MORDRED. And hath he won? Be strands and shores possessed? Is Mordred foil’d? the realm is yet unwon, And Mordred lives, reserv’d for Arthur’s death! Well, ’twas my first conflict: I knew not yet What wars requir’d: but now my sword is flesh’d, And taught to gore and bathe in hottest blood. Then think not, Arthur, that the crown is won! Thy first success may rue our next assault; Even at our next encounter (hap when ’twill) I vow by heaven, by earth, by hell, by all, That either thou or I, or both shall die!
CONAN. Nought should be rashly vow’d against your sire.
MORDRED. Whose breast is free from rage may soon b’ advised.
CONAN. The best redress from rage is to relent.
MORDRED. ’Tis better for a king to kill his foes.
CONAN. So that the subjects also judge them foes.
MORDRED. The subjects must not judge their king’s decrees.
CONAN. The more you may, the more you ought to fear.
MORDRED. He is a fool that feareth what he may.
CONAN. Not what you may, but what you ought, is just.
MORDRED. He that amongst so many so unjust Seeks to be just, seeks peril to himself.
CONAN. A greater peril comes by breach of laws.
MORDRED. The laws do licence as the sovereign lists.
CONAN. Least ought he list, whom laws do licence most.
MORDRED. Imperial power abhors to be restrain’d.
CONAN. As much do meaner grooms[262] to be compell’d.
MORDRED. The fates have heav’d and rais’d my force on high.
CONAN. The gentler should you press those that are low.
CONAN. And lost by hate. He fears as man[y] himself whom many fear.
MORDRED. The timorous subject dares attempt no change.
CONAN. O spare! ’twere safer to be lov’d.
MORDRED. Where rulers dare command but what is well, Pow’r is but prayer, commandment but request.
CONAN. If pow’r be join’d with right, men must obey.
MORDRED. What! shall I stand, whiles Arthur sheds my blood? And must I yield my neck unto the axe? Whom fates constrain, let him forego his bliss; But he that needless yields unto his bane, When he may shun, doth well deserve to lose The good he cannot use. Who would sustain A baser life, that may maintain the best? We cannot part the crown: a regal throne Is not for two: the sceptre fits but one. But whether is the fitter of us two, That must our swords discern, and shortly shall.