Howell. Lo, here an herald sent from Mordred’s camp:
A froward message, if I read aright.
We mought not stir his wrath; perhaps this may:
Persuasions cannot move a Briton’s mood,
And yet none sooner stung with present wrong.
[Aside.]
Herald. Hail, peerless prince! whiles fortune would, our king,
Though now bereft of crown and former rule.
Vouchsafe me leave my message to impart,
No jot enforc’d, but as your son affords.