Gawin. But will no reason rule that desperate mind?
Mordred. A fickle mind that every reason rules!
I rest resolv’d, and to my sire say thus:—
If here he stay but three days to an end,
And not forthwith discharge his band and host,
’Tis Mordred’s oath, assure himself to die.
But if he find his courage so to serve,
As for to stand to his defence with force,
In Cornwall, if he dare, I’ll try it out.
Gawin. O strange contempt! like as the craggy rock