid field to die on-- And found me--sorry venison---- ARTHUR