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Texts
"Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere, A Fragment," from Idylls of the King by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (circa 1830)
Then, in the boyhood of the year,
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro' the coverts of the deer,
With blissful treble ringing clear.
She seem'd a part of joyous Spring;
A gown of grass-green silk she wore,
Buckled with golden clasps before;
A light-green tuft of plumes she bore
Closed in a golden ring.
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro' the coverts of the deer,
With blissful treble ringing clear.
She seem'd a part of joyous Spring;
A gown of grass-green silk she wore,
Buckled with golden clasps before;
A light-green tuft of plumes she bore
Closed in a golden ring.
"Epilogue: To the Queen," from Idylls of the King by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (circa 1885)
[O]r him
Of Geoffrey's book, or him of Malleor's, one
Touched by the adulterous finger of a time
That hovered between war and wantonness,
And crownings and dethronements: take withal
Thy poet's blessing...
Of Geoffrey's book, or him of Malleor's, one
Touched by the adulterous finger of a time
That hovered between war and wantonness,
And crownings and dethronements: take withal
Thy poet's blessing...
Launcelot of the Lake: A Tragedy, in Five Acts (Advertisement) by C. J. Riethmüller (1843)
The following Tragedy, founded upon a celebrated Romance of the Middle Ages, was offered to the late management of Drury Lane Theatre, and reserved by Mr. SERLE (from whom the Author received the utmost politeness and attention) for the perusal of Mr. MACREADY. But before it could be submitted to the last-named gentleman, the season was brought to a close, and our greatest living actor retired from the directon of that stage, which he had laboured with so much earnestness to exalt and purify. Under these circumstances, with the gloomy prospects of the drama in general, any attempt to procure the representaton of this play seemed for the present hopeless. The Author was therefore advised to run the risk of publishing; and it now only remains for him to return his sincere thanks, both to his friends, and to many before unknown to him, who have kindly sent him their names to be placed on his list of subscribers. In the difficult career of the drama, he is fully aware of the hazard of a first step: and, if he do not trouble the reader with any lengthened preface, it is because he feels, that the success or failure of a work of this kind, must depend after all on the text, and cannot be influenced by the commentary.
Launcelot of the Lake: A Tragedy, in Five Acts (Act II, Scene 1) by C. J. Riethmüller (1843)
LAUNCELOT.
What, if it were -- she never can be mine.
Reason itself disowns the idle thought;
Yet, spite of reason, it will oft return,
To haunt me with its brightness. O my heart!
Hast thou forgotten all thy many wrongs?
Was she not false?
Ha! -- ladies -- pardon me!
I knew not, that I strayed so near your walk.
Permit me to withdraw! (Going.)
MORGAN LE FAY.
Not so, Sir Launcelot!
The queen has sent me with a message yonder,
And till I come again, desires thy company. (To GWENEVER.)
Now is the time! -- Speak -- or be silent ever! (Exits.)
SIR LAUNCELOT.
(After a silence.) If there be aught, which thou wouldst tell me, madam,
I wait upon thy pleasure.
(A long silence.)
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Heaven is my witness,
I did not seek this interview. Many days
Have I gone wandering up and down these gardens,
Like a poor, troubled ghost -- but never once
Did I attempt to cast my gloomy shadow
Across thy sun-lit path.
Why should I do so?
Art thou not happy?
GWENEVER.
Happy!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Other women
Regard thy lot with envy. No advancement
Could raise thee higher than thou art. A queen
Of earthly queens -- a hero-monarch's bride --
Loved, honoured, almost worshipped -- what is wanting
To make thee happy?
GWENEVER.
Cruel! thou sayest this!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
And wherefore not? Is it for me to dwell
Upon the past? Did I first break the charm,
That clothed our life in beauty, and adorned
This common world with radiance not its own?
Did I tear down the temples of old faith,
Turning to mockery all things sacred else
By that one profanation? -- 'Twas thy choice --
Thy free, unfettered choice -- to barter love
For gems and gewgaws of imperial state.
If it were wise (and who shall doubt its wisdom?)
Thou shouldst be happy now!
GWENEVER.
Hold! I will answer thee.
Not that I would recall the past -- the dead --
But that hereafter thou mayst think of me
Without reproach or bitterness. Let's be frank
With one another! Both perchance have erred.
When first thou camest to my father's court,
I was a very foolish, innocent girl,
Who ne'er suspected harm; in thee I saw
The young, bright hero of a maiden's dream,
And trusted thee, and gave thee all my heart.
Nor did I stay to question, if such love
For an unknown adventurer, without sanction
Of friends or parents, could be counted wise,
Or blest of heaven.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
This then is all thy grief --
That thou didst love unworthily.
GWENEVER.
No -- ah, no!
My instincts did not err: I had chosen well.
But was it prudent -- was it kind -- to shroud
Thy ways in mystery, and thus leave me dubious
Of my own fate? Has lordly man the right
To ask a woman's fealty, yet keep back
His perfect confidence? Hadst thou but spoken
The simple truth -- hadst thou declared thy name --
My father would have pledged his kingly word,
And we should now be . . .
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Can this justify
A breach of faith?
GWENEVER.
I seek not to defend,
But to extenuate. Hear me -- and then judge!
Dost thou remember when we parted last?
Month after month I waited thy return,
Still hoped, and still believed; yet time rolled on,
And brought no tidings. What though my cheek grew pale,
I kept our secret in my aching breast,
And stifled my despair. At length it chanced,
That Erin's mighty chief assailed our coast
With such a force as made resistance vain,
Escape impossible: in his great need,
My father sent to beg King Arthur's help,
And like a thunder-bolt the monarch flew
To crush our haughty foes. The land was saved!
How could we ever hope to pay the debt
We owed the generous victor? All our gold
Would have been light, when weighed with such a service.
He was content with less: he only asked
For this one little hand.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
And I not there!
GWENEVER.
What could I do? I sought on every side
Excuses for delay, and still postponed
The fatal moment -- but my father urged
Obedience to his will, and all men prayed,
That I would grant their great deliverer's suit.
Could I have spoken out, I might have trusted
To the king's honour; but, even for maiden shame,
I durst not plead a rash, unauthorised love
For one, who (judging by his lengthened silence)
Had ceased to think of me.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
No more! no more!
Thy words are like swift arrows to my soul.
Leave all recrimination! What is done
Is done. Eternity will not undo it.
(MORGAN LE FAY in the background, listening.)
SIR LAUNCELOT.
And is it then a crime to love thee, Gwenever?
And shall the past be void of memories,
The future without hope? Will it be sin,
To bear thy image ever as of old
In my heart's core, to worship thy sweet looks,
Wait on thy footsteps, kiss the hallowed ground
Where thou hast lingered, dream of thee in sleep,
And wake to bless thy name? O dearest love!
I'd freely shed my life-blood, drop by drop,
To save thee from a pang -- but never think,
That I can gaze on thee as I do now,
And yet feel nothing here!
GWENEVER.
Alas for me!
Alas for both of us! I will not feign
To marvel at these words. I too am weak;
And, being a woman, it were doubly strange,
If I could wish thee to forget so soon
All that once made us happy. 'Twas the hope
Of living in thy memory some few years,
That led me to explain the doubtful past:
But for the future -- Launcelot! -- gentle friend!
I am a wife -- the king, thy master's wife --
And may not, must not hear of love.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
O misery!
GWENEVER.
If thou couldst do me a great service, Launcelot,
Wouldst thou refuse me for the dread of toil,
Or sacrifice, or danger?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I refuse thee?
Not if it cost a world!
GWENEVER.
I ask not much;
Yet more than I have any right to claim,
Save from thy pity. Leave us for awhile --
Quit Arthur's court -- get thee to thy own lands,
Or seek adventures on a foreign shore --
But come not here again, till time has healed
The wounds that now bleed fresh!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Mine must bleed on!
GWENEVER.
Not always -- for the peace of a good conscience
Will be thy balm. Let's bear our destiny
With patience: we shall have no guilt to bear.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I will obey thee. Though the strife be hard,
The victory shall be won. To-morrow sees me
Far from this palace -- far from these haunted bowers --
Far from the dangerous witchcraft of thy presence.
This interview…
GWENEVER.
Shall be our last.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Thou hast said it.
Farewell! farewell! May blessings fall like dew
Upon thy head; may heaven's bright angels guard thee,
And holiest thoughts make music in thy soul!
Reach me the hand I ne'er may clasp again;
Let me for one brief moment hold it fast,
And press it thus to my love-fevered lips!
Here, on the brink of parting, this at least
May be permitted me!
GWENEVER.
(Disengaging herself.) Enough, dear friend! The worst is over now.
Depart while it is time! As thou art merciful,
Prolong not this dread anguish!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I have done.
But who shall say, that we have seen the worst?
A black foreboding weighs upon my spirits,
And will not thence. O 'tis most horrible,
If life have keener agonies yet in store
To pierce our souls withal!
GWENEVER.
Do what is right;
And, for the rest, leave it to heaven's high wisdom!
Go -- I conjure thee, go!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Farewell to love!
And, love being gone, farewell to hope and fear!
When I have passed yon portals, think of me
As of the dead! -- Henceforth my heart is stone. (Exit.)
What, if it were -- she never can be mine.
Reason itself disowns the idle thought;
Yet, spite of reason, it will oft return,
To haunt me with its brightness. O my heart!
Hast thou forgotten all thy many wrongs?
Was she not false?
Ha! -- ladies -- pardon me!
I knew not, that I strayed so near your walk.
Permit me to withdraw! (Going.)
MORGAN LE FAY.
Not so, Sir Launcelot!
The queen has sent me with a message yonder,
And till I come again, desires thy company. (To GWENEVER.)
Now is the time! -- Speak -- or be silent ever! (Exits.)
SIR LAUNCELOT.
(After a silence.) If there be aught, which thou wouldst tell me, madam,
I wait upon thy pleasure.
(A long silence.)
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Heaven is my witness,
I did not seek this interview. Many days
Have I gone wandering up and down these gardens,
Like a poor, troubled ghost -- but never once
Did I attempt to cast my gloomy shadow
Across thy sun-lit path.
Why should I do so?
Art thou not happy?
GWENEVER.
Happy!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Other women
Regard thy lot with envy. No advancement
Could raise thee higher than thou art. A queen
Of earthly queens -- a hero-monarch's bride --
Loved, honoured, almost worshipped -- what is wanting
To make thee happy?
GWENEVER.
Cruel! thou sayest this!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
And wherefore not? Is it for me to dwell
Upon the past? Did I first break the charm,
That clothed our life in beauty, and adorned
This common world with radiance not its own?
Did I tear down the temples of old faith,
Turning to mockery all things sacred else
By that one profanation? -- 'Twas thy choice --
Thy free, unfettered choice -- to barter love
For gems and gewgaws of imperial state.
If it were wise (and who shall doubt its wisdom?)
Thou shouldst be happy now!
GWENEVER.
Hold! I will answer thee.
Not that I would recall the past -- the dead --
But that hereafter thou mayst think of me
Without reproach or bitterness. Let's be frank
With one another! Both perchance have erred.
When first thou camest to my father's court,
I was a very foolish, innocent girl,
Who ne'er suspected harm; in thee I saw
The young, bright hero of a maiden's dream,
And trusted thee, and gave thee all my heart.
Nor did I stay to question, if such love
For an unknown adventurer, without sanction
Of friends or parents, could be counted wise,
Or blest of heaven.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
This then is all thy grief --
That thou didst love unworthily.
GWENEVER.
No -- ah, no!
My instincts did not err: I had chosen well.
But was it prudent -- was it kind -- to shroud
Thy ways in mystery, and thus leave me dubious
Of my own fate? Has lordly man the right
To ask a woman's fealty, yet keep back
His perfect confidence? Hadst thou but spoken
The simple truth -- hadst thou declared thy name --
My father would have pledged his kingly word,
And we should now be . . .
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Can this justify
A breach of faith?
GWENEVER.
I seek not to defend,
But to extenuate. Hear me -- and then judge!
Dost thou remember when we parted last?
Month after month I waited thy return,
Still hoped, and still believed; yet time rolled on,
And brought no tidings. What though my cheek grew pale,
I kept our secret in my aching breast,
And stifled my despair. At length it chanced,
That Erin's mighty chief assailed our coast
With such a force as made resistance vain,
Escape impossible: in his great need,
My father sent to beg King Arthur's help,
And like a thunder-bolt the monarch flew
To crush our haughty foes. The land was saved!
How could we ever hope to pay the debt
We owed the generous victor? All our gold
Would have been light, when weighed with such a service.
He was content with less: he only asked
For this one little hand.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
And I not there!
GWENEVER.
What could I do? I sought on every side
Excuses for delay, and still postponed
The fatal moment -- but my father urged
Obedience to his will, and all men prayed,
That I would grant their great deliverer's suit.
Could I have spoken out, I might have trusted
To the king's honour; but, even for maiden shame,
I durst not plead a rash, unauthorised love
For one, who (judging by his lengthened silence)
Had ceased to think of me.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
No more! no more!
Thy words are like swift arrows to my soul.
Leave all recrimination! What is done
Is done. Eternity will not undo it.
(MORGAN LE FAY in the background, listening.)
SIR LAUNCELOT.
And is it then a crime to love thee, Gwenever?
And shall the past be void of memories,
The future without hope? Will it be sin,
To bear thy image ever as of old
In my heart's core, to worship thy sweet looks,
Wait on thy footsteps, kiss the hallowed ground
Where thou hast lingered, dream of thee in sleep,
And wake to bless thy name? O dearest love!
I'd freely shed my life-blood, drop by drop,
To save thee from a pang -- but never think,
That I can gaze on thee as I do now,
And yet feel nothing here!
GWENEVER.
Alas for me!
Alas for both of us! I will not feign
To marvel at these words. I too am weak;
And, being a woman, it were doubly strange,
If I could wish thee to forget so soon
All that once made us happy. 'Twas the hope
Of living in thy memory some few years,
That led me to explain the doubtful past:
But for the future -- Launcelot! -- gentle friend!
I am a wife -- the king, thy master's wife --
And may not, must not hear of love.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
O misery!
GWENEVER.
If thou couldst do me a great service, Launcelot,
Wouldst thou refuse me for the dread of toil,
Or sacrifice, or danger?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I refuse thee?
Not if it cost a world!
GWENEVER.
I ask not much;
Yet more than I have any right to claim,
Save from thy pity. Leave us for awhile --
Quit Arthur's court -- get thee to thy own lands,
Or seek adventures on a foreign shore --
But come not here again, till time has healed
The wounds that now bleed fresh!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Mine must bleed on!
GWENEVER.
Not always -- for the peace of a good conscience
Will be thy balm. Let's bear our destiny
With patience: we shall have no guilt to bear.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I will obey thee. Though the strife be hard,
The victory shall be won. To-morrow sees me
Far from this palace -- far from these haunted bowers --
Far from the dangerous witchcraft of thy presence.
This interview…
GWENEVER.
Shall be our last.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Thou hast said it.
Farewell! farewell! May blessings fall like dew
Upon thy head; may heaven's bright angels guard thee,
And holiest thoughts make music in thy soul!
Reach me the hand I ne'er may clasp again;
Let me for one brief moment hold it fast,
And press it thus to my love-fevered lips!
Here, on the brink of parting, this at least
May be permitted me!
GWENEVER.
(Disengaging herself.) Enough, dear friend! The worst is over now.
Depart while it is time! As thou art merciful,
Prolong not this dread anguish!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
I have done.
But who shall say, that we have seen the worst?
A black foreboding weighs upon my spirits,
And will not thence. O 'tis most horrible,
If life have keener agonies yet in store
To pierce our souls withal!
GWENEVER.
Do what is right;
And, for the rest, leave it to heaven's high wisdom!
Go -- I conjure thee, go!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Farewell to love!
And, love being gone, farewell to hope and fear!
When I have passed yon portals, think of me
As of the dead! -- Henceforth my heart is stone. (Exit.)
Launcelot of the Lake: A Tragedy, in Five Acts (Act II, Scene 4) by C. J. Riethmüller (1843)
GWENEVER.
Have I grown selfish?
Or lacked I power to thank this lady's kindness?
Well! sorrow best agrees with solitude;
I will make fast my door -- and then to bed!
Silence at least is there -- and sleep may come.
(As she goes to the door, SIR LAUNCELOT appears at the open window. In returning she perceives him, and utters a faint shriek.)
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Hush! it is I.
GWENEVER.
O madness!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
(Entering.) Be not frightened!
Have I not answered to my true love's call?
Bid me draw near!
GWENEVER.
What dreadful mockery's this?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
(Advancing.) Nay, shrink not from me with so wild a gaze!
See! I am at thy feet!
GWENEVER.
Imprudent! Cruel!
Was this thy promised faith?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
What have I done?
GWENEVER.
What! -- is it nothing then to put in jeopardy
A woman's honour -- nothing, at dead of night,
To break upon her privacy, and give
Her name to every slanderous, ribald tongue,
To bruise and mangle?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Didst thou not send for me?
GWENEVER.
Send for thee!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Yes! and leave thy casement open,
Place the rope-ladder ready for my steps,
Fling down the rose?
GWENEVER.
Alas! we are both beguiled.
I never sent for thee. O gentle Launcelot!
Some wicked plot is laid against our lives.
If thou didst ever love me, prove it now!
Fly! Save thyself and me!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Dearest and best!
Forgive me, if I wronged thee for a moment
Even by a thought!
GWENEVER.
All is forgiven -- all:
But from delay worse mischief may ensue.
Haste to the window! Fly!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
The ladder's gone!
GWENEVER.
Then we are lost!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
No! I may yet leap down.
GWENEVER.
Thou wouldst be dashed to pieces: and see there!
Dark figures glide across the silvery lawn,
To hem the fugitive.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Once on the ground,
My sword should cleave a passage.
GWENEVER.
No, in heaven's name!
It were to add the crimson hue of blood
To the foul scandal. Rather try the door!
It is our only chance.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Be not dismayed!
No power on earth shall harm thee.
GWENEVER.
Save thyself!
It is thy presence, which endangers all.
Lose not another instant!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Now for the proof!
(He unfastens the door, which immediately flies open; and, as SIR LAUNCELOT steps back, enter KING ARTHUR with knights.)
KING ARTHUR.
We are well met.
Have I grown selfish?
Or lacked I power to thank this lady's kindness?
Well! sorrow best agrees with solitude;
I will make fast my door -- and then to bed!
Silence at least is there -- and sleep may come.
(As she goes to the door, SIR LAUNCELOT appears at the open window. In returning she perceives him, and utters a faint shriek.)
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Hush! it is I.
GWENEVER.
O madness!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
(Entering.) Be not frightened!
Have I not answered to my true love's call?
Bid me draw near!
GWENEVER.
What dreadful mockery's this?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
(Advancing.) Nay, shrink not from me with so wild a gaze!
See! I am at thy feet!
GWENEVER.
Imprudent! Cruel!
Was this thy promised faith?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
What have I done?
GWENEVER.
What! -- is it nothing then to put in jeopardy
A woman's honour -- nothing, at dead of night,
To break upon her privacy, and give
Her name to every slanderous, ribald tongue,
To bruise and mangle?
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Didst thou not send for me?
GWENEVER.
Send for thee!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Yes! and leave thy casement open,
Place the rope-ladder ready for my steps,
Fling down the rose?
GWENEVER.
Alas! we are both beguiled.
I never sent for thee. O gentle Launcelot!
Some wicked plot is laid against our lives.
If thou didst ever love me, prove it now!
Fly! Save thyself and me!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Dearest and best!
Forgive me, if I wronged thee for a moment
Even by a thought!
GWENEVER.
All is forgiven -- all:
But from delay worse mischief may ensue.
Haste to the window! Fly!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
The ladder's gone!
GWENEVER.
Then we are lost!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
No! I may yet leap down.
GWENEVER.
Thou wouldst be dashed to pieces: and see there!
Dark figures glide across the silvery lawn,
To hem the fugitive.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Once on the ground,
My sword should cleave a passage.
GWENEVER.
No, in heaven's name!
It were to add the crimson hue of blood
To the foul scandal. Rather try the door!
It is our only chance.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Be not dismayed!
No power on earth shall harm thee.
GWENEVER.
Save thyself!
It is thy presence, which endangers all.
Lose not another instant!
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Now for the proof!
(He unfastens the door, which immediately flies open; and, as SIR LAUNCELOT steps back, enter KING ARTHUR with knights.)
KING ARTHUR.
We are well met.
King Arthur: Or, Launcelot the Loose, Gin-Ever the Square, and the Knights of the Round Table, and Other Furniture. A Burlesque Extravaganza (Act I, Scene 3) by W. M. Akhurst (1868)
AIR:
Guen.
Oh, don't you see these saline tears
A rolling down my cheek,
And can you be so in-hu-man
As words like those to speak.
I love him wildly, desperately,
And not another cove,
Except, perhaps, my hus-a-band
Shall ever be my love.
Modred.
Oh, yes, I see those saline tears,
A trickerling down her cheek,
But (when a crammer doesn't pay)
The truth I'm bound to speak.
She loves him, &c.
(Exit MORDRED.)
Guen.
If Launcelot is false there's no wight blacker.
What's that? A horse? His nag? It is his-knack-er
(Enter Launcelot; he rushes to Guenever, who repels his advances.)
Launc.
My love, my Guenever, excuse my fussiness –
Give us a buss.
Guen.
(Loftily.) Stand back, sir, what's your business?
Launc.
Is this my welcome?
Guen.
Oh, sir, we are well met –
Where's the girl's sleeve you wore upon your helmet
When at the jousts?
Launc.
Eh! what's that, may I ask,
A piece of a-parrel, madam, on my casque,
A sleeve!
Guen.
A sleeve – with you words I won't bandy,
Launc.
I'll not tell you a fib. (Aside.) I haven't one handy.
Lady, I wore that sleeve outside my brain
At the suggestion of the fair Elaine.
Guen.
At her suggestion, oh you artful dodger,
You were at her, sir, jesting!
Launc.
Her pa's lodger.
I was at Astolat a day or two,
That precious sleeve she gave me.
Guen.
Yes!
Launc.
For you.
Guen.
This story's difficult, sir, to believe,
And yet an empty sleeve's an empty sleeve.
Launc.
You see there was no 'arm in it.
Guen.
Just so!
Why wear it all around your hat?
Launc.
You know
We haven't any pockets in our armour.
'Twas thine, I wore it as thy knight, my charmer.
Guen.
You love me then.
Launc.
Dearly, like pie, or dearer.
You're my sweet tart.
Guen.
That's pudden the case clearer.
Guen.
Oh, don't you see these saline tears
A rolling down my cheek,
And can you be so in-hu-man
As words like those to speak.
I love him wildly, desperately,
And not another cove,
Except, perhaps, my hus-a-band
Shall ever be my love.
Modred.
Oh, yes, I see those saline tears,
A trickerling down her cheek,
But (when a crammer doesn't pay)
The truth I'm bound to speak.
She loves him, &c.
(Exit MORDRED.)
Guen.
If Launcelot is false there's no wight blacker.
What's that? A horse? His nag? It is his-knack-er
(Enter Launcelot; he rushes to Guenever, who repels his advances.)
Launc.
My love, my Guenever, excuse my fussiness –
Give us a buss.
Guen.
(Loftily.) Stand back, sir, what's your business?
Launc.
Is this my welcome?
Guen.
Oh, sir, we are well met –
Where's the girl's sleeve you wore upon your helmet
When at the jousts?
Launc.
Eh! what's that, may I ask,
A piece of a-parrel, madam, on my casque,
A sleeve!
Guen.
A sleeve – with you words I won't bandy,
Launc.
I'll not tell you a fib. (Aside.) I haven't one handy.
Lady, I wore that sleeve outside my brain
At the suggestion of the fair Elaine.
Guen.
At her suggestion, oh you artful dodger,
You were at her, sir, jesting!
Launc.
Her pa's lodger.
I was at Astolat a day or two,
That precious sleeve she gave me.
Guen.
Yes!
Launc.
For you.
Guen.
This story's difficult, sir, to believe,
And yet an empty sleeve's an empty sleeve.
Launc.
You see there was no 'arm in it.
Guen.
Just so!
Why wear it all around your hat?
Launc.
You know
We haven't any pockets in our armour.
'Twas thine, I wore it as thy knight, my charmer.
Guen.
You love me then.
Launc.
Dearly, like pie, or dearer.
You're my sweet tart.
Guen.
That's pudden the case clearer.
