Little didst thou dream, what demon thou wert raising,
When thou didst conjure Mordred.
Vivien. Darest thou me?
Mordred. Yea, look into my glass and ask thyself,
What Mordred hath in life to hope or fear?
But I do tell thee, Woman, Mordred in hell
Will be no tortured creature spinning round,
But himself the very devil.
To show my power of evilment, I tell thee,
I know thy fatal liking for myself.