Mordred. The smallest axe may fell the hugest oak.
Gawin. Nor that, in felling him, yourself may fall?
Mordred. He falleth well, that falling fells his foe.
Gawin. Nor common chance, whereto each man is thrall?
Mordred. Small manhood were to turn my back to chance.
Gawin. Nor that, if chance afflict, kings brook it not?
Mordred. I bear no breast so unprepar’d for harms.
Even that I hold the kingliest point of all,
To brook afflictions well: and by how much
The more his state and tottering empire sags,