For that poor, wry, misshapen shell of his.
Arthur. Oh cruel! cruel! cruel!
Merlin. Mordred come forth.
[Enter Mordred who kneels and tries to cover himself with his cloak.
Arthur. (Starts.) What be this?
Merlin. Thy son Mordred, the heir to thy realm!
Arthur. Oh black angered Heaven! (Falls heavily to the ground.)
Mordred. Father! my father! Merlin thou has killed my father.
Oh Merlin thou wert over-cruel!
Merlin. Better that he were dead a thousand deaths