Guin. And what art thou, strange heap, that speakest thus unto the queen.
Mordred. Madam, I am one who through this world,
Goeth by ways of sorrow and mishap.
Knowest me not, Madam?
Guin. Thou seemest like some gloomier Dagonet,
Wearing the proud black of some mock tragedy.
Art thou another fool?
Vivien. (Aside.) Ah! that will touch him.
Mordred. A fool, Madam! Callest thou Mordred a fool?