Our high, lord Arthur, whom thou lovest so well;
If this be my poor crime, forgive me lady,
Seeing thou thyself art happier in the same.
Thou art the splendid moon to his great planet,
And we but stars that vanish at thy rising.
Guin. What wouldst thou with me?
Vivien. I would bring unto thy notice one,
Wronged of nature and his human kind,
Knowing where thine admiration stopped,
Might follow thy pity.