Ralph Adams Cram - Excalibur - Act II, Scene I lyrics

SCENE I. - Camelot. The shore of the Magic Mere, seen close at hand through tall, slim trees. In the midst a silken pavilion open on all sides. Dame Columbe, Guenever, Ysed, and Ettard; Sir Launcelot, Sir Pelleas, Sir Tor, and Sir Kay, lying on the gra**. Columbe. Sweet damozel, sing me that song again: Full dolorous it is and wet with tears, Yet glad withal, as one should weep with joy Of life that is too sweet with brimming bliss. Guenever. Nay, Lady Columbe, pray you let it pa**, A true thing said rings false if said again. Sang I not true? Columbe. Aye, Guenever, in faith Ye sang me true, and even as my heart Calls gently when the night is very still. How think ye, lords? Sir Kay. Dame Columbe, prythee say If still my beard be grizzled, for the maid Sang me so softly of the sweet, dead days, When all my blood leaped like a noble stag Through golden, gleaming forests, that meseemed Twoscore of years had vanished with her song; I was a squire again. Ettard. As thou art now, Sir Kay, and shall be ever, for the years Are not for thee; the silver in thy beard Turns traitor to the fire within thy blood. Sir Kay. Out on the knave that gives me evil name! Sir beard, I charge thee with high treason - Columbe. Hold! Wreak not thy vengeance on a silly rogue That deals in futile lies that none believes. Thy heart, my Kay, gives answer to the lie: Sir Tor, liked thou the song? Sir Tor. As sinners love The hand that shrives them, makes them clean for God. Fair lady, while ye sang I saw the wind Grow bright with angels leaning near to learn The why men seem to love this paltry world More than the courts of heaven. Columbe. Well said, Sir Tor. Speak, Pelleas, what saw ye in the song? Sir Pelleas. I saw the milky blossoms of the May, Ripe roses bursting into honeyed bloom, And every flower that burgeons on the bough When summer winds are warm with summer love; And all these melted, as the music moved, Into one face - Columbe. That thou didst call? Sir Pelleas. Ettard. Columbe. Fair sir, thou speakest as a loyal knight. Now Launcelot, hast thou no word of praise? Launcelot. No word that I may say. Columbe. False, craven knight, Dost yield thee recreant? Sir Launcelot. With all my heart. Columbe. Then kneel and sue for mercy. Sir Launcelot. Guenever, Unhorsed and vanquished, wounded unto d**h Kneeling I crave thy mercy. Give me life, Nor send me back into the dolorous dark Whence came I forth to find thee. Let me live Thy loyal knight, and by Sir Jesu's wounds I swear to yield true service unto thee, And stainless worship. Guenever. Fair Sir Launcelot, I pray thee, of thy knighthood, do not kneel. How should I give thee life, that art so strong And lusty? Wit ye well, most gentle knight, Thy life lies not within my holding hands. Sir Launcelot. Of thy good grace, I pray thee, reach them forth Close clasped before my sight. O Guenever, Within the tender cup of these white hands That I do worship as the Holy Grail, Thou holdest that which is too poor a thing For me to cast beneath thy slender feet, Yet is it all I have, for 'tis my heart. Guenever. And will it break if I unclose my hands And let it fall? Sir Launcelot. Aye, lady, it will break. Guenever. I will essay! Sir Launcelot. I pray thee! Guenever. See, 'tis fallen. Sir Launcelot. And it is shattered in such grievous wise It may not beat again. Guenever. Poor, broken heart! But if I lift it from the couching gra** And nurse and warm it in my heart of hearts, - Sir Launcelot. Then like the phoenix from the fawning flame It will arise, transfigured with new life. Guenever. Now wit ye well, I know not what to do. See how it lies like some soft, wounded bird Among the primrose buds that nestle close. Certes, I fain would warm it in my breast, But I do fear me it would change, mayhap, Into a serpent. Sir Launcelot. Never, by my sword, And by my faith I owe my knighthood! (Enter, on the banks of the lake: Morgan le Fay) Columbe. See! Where through the quaking trees Queen Morgan goes, Ill hap betides us if she lifts her eyes And looks upon us. Ysed. Jesu, mercy! Why? I do beseech thee, why? Columbe. Thou art not wise, Ysed, in all the lore of Arthur's court, Else wouldst thou ask not such a foolish thing. Ysed. Yet tell me, lady: I am newly come From out Cameliard. Columbe. Queen is she of Gore, And wife to Uriens, but men say well One kingdom likes her not, and she has won By crafty magic and unchristian lore Dominion over all the paynim gods That fled from England when Christ Jesu came. And now beneath the waters of the Mere In golden caverns, wonderly beseen, She holds her court. Sir Pelleas. Look, how she lifts her head And gazes on us with her serpent eyes. Guenever. Methinks she brings a chill, ungentle wind From out the hollows of the Magic Mere, For I am cold, and shrink with creeping dread. Sir Launcelot. Look not upon her, she may harm thee not Whilst I stand ready. Columbe. She is gone again, But I do fear the malice of her eye. Sir Kay. One only man in Arthur's kingdom curbs Her wanton witchcraft, for old Merlin holds Her hard in leash, in that the craft of God, Whereby he works, is potent to command Queen Morgan's damnèd magic. Sir Tor. If the king Were not an headstrong boy that knows not fear, He would give ear to Merlin, and the witch Should burn right merrily. Sir Kay. See where he comes In guise full knightly on a royal quest, The pride of chivalry, great England's king, Arthur Pendragon, that did overthrow King Lot of Orkney and King Carados And all that leagued them 'gainst the high estate Of Uther's kingdom. Guenever. Is it, then, the king? Full fain am I to look upon his face, For since I came from far Cameliard To Camelot, I only hear his name Go rushing by me as a whispering wind, Nor ever have I seen him. Columbe. Guenever, The king is hungry for a knightly quest; For certain is it that the golden crown, So lightly won, sits restless on his brow; We may not hold him in the narrow court, Where gray-beard councillors wag learnèd heads, Or wanton girls with sleepy, longing eyes Creep softly 'round him with sweet, subtle words. Nor dalliance nor statecraft lure him now, He rides afar afield. Guenever. I fear me, then, He is indeed the thing that all men say, And so I hold him most unworshipful. Sir Kay. What thing is that? Guenever. A man without a fault. Such manners like me not. Give me a man Content with that, nor greedy for the crown The blessèd saints achieve when they are dead And men no longer. Columbe. Fie upon thee, girl! Thy words are peevish, and unmaidenlike The thought that prompts them. Guenever. Thou art thrice mine age, And that much nearer sainthood, lady mine, Nathless ye liked my song. Ah, well-a-day! We maids be nought but bratchets in a leash, Give you good hunting! Hush, the king, the king! (Enter: King Arthur, mounted, with him Sir Ector. Guenever stands aside among the trees.) Omnes. Hail to the King of England! King Arthur. Give ye joy, Sir knights and ladies fair. How now, Columbe, Art weary of tall Camelot? Columbe. My lord, The springtime beckoned, and my heart was fain To leave the courtelage of Camelot And track the footsteps of the questing king. King Arthur. The while he followed where the springtime led, Was that thy thought? Well, it was even so. Maid April starts a quickening in the blood That when the winds of June are on the fields Is ill gainsaid. Come, Ector, let us rest And crave refreshment of these gentle folk; I would be weary were I not a king. Columbe. Will ye not drink, my lord? the sun is high, And heavy hangs the harness of a knight. Quaff thou this goblet: when thou art a**uaged Then shalt thou tell us of thy latest quest. King Arthur. I thank thee, dame, yet have I nought to tell Save of a Questing Beast I followed far And won disworship of him in the end. Sir Kay. Of thy good grace, King Arthur, tell the tale. King Arthur. 'Twas in this wise, and ye may laugh at will. When we had fought King Rience, and had freed Leodegrance, King of Cameliard (The which has one most wondrous daughter, hight The Lady Guenever, more pa**ing fair Than saw I ever, even in my dreams.) I rode in quest of some adventure. Noon Was hot upon us, and I lay me down Beside a fountain in a drowsy wood, And if I slept I know not, but anon Deep thunder rolled and I did see in sooth The forest filled with griffins, gaunt and grim, And slimy serpents, slavering as they crawled On scaly bellies through the cringing gra**. High in the midst of all, as he were king, I saw a beast beyond all mortal ken, Huge, humped and horrible, with scaly sides And twisted talons fierce with rending claws. Winged was he with the pinions of a bat, And either side his harsh and horny beak Blazed baleful eyes that blinked and rolled amain, While over all I saw as on his helm The Dragon of our House. The while I lay And marvelled on this strange and grizzly thing, Meseemed the wood grew thick with myriad knights From all my kingdom. Then the raging Beast Shrilled wonderly: right so the serpent brood Hurled on my knights, and in such grievous wise That in a little none was left on live. And all the forest darkened as the Beast Went howling onward. "Now Pendragon's seed Shall slay Pendragon!" And I saw him not. Sir Launcelot. By Holy Rood, a grim, ungentle dream. King Arthur. So thought I, but I saw the Beast again. Columbe. With thine own waking eyes? King Arthur. I saw the Beast. No word said I unto Sir Ector here Of that I thought a dream, but on a day, The while we rode athwart a savage wood, Sir Ector cried: "Sweet Jesu, be my aid! What thing is that?" I looked, and lo, the Beast Came hurling with the sound of many hounds Adown a forest path until he spied A little fountain, where he stayed to drink. Sir Launcelot. And didst thou slay him? King Arthur. Listen, Launcelot. Certes I pricked full hotly on the Beast, But when he marked the onset, on he rolled The while I followed fiercely. Weary leagues I tracked him till my steed was clean forspent And fell beneath me. Then the Questing Beast Turned like a labouring carrack, and I dressed My shield, for I did think a sore debate Lay twixt us, but the Beast gave tongue and spake: "Hail, king and father! Seekest thou for d**h? Not now, but after, comes the dolorous day." Wherewith he vanished like a flash of light, And so I won disworship of my quest. Columbe. By all the saints of God, an evil Beast! Wilt quench thy thirst again? Come, Guenever, Serve thou the king. King Arthur. (leaping up). How say ye, Guenever? Art thou the daughter to Leodegrance? King of Cameliard? Guenever. No other maid, I do protest, Sir king. King Arthur. Nay, by my sword, I need no oath to prove me what thou art. The day I freed thy father of Rience Thou stood'st before me, matchless in my sight, So like the splendid sun I fell abashed And veiled mine eyes for worship of thy face. Guenever. And did my lord the king learn gentle speech From this same Questing Beast? In Camelot Men say he knows not how a maiden's face Looks other than the visor'd visage grim Of armoured knights. King Arthur. A murrain on the Beast! In fair Cameliard I learned it well, Nor slept a sennight for the wisdom gained. Guenever. Why, now I know they were but sorry japes Wherewith the Court did mock me, for the king Is not so faultless that he may not mark A damsel's face, and tell her so withal. King Arthur. As thou shalt know, anon, my lady fair; Come, sit beside me, let me see thine eyes Look into mine, and let me hear thy voice That lingers like the gentle summer wind Among the yearning trees. Give me thy hand And tell me of Cameliard - and thee. (He leads her beneath the pavilion.) Ysed. Look where Sir Launcelot, the dolorous knight, Stands ringed with thunder. Ettard. 'Tis a grievous thing To match a king in contest for a maid; I do bemoan his fortune. Sir Pelleas. Launcelot, - Why, how now, Launcelot! Have speech with us, Sir knight, be merry! Sir Tor. Art thou then unhorsed, Forefoughten with the first rude shock of fight That hurtles down the lists? Ettard. Out on thee, Tor! That thou shouldst mock a knight so all forlorn. Columbe. This likes me not: I would the king would ride Upon some other quest. (Exit Sir Launcelot.) Ysed. Sir Launcelot! He lightly leaves the field! Who follows on? A merry chase; come, sirs, the hunt is up. (Exit, followed by Sir Tor and Sir Ector.) Ettard. I have no heart for such a scurvy jest; Alas, poor Launcelot! Sir Pelleas. Bewail him not, I back him 'gainst the king. Ettard. Nay, Pelleas, Back no man 'gainst King Arthur. Sir Pelleas. Come away, I do beseech thee, sweet, if thou dost say "Back no man 'gainst King Arthur." Ettard. Save thyself, For well thou knowest, Pelleas, my heart Is like a stubborn fortress, strong and true, Whereof thou hast the key. Sir Pelleas. Yet let us go A little way along the water's rim, For by his glances Arthur needs us not. Ettard. Poor Launcelot! Sir Pelleas. Think not of him, Ettard, Or follow, and I'll teach thee to forget. (Exeunt.) King Arthur. Sir Kay, I pray thee, wait not on us here, I would not hinder thee. Sir Kay. I do protest, No hinderance, my lord. King Arthur. I do protest, Most grievous hinderance, my fair Sir Kay: We follow straitly. Columbe. Sir, we must away. Come thou with me, I fear the fruit of this. (Exeunt Sir Kay and Columbe.) King Arthur. My bonds are riven from me! They are gone, And I may give my tongue full liberty To voice the surging of my teaming heart. I love thee, Guenever! Guenever. And on the word Thy sport o'ersteps the limits of a jest. I am at fault that I did venture close Upon the brink of danger. Come, my lord, Let us go hence: this peril claims us not. King Arthur. I love thee! Give me back thy gentle hands And let me see the wonder of thine eyes Upturned to mine. I lack all mode of speech For pleading with thee, for my words are rude And hardly tempered to the cause of love, For that I am unlearnèd in the field Where any courtier matches me unscathed, That am for fighting, not for dalliance; And so I know not any form of words That is more potent than, I love thee, sweet! I love thee! Guenever. With such love as princes feign To lightly lead them to the end thereof. That usage likes me not. King Arthur. With such a love As never yet was known of any man Were he the truest knight of all the world! I knew not why my father gave me life, I knew not why I came by England's crown Nor why I marched to free Leodegrance, Thy father, till I saw thee, Guenever, And then I knew! Guenever. How lightly lies the oath Of knighthood on thee. What of Launcelot, Aye, what of Launcelot? High chivalry Thou showest, king! Hast thou no thought for him? King Arthur. Nor him, nor yet for anything that lives, Save only thee. The lightning of thine eyes Blots out all memory, all honour, all That guided, governed me. Sir Launcelot? I know him not! Is he then overlord Of thee and me, that I should wait on him And crave his pleasure? Am I not a man, A knight, a king? Shall I not match with him In contest for thy favour? Art thou his? How came he by thee? Is his title proved? By God, I challenge it! Guenever. I know thee not In this unwonted humour. Let me go, Thou art distraught! King Arthur. Aye, to the perilous edge Of perfect madness! In my fevered veins The seething blood cries out for recompense And hot requital! Guenever. Of thy gentleness Unloose me, king! King Arthur. Not though the sword of God Were brandished in mine eyes! I love thee, sweet, Give me thy lips, thyself! (Enter Merlin.) Merlin. King Arthur, hail! And to thee, lady, my most high devoir. My lord, I wait upon thee. King Arthur. Get ye gone! Avoid my sight and lightly. Guenever! (Exit Guenever.) Merlin. Stay thou with me, if thou indeed art king, And other than thy folly doth denote. King Arthur. What malice drove thee hither? Merlin. England, sir, That hardly brooks divided loyalty. Thou art the king. Let that enlightening torch Shine ever on the road thou treadest in, For by that light alone shalt thou avoid Rude misadventure. I will chide thee not, That thou hast played the fool. Thou art a boy, And therefore prone to vain and wanton things; But like a torrent raging lawlessly, I'll turn thine ardour in an wholesome course Until it serve God's ends. King Arthur. Must I abide In va**alage to thine o'erriding spleen, That am a king? Merlin. Abide a little yet And shortly shalt thou reap the high reward. No wanton humour leads me, but a cause, A giant purpose, meet for England's king To make his own. Endure me, good my lord, And I shall set thee on the awful throne Of universal majesty. But now I missed thee from the council of the kings That are thy va**als, and I find thee meshed Within the springes of a wanton girl. Yet will I chide thee not, but bid thee come The while I show thee labour fit for kings, And doubly fitting for thee, that shall reign The lord of monarchs. Come, thy place is there In Camelot, upon great England's throne. (Curtain.)