Mordred. Nay, dare; the first and last have many means.
But cease at length; your speech molests me much.
My mind is fix’d: give Mordred leave to do
What Conan neither can allow nor like.
Conan. But lo, an Herald sent from Arthur’s host.
Gods grant his message may portend our good.[266]
THE THIRD SCENE.
Herald, Gawin, Mordred.
Herald. Your sire, O Prince, considering what distress
The realm sustains by both your mutual wars,