Mordred. Ah Merlin, would my spirit thou wert right,
And I would show him such a son’s true love,
And consecrate this subtlety within me,
To build a fence of safety round his glory.
But something tells me, some weird, evil doom,
That sits about my heart by day and night,
An awful presence that will never flit,
That he will never love me, yea, that more,
Of all things hateful to him on this earth,
My presence the most hateful. Oh great Mage,