Agravaine
What is the scheme, then, that shall better it?
Mordred
I stake my first throw on this feast to-night.
The Queen is vext and in her stormy mood,
For that she feigned a sickness in excuse
To absent her from the jousts. Now when she’s tinder
To any chance fire—words can strike a spark;
Watch me for that—her secret may be out
Before she know it.