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

SCENE I. Camelot. The great hall of the castle. Sir Tor, Sir Ector, Sir Pelleas, Sir Breuse, and other Knights. Sir Pelleas. Now drain a beaker to Lord Arthur's love And England's queen that shall be, on a day; The fairest mistress and most worshipful Betwixt the borders of the Scottish king And grim Tintagail by the southern sea. The Lady Guenever! Omnes. Hail, Guenever! Sir Breuse. Forget not Launcelot! Come, good my lords, And drink oblivion to Launcelot Lest he rebel. 'Twere safer for the State. Sir Tor. Missay him not. As any loyal knight He yields before the king, not stretches forth A hungry hand to grasp the thing he gave. Sir Breuse. A noble knight! yet may the gift return For very liking; he will scorn it not. Sir Pelleas. Out on thy lewd and bawdy tongue, Sir Breuse, That dares missay a maid with scurrile japes; Thou art forsworn, thou false, felonious knight! Sir Breuse. Meseems I hear the voice of Launcelot, But by the Ma**, I look not on his visage; Yet is he champion of Guenever By right of earliest holding, and I crave His pardon that I mocked his paramour. Sir Pelleas. That word against thy teeth, thou lying knave! Sir Breuse. How now, 'tis not Sir Launcelot that speaks, But Pelleas? Why, thou most orgulous boy, Art thou then of the blest? This makes amaze Fall heavy on me. Sir Pelleas. Draw thy cankered sword, Thou shame of knighthood, for I prove the lie Upon thy body! Sir Breuse. Must I fight with babes? Strange portents loom in England, when a maid Forgets to favour men, and for a whim Is fain of boys and makes them champions. Sir Pelleas. Wil't fight or no? Sir Tor. Stand back, good Pelleas! Breuse saunce Pité this overleaps a jest: Guard thou thy tongue: we brook no calumny Against a maid. Sir Ector. Curb thou thy ba*tard blood Or thou shalt lose it lightly; we are knights, Not savage churls, and slander likes us not. Sir Breuse. Is any here would have to do with me? My sword is ready! Sir Tor. Worship is not won For fighting misbegotten savages. Hold hard thy tongue, or lightly as ye may Get thee again into thy wilderness. Sir Breuse. Fair manners find I in the haughty Court! Sir Ector. Thou'lt straitly cope with deeds as well as words, An' thou dost silence not thy railing speech. Avoid him, Pelleas, and you, Sir Tor. Come hither where the air is sweeter; sirs, What know ye of the rumour in the Court Touching the deed that Arthur does to-day? Fame is that some unwonted fortune falls On England through that King Leodegrance, We freed of Welsh Rience, but of what temper The merit is, or how the boon shall come, Whether of gold or knights or land, none knows That I have coped with. Wit ye ought of this? Sir Tor. Naught save that never ransom matched with his. Sir Pelleas. And I o'erheard the seneschal the while He muttered awsomely: "And I shall see Our glory grow again; Leodegrance, By thee comes England's dawn!" Sir Ector. 'Tis very strange; A fleeting memory, like fading smoke, Slips lightly by me of a magic tale My father told me very long ago When Arthur was my brother, of a thing The dead King Uther had whereby the State Waxed wonderly, until a doleful day Whereon a king did wrest it from his hold, The which was England's ruin. Sir Pelleas. That, mayhap, Was Joseph's sword, Excalibur. Sir Ector. Not so, For I remember me the legend well Of that most holy brand Lord Arthur won In London at King Uther's burial. (Enter: Sir Kay.) Sir Pelleas. Would well we knew. Sir Tor. Look where the seneschal Comes well besene in honour of the day. Ask him, Sir Ector. Sir Ector. Father, by thy leave I pray thee tell us of this wondrous thing King Arthur gainèd of Cameliard, The which works fame for England. Sir Kay. Curb thy zeal, Nor strive to sound the secrets of the king. I promise thee he tells ye when the time Has reached its term, but I can say ye nought, Nor will for all your asking. Sir Pelleas. Fair Sir Kay, Play not a churlish part, it ill beseems Thy gentle bearing and so gracious heart. Tell us, good seneschal. Sir Kay. Prevent me not, Nor vex me with your prying inquiries, I must attend the king. I tell ye nought. Sir Pelleas. And brave and hardy is the reason, sir; Thou knowest nothing. Sir Tor. I'll be sworn of that. Sir Kay. How now, ye insolent and saucy knaves, "Know nothing?" By the Ma**, I know enough To make your swelling hearts burst through the ribs For exultation. I know nought forsooth! Sir Pelleas. Then go your ways, Sir Kay, unto the king, And we will tell thee ere a little space What ransom King Leodegrance did give, For certes thou art ignorant. Sir Kay. I know, Ye shameless knights! Sir Pelleas. Nay, nay, Sir seneschal, The king has told thee nothing. Sir Kay. Aye, he has, And rounded my old eyes with wonderment. -- But I must to him --Stay! Ye think I boast Of that I know not -- but I must away, The king has summoned me. Sir Tor. Our high devoir Unto his lordship, and our humble praise That he did tell thee nought, wise seneschal. Sir Kay. This pa**es bearing! King Leodegrance Cedes the Round Table for his ransom. Hush, No word of this to any eager ear In Camelot. Farewell! (Exit.) Sir Pelleas. In sooth, Sir Kay Guards well the treasured secret of the king, Yet I do think he gave us little light. What boots a table to us? Sir Ector. 'Tis the same! I do remember now; the Table Round That was the pledge of prowess in the field, The guaranty of valour unexcelled; But how and why I do remember not. Sir Pelleas. Meseems I win small wisdom from thy words, For to the full they are as tenebrous And blind of meaning as thy father's speech. Sir Tor, I count on thee, for thou art merged In gloomy seas of studious debate. Read us the riddle! Sir Tor. As a mariner Contending with the rough and burly waves, Gropes blindly for the rope outflung for aid Nor grasps it ever, so I clutch in vain At fleeting phantoms of forgotten things. The great Round Table of Pendragon, -- aye, My father told me of its awful worth, So much I know. (Enter: above, Merlin.) Sir Pelleas. And that is nothing! -- Hail, Thou fearsome Merlin, I did think thee near, For on a moment all the hall grew dim With murky darkness, as a cloud had drawn Athwart the merry visage of the sun. We stand at gaze, magician, dumb with doubt, But thou art come to bring us blessèd ease; What is the ransom of Leodegrance, The great Round Table? Merlin. What is that to thee? Where heard ye ought of this? Sir Pelleas. Where else, fair sir, Save at the bubbling mouth of gossip's well, The prudest seneschal, that strongly swore He would tell nothing, and then lightly told. Merlin. Confide thy secrets to judicious age That like a withered bawd goes up and down To hawk her wares along the market-place! Sir Pelleas. A truce to mouldy saws; tell us of this! Merlin. Since ye do have the half, take ye the whole. The great Round Table of Pendragon comes, And so is England armed against the world. Sir Ector. That much we know. Sir Tor. But not the cause thereof. Merlin. When blessèd Joseph came from Palestine Unto the sacred isle of Avalon, He brought the awful Sword, Excalibur, And that most precious Thing, the Holy Grail. Long time he lay in Avalon, and they That came with him from looking on the face Of Jesu Christ, did build a little church Where stands the solemn pile of Glastonbury, And daily did the brothers sit at meat Around the Table. One by one the Lord Callèd them to Him, till the latest left, Alone and watching, heard the welcome voice. Yet ere he answered he did give the Sword, The Holy Grail, and this same Table Round, Unto the king from out whose mighty loins Sprang great Pendragon's line. A little while Pendragon guarded well the sacred gift And England waxed in glory. On a day He proved unfaithful, and the Holy Grail Returned to heaven, yet the Sword remained, And eke the Table. Slowly rolled the years Until King Uther's father's father reigned, By whom the Sword was lost. The evil hap Swept darkening over England; pestilence, Famine and battle blasted all the land, Until the king stood in such sorry plight He gave the Table to Cameliard For aid and succour 'gainst the paynim kings. So fell great England's glory, and the shame That scorched her fields burned out the memory Of ancient honour. Glory be to God, That did withhold His wrath, the Sword is come, And now the Table once again returns. The night is broken, and Pendragon's seed Shall reign, Pendragon, on Pendragon's throne. For 'round the Table knights invincible, Seven score and ten, each thronèd in his siege, Shall round a ring that none shall cope withal. Sir Pelleas. And are we chosen? Sir Ector. Are we summoned here To see the founding of the Table Round? Sir Tor. Who names the knights to form this wondrous ring, Who marks the sieges, Merlin? Merlin. God Himself! Whoso shall sit beside the sacred board Gains double prowess by His sovereign grace. But none may claim a siege save only he Whose sword is stainless: who has won renown In joust and tourney: who can bring the proof Of some adventure, knightly, worshipful: And in whose heart the flame of honour burns Untroubled of the breath of any shame. So once again the fame of England soars On beating wings into the farthest height Of earthly majesty. So God He sends Unto King Arthur endless victory, Rimless dominion, and a steadfast crown. No longer England chafes within the curb Of fretting seas, but leaps the narrow flood And wins the world, Pendragon's heritage! (Exit.) Sir Ector. Ye mock us, Merlin! Sir Pelleas. He is gone again And as he came, unmarked of any eye. How think ye, Tor, did Merlin jest with us, Or is this wonder rising to its dawn? Sir Tor. I doubt me nothing, now King Arthur reigns; No marvel balks me. Sir Ector. Hark, what horns are these, Didst hear them? Sir Tor. Aye, look where Duke Lucas comes Forspent with haste. What word? Sir Pelleas. Lord duke, what word? (Enter: Duke Lucas.) Duke Lucas. Good sirs, I come from looking on a thing So pa**ing wonderful I lack the heart To give it forth, for ye will cry me down, And mock me for a madman. Sir Tor. Nay, no whit. We take thy word, for wonders with the sun Rise brightning over England on this day. Sir Pelleas. Hast thou descried a comet in the noon Fighting the sun with greater glory? Sir Ector. Speak, Duke Lucas of the Southfolk, nor defraud Our hungry ears of marvels. Duke Lucas. As I rode, But now to answer to the king, I spied A little army wonderly arrayed, And decked with trappings alien to mine eyes. No banners blew along the morning air, All blank the shields that swung beside the knights, But fashionèd of bra** that mocked the sun With emulating fire. For a space I halted, dumb with wonder; moving slow The pageant pa**ed, and in the midst thereof I saw twelve aged men, most reverend And grave of countenance: within each hand A branch of olive spake the peaceful quest, The which a**uaged my doubt, and so with spur Unspared I galloped here to Camelot To warn the castle. Sir Ector. Emba**y from Rome! So far the fame of England's name has fled. Sir Tor. Call out the knights! Advise the heedless king Of this most gracious advent. (Trumpets without.) Duke Lucas. Follow me! Hark, how the trumpets signal Rome's approach, Make we what show we may. Come on, Sir knights! (Trumpets.) Sir Pelleas. I know that song: the horns of Camelot Give England's greeting to Imperial Rome. Cry royal welcome, knights! Omnes. Hail, Rome! All hail! (Exeunt: leaving Sir Breuse.) Sir Breuse. So, like a mob of silly, gaping boys, The fawning hounds troop off to mouth and stare. I rest me here and watch; I have her word, Queen Morgan's word, that I shall wear the crown That Arthur ravished from the rotting skull Of Uther. Shall I gain it then to-day? Ha, Morgan! (Enter: Morgan le Fay) Morgan. Hail, Sir Breuse saunce Pité How like ye Camelot? Sir Breuse. As ba*tards love The house forbid them by their father's lust. How else? Morgan. Thou art discourteous of speech. Dost owe me nothing? Sir Breuse. No! Morgan. How now, thou knave? I promise thee the crown. Sir Breuse. And give it not. Morgan. Thou puling child, a crown is hardly won For asking. Sir Breuse. But by taking. Mark the king. Morgan. The king? The crown is topling to its fall From off his vaunting head. Hold thou thy hand And wait on me; when thou dost see it roll A trundling circlet to thy shambling feet, Then grasp it! Thou art king and I am queen. Sir Breuse. And Uriens? Morgan. Falls with Lord Arthur's crown. Sir Breuse. How long must I abide? Morgan. Until the king Has married Guenever, and Launcelot Makes noble horns sprout on the royal head To crowd the crown! Sir Breuse. And on the word he comes. Bid him bestir. (Enter: Sir Launcelot.) Morgan. Hail, Launcelot du Lake, Thou art o'er kind to wait upon the king That lightly triumphs over thee. Sir Breuse. Be sure He'll not attend thee, knight, in gentle wise The night thy triumph falls! Sir Launcelot. Hark ye, Sir Breuse, I am not tempered to abide thy words This day or any when, as slimy snails Defile a rose, they do befoul the name Of Lady Guenever. Look to it, sir. Sir Breuse. Before to-day I've seen a monkish cowl Serve as a cloak for cunning lechery, Nor ducked devotion for the seeing. Sir Launcelot. Peace! Or on the word thou art an unshrived corse. Sir Breuse. By God! I lie no longer in the hail Of ribald railing that King Arthur's Court Holds high in honour! Morgan. Sheathe thine eager sword, Thou testy brawler, lest it cut the cord That binds thee to good hap. Sir Launcelot, Small worship gainest thou of conflict here, But haply misadventure. (Exit Morgan and Sir Breuse.) Sir Launcelot. Go thy ways, Thou mock of chivalry, I k** thee not. (Trumpets. Enter Duke Lucas, Duke Brastias, Sir Tor, Sir Ector, Sir Pelleas, and Knights. With them twelve Amba**adors.) Duke Lucas. Upon the stroke comes now great England's king, Most reverend amba**adors. Be sure He will of his great gentleness be pleased To have Rome's message in his royal hands Before the task that waits him. Stand ye here Beside the throne. Sir Tor. Hark, how the warning call Of brazen-throated trumpets doth proclaim His happy coming. Omnes. Hail to England's king! God save King Arthur! (Enter: King Arthur, with him va**al Kings, Nobles, Knights, and Pages, preceded by Sir Kay. When the King comes before the throne the Amba**adors kneel.) First Amba**ador. Hail, most mighty king! Receive our homage, and of royal grace Be pleased to listen to the solemn words Imperial Rome has spoken. King Arthur. Who are ye, Most venerable, that do stay the course Of England's kign upon this blessèd day? We give ye royal greeting. Let it serve Until the high fulfillment of the hour; Then shall we hark with unabated ear Unto our cousin, Rome. Go on, my lords. First Amba**ador. Stand, England! for our duty may not wait. King Arthur. How say ye, may not? Yet perforce it must, Since we are prompted not to stay our course For any king in Christendom. Go on. First Amba**ador. Bethink thee, England, Rome speaks through our lips, Disworship unto her is sacrilege. King Arthur. We are not wanting in fair courtesy, Nor would we suffer semblance of the lack. So be it, sirs. My lords, we crave your grace The while we wait on these amba**adors. Now sir, speak on. (He ascends the throne.) First Amba**ador. The mighty emperor, Lucius, Dictator of the Public Weal And Sovereign of the World, to England's king Sends greeting, and commands him by the laws, The statutes, and decrees that Caesar made, He that did conquer Britain and was crowned First Emperor of Rome, that he shall swear Liege loyalty to him, as they have sworn, His royal predecessors, out of mind. Sir Pelleas. My lords, must we sit silent under this And hear our king missayed by Roman knaves Nor lift a sword in answer? Sir Tor. By the Ma**, Thou speakest as a man! My lord, my king, Have done with this! Sir Launcelot. Dismiss the Emba**y! Omnes. Down with them! King Arthur. Silence! We are crownèd king, And as a king we listen. Finish, sir. First Amba**ador. So runs Rome's high commandment: if ye fail To render homage unto Caesar, fail To pay the truage rightly due to him As sovereign lord of England --- Duke Brastias. Stay thy tongue, Thy life is forfeit if thou sayest more! King Arthur. Peace! Are ye knights, or knaves, that dare defy Our royal will? Say on! First Amba**ador. If ye refuse To bind yourself in va**alage to Rome, He will forthwith wage such unkindly war Against your realm, that to the end of time Ye shall remain a warning to the world Of that most fearsome chastisement that falls On such as do deny him. We are done. Sir Pelleas. Knights, rally to the king! Duke Brastias. Hell seize the churls! Duke Lucas. By all the saints of God, we'll prove our king The peer of any Roman! Sir Pelleas. Draw your swords! King Arthur. Here to me, spearmen! guard them with your lives Or yours shall pay the forfeit. Hear me speak! Am I a king of men, or lawless wolves, That ye shall dare a**ail amba**adors With olives in their hands? Strike back your swords! Sir Launcelot. They mocked your majesty! Sir Pelleas. They did defile The honour of our kingdom! King Arthur. What of that? We are no wanton, jealous of a name That bears scant questioning, but England's king, Raised on an eminence of such estate That words are gadflies waging silly war Against a mighty mountain. We will give Such answer unto Rome as does befit Our crown and England. Lord amba**adors, Ye shall return unscathed unto your king, "Lucius, Dictator of the Public Weal And Sovereign of the World." From England's king Bear ye our greeting; say, "Thus England spake." The great Round Table of Pendragon's House Is 'stablishèd to-day. An hundred knights And fifty, stainless, ignorant of fear, Shall form a circle none may cope withal. To-morrow we will wed with Guenever; Upon the day thereafter we shall go, With raging armies that shall shake the earth, To take possession of Imperial Rome, Whereof we are the king and overlord. To them that do confess us emperor We grant abundant pardon, but to him That doth usurp our throne, and unto them That dare deny our lordship we shall mete Such chastisement as doth befit their case. The audience is ended. Omnes. On to Rome! God save King Arthur! Lead us on to Rome! Curtain.