At shout of Mordred! Yea a thousand throats
Will cry me King when my fate topples Arthur.
Vivien. Now art thyself, this be thy natural mood.
Yea Mordred when thou kingest it, there will be
A splendid thraldom to true kingliness.
For thou wilt sink a terror in men’s hearts
Of King’s prerogatives will make them fear
The very sound and rumor of thy name.
And there will go before thee waves of will
Presaging thunders of thy royal coming.