Yet yield yourself, he’ll be as prone to grace,
As you to ruth—an uncle, sire, and liege.
And fitter were your due submission done,
Than wrongful wars to reave his right and realm.
Mordred. It is my fault that he doth want his right:
It is his own to vex the realm with wars.
Gawin. It is his right that he attempts to seek:
It is your wrong that driveth him thereto.
Mordred. ’Tis his insatiate mind, that is not so content,
Which hath so many kingdoms more besides.