A 
 
 
 A^Vv.
 
 THE 
 
 NEW KING ARTHUR 
 
 AN OPERA WITHOUT MUSIC 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE BUNTLING BALL" 
 
 FUNK & WAGNALLS 
 
 NEW YORK gg LONDON 
 
 .EET 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 1885 
 10 AND 12 DEY STREET 44 FLEET STREET
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1885, by 
 
 FUNK & WAGNALLS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 
 
 Registered at Stationers' Hall. London, England.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. 
 
 TAKE, Alfred, this mellifluous verse of mine, 
 Nor rank too high the honor I bestow, 
 Howe'er it thrill thy soul with grateful pride. 
 For thou hast sung of Arthur and his knights, 
 And thou hast told of deeds that they have done, 
 And thou hast told of loves that they have loved, 
 And thou hast told of sins that they have sinned, 
 And I have sung in my way, thou in thine. 
 I think my way superior to thine, 
 Yes, Alfred, yes, in loyal faith I do ; 
 But if I do I may be right or wrong ; 
 And whether right or wrong, what matters it ? 
 For shall not swans be swans, though geese are 
 geese ? 
 
 2041572
 
 iv DEDICA TION. 
 
 And if our swans be geese yet swans are deemed, 
 
 The merrier for ourselves that deem them swans. 
 
 So, take my verses, Alfred, nor with shame 
 
 Too deeply blush, as when we gain a boon 
 
 So precious that we know 'tis undeserved. 
 
 For thou hast very creditably sung 
 
 Of Arthur, if we judge thee all-in-all ; 
 
 And I, if I more creditably sing, 
 
 Can help it not ; but let us live our lives. 
 
 For now o'er tilth and wold, o'er waste and weald, 
 
 Full summer broods, the linnet warbles peace, 
 
 The red kine stray, and butter has gone down ! 
 
 NEW YORK, August, 1885.
 
 PERSONS OF THE PLAY. 
 
 ARTHUR, King of Britain. 
 MERLIN, his Magician in Ordinary. 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 MODRED, near Kinsman of the King. 
 DAGONET, the King's Fool. 
 SIR BEDIVERE. 
 SIR GERAINT. 
 
 GUINEVERE, Queen of Britain. 
 ENID. 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 KNIGHTS, LADIES, SOLDIERS, POPULACE OF CAMELOT, 
 ETC.
 
 Damna tamen celeres reparant ccelestia lunce ; 
 
 Nos, ubi decidinms 
 Quo pater ALneas, quo Tullus, dives et Ancus, 
 
 Pulvis et umbra sumus, 
 
 HOR., LIB. IV., ODE VII.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE : Courtyard of KING ARTHUR'S castle in Game- 
 lot. Troops appear, marching under command of SIR 
 BEDIVERE, SIR GALAHAD, SIR GERAINT, and other 
 Knights of the Round Table, with banners, trophies, 
 and all the pomp of a brilliant pageant, 
 
 TROOPS. 
 
 IT is not a pleasant matter 
 To endure the idle chatter 
 Sentimentalists who flatter 
 
 Will continually breed, 
 All about the battle gory, 
 With its legendary glory 
 And its fame in song or story 
 
 As the centuries proceed.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 For we long ago decided 
 
 That the honor is divided 
 
 By the leaders who have guided 
 
 Not the men who urged the strife ; 
 That the captains get the measure 
 Of all military treasure, 
 And the soldier's only pleasure 
 
 Is escaping with his life. 
 
 We are sensible of duty 
 And its highly moral beauty, 
 Though we've all an eye to booty 
 
 While we tread the martial plain ; 
 Yet the monarch of our nation 
 Disapproves of spoliation, 
 And to win his approbation 
 
 We must quell the greed of gain. 
 Still, the history of Britain, 
 Howsoever it is written, 
 With the foes that we have smitten 
 
 Will in future time be rife.
 
 THE NEW KING AR1HUR. 
 
 And we think that our employment 
 Should be rid of more annoyment, 
 Since the soldier's one enjoyment 
 Is escaping with his life. 
 
 While the battle-axe is crashing 
 
 And the cavalry are dashing 
 
 And the mighty swords are flashing 
 
 And the deadly arrow shoots, 
 We remember with dejection 
 (Though it smells of insurrection) 
 That we're simply a collection 
 
 Of compulsory recruits. 
 When the chances look most narrow, 
 'Tis a memory to harrow 
 That our grave may be a barrow 
 
 Far away from child and wife ; 
 And we feel, without aspersion, 
 After every new exertion, 
 That the soldier's one diversion 
 
 Is escaping with his life !
 
 io THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 SIR BEDIVERE. 
 
 You hear, loved Galahad, this thankless plaint 
 From warriors we have led to victory ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 I hear it, good Sir Bedivere. Forgive 
 
 Their strange dissent, since they have borne them 
 
 true, 
 Even as the stanch legs of our Table Round. 
 
 SIR GERAINT. 
 
 Myself, I would bring scourges for their dole, 
 Not being as meek and excellent as thou. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Nay, let them cry their cry, since well they fought 
 For Cross and King with those wild heathen hordes. 
 Chide not the fleet steed if he toss his mane, 
 Nor the brave lion if he at whiles may roar.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. n 
 
 SIR BEDIVERE. 
 
 Too lenient art thou, Galahad. Harangue 
 
 This carping soldiery ere comes our King. 
 
 Speak ; thou art rich in oratoric tact, 
 
 Nor bluff and rude of tongue, like half thy mates 
 
 SIR GERAINT. 
 
 True, Bedivere ; though best the surly knaves 
 Were taught to rule their spleen with lusty whips. 
 When dogs like these break leash it is the sting 
 Of discipline that proves the wiser curb. 
 Still, Galahad, speak forth ; thy gentle art 
 Hath silver fluencies past common phrase. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 It is not with foolish arrogance 
 
 That I publicly report 
 I'm the paragon of paragons 
 
 To be found in Arthur's court.
 
 12 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 I may tell with calm security 
 
 What a stainless life I lead, 
 For to paint my perfect purity 
 
 Would be difficult indeed. 
 
 It is true that once a pal I had 
 
 An irreverential pal 
 
 i 
 Who replaced my name, Sir Galahad, 
 
 By the name Sir Had-a-gal. 
 But the wag whose cruel witticism 
 
 Would have soiled this dove's white wing, 
 Overwhelmed with angry criticism, 
 
 Has been exiled by the King ! 
 
 At the seventh anniversary 
 
 Of my spotless birth and growth, 
 I had fainted in my nursery 
 
 When my nurse let fall an oath. 
 But at nine years old, humanity 
 
 Had impressed me as so weak 
 That I lectured on profanity 
 
 In the purest Attic Greek.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 13 
 
 As a boy of ten, so heatedly 
 
 I had yearned to soar the sky 
 That I bruised myself repeatedly 
 
 In the vain attempt to fly ; 
 And the saintliest proclivities 
 
 Were so ardent in my soul, 
 That I went to all festivities 
 
 With a pasteboard aureole. 
 
 Notwithstanding such firm tendency 
 
 To preserve unsoiled my heart, 
 I developed an ascendency 
 
 In the military art ; 
 But as time with new vitality 
 
 Has endowed this noble frame, 
 My astonishing morality 
 
 Has continued just the same. 
 
 And it now is no surprise to me, 
 Being wrought of such fine clay, 
 
 That the maidens all make eyes to me 
 In a matrimonial way.
 
 14 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 For the charms that I disseminate 
 Are of manly sort, though mild, 
 
 And I'm not at all effeminate, 
 Though a lily undefined. 
 
 SIR GERAINT. 
 
 Now, Galahad, by every martyred saint, 
 Call you this vaunt of self a fit reproach 
 For insubordination in our troops ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 Past doubt I call it so, my fair Geraint. 
 
 SIR BEDIVERE. 
 
 Not with good reason, Galahad, I vow. 
 Thy sinless character we all concede ; 
 Thou never yet hast killed a foe in fight, 
 Save that thine eye let fall the briny tear. 
 
 SIR GERAINT. 
 
 Especially we all do venerate 
 That briny tear of thine ; 'tis national 
 And representative, that briny tear.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 15 
 
 We honor it as emblematical 
 
 Of our most gentlemanly Table Round ; 
 
 Nor less we place thine other virtues high 
 
 As civilizing standards of our realm. 
 
 But when we summon thee to chide our troops, 
 
 What profit may these grumblers hope to win 
 
 From hearing that thy soul is free of fault ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. . 
 Ye do me grievous wrong ! . . . 
 
 These erring sons of earth, 
 Reminded but in song 
 
 Of my surpassing worth, 
 Will cherish the reminder, 
 Will calmer grow and kinder, 
 Will feel what bonds belong 
 
 To their inferior birth. 
 
 TROOPS. 
 
 Already this is true ; . . . 
 For since we cannot fail
 
 16 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 To recognize in you 
 
 A knightly nonpareil, 
 With keen humiliation 
 We grant our lowly station, 
 And swear from further view 
 Our discontents to veil. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 How sensible you are 
 
 I scarcely need affirm. 
 The worm would be a star, 
 
 Yet still remains a worm. 
 For one the pain of pining, 
 While one is sure of shining ; 
 One brightly beams afar, 
 
 While one must meanly squirm. 
 
 TROOPS. 
 In just this hateful wise 
 
 Does caste her laws dispense, 
 However we surmise 
 
 The wherefore and the whence !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. l^ 
 
 Your simile is bitter 
 'Tis even a shoulder-hitter ; 
 Yet we philosophize 
 
 And own its common-sense. 
 
 i 
 
 SIR BEDIVERE, SIR GERAINT, AND OTHER KNIGHTS. 
 To Galahad we pay 
 
 Respect for having filled 
 With penitent dismay 
 
 These churls of brawny build, 
 Who bow in due submission 
 To their depraved position, 
 And meekly from to-day 
 
 Will let themselves be killed. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 I wonder, mates, that ye should marvel thus 
 At my unfailing power to thrill with shame 
 All creatures on whose grosser lives I turn 
 The quiet splendor of my sinless gaze.
 
 1 8 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 When will ye value at its mighty claim 
 
 The awful rectitude and probity 
 
 That men have named Sir Galahad ? Ah ! when ? 
 
 A HERALD. 
 The King approaches. 
 
 SIR GERAINT. 
 
 Galahad, beware ; 
 
 It ill beseems thee so to laud thy worth 
 In presence of our blameless liege, the King. 
 
 (Enter KING ARTHUR, in glittering armor. He wears 
 the golden dragon of the Pendragonship on his jewelled 
 helm, and is followed by SIR MODRED, with other re- 
 tainers.) 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 In spite of my authority as England's chief execu- 
 tive, 
 
 In spite of those who compass me with service or 
 salaam,
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 19 
 
 I can't repeat the list of my progenitors consecutive, 
 
 Explaining with lucidity exactly who I am. 
 For while it would be folly to declare me a nonentity, 
 Considering the hardihood and' prowess all ap- 
 plaud, 
 It still is understood that there are flaws in my 
 
 identity, 
 
 And that by certain skeptics I am feared to be a 
 fraud. 
 
 Tis argued I was this, and it's asserted I another was ; 
 My places of nativity for number might appall ; 
 'Tis doubted who my father and distrusted who my 
 mother was ; 
 
 It even is denied that I was ever born at all. 
 
 
 But I, with eager wishes in my subjects' brains to 
 
 germinate 
 
 A rational solution of my origin as man, 
 Have found that all my memories poetically termi- 
 nate 
 
 In visionary shadows on the Ossianic plan.
 
 20 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 My own secure impression, I will say without 
 
 apology, 
 Is that the times were favoring and summoned me 
 
 from far, 
 A person who was picturesquely loaned you by 
 
 mythology, 
 
 As persons of my prominence occasionally are. 
 However, if my lineage be earthly or ethereal, 
 If sprung from human parents or from spiritual 
 
 hosts, 
 
 It strikes me I'm at present very palpably mate- 
 rial, 
 
 With nothing in my biceps that would indicate a 
 ghost's. 
 
 I give delightful dinners, with the motive to propi- 
 tiate 
 Believers and supporters who are grouped about 
 
 my throne ; 
 
 And frankly I exhibit there, whenever I officiate, 
 An Early-English elegance essentially my own !
 
 THE i\EW KING ARTHUR. 21 
 
 In council I am clever, and in battle where the 
 
 banners are 
 My trusty knights, my Table Round, will swear I 
 
 lead them well ; 
 But all agree in thinking how magnificent my 
 
 manners are, 
 Since born however oddly I was born a perfect swell ! 
 
 The worst of evil tongues may neither whisper nor 
 
 ejaculate 
 About my name as royal spouse a word that hints 
 
 a sneer ; 
 Connubially looked upon, my record is immaculate, 
 
 As also is the record of my consort, Guinevere. 
 I give the Queen's affections all the necessary 
 
 twining-room, 
 
 Allow her to adore me as her wifehood may elect, 
 Approve of her appearance in my parlor or my 
 
 dining-room, 
 
 And praise her taste in dressing, which is notably 
 correct.
 
 22 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 That I have deigned to wed her Guinevere is duly 
 
 sensible, 
 Because, although she traces from a line of kings 
 
 and queens, 
 
 There isn't any question that her race was reprehen- 
 sible 
 
 In making ancient history by very shabby means. 
 And all, without exception, since the day when we 
 
 were wed agree 
 
 That I, whose genealogy is lost in magic haze, 
 Decidedly surpass her with my mythologic pedigree, 
 And merit the fidelity she dutifully pays ! 
 
 HERALD. 
 The Queen, my liege, approaches. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Joy ! the Queen ! 
 
 (QUEEN GUINEVERE enters, attended by the ladies ENID 
 and VIVIEN, with other dames of her Court. SIR 
 LANCELOT soon afterward follows. MERLIN appears 
 later.}
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 23 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Welcome, Lord Arthur, fresh from victory ! 
 Is it your gracious wish we should embrace ? 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Considerate wife ! Thou understandest well 
 The difficulty that these mailed arms 
 Would meet in properly embracing thee. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Most true, my liege. And then this gown I wear, 
 My mediaeval milliner's last work, 
 Would surely suffer from thy clasp of steel. 
 How like you it ? Sir Lancelot likes it well. 
 
 He 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 How ? Sir Lancelot greeted thee ere I ? 
 
 LANCELOT (bowing humbly]. 
 My lord, by merest accident no more. 
 The soil of march had stained these doughty hands, 
 And fearing lest our Queen should chance on us 
 Ere seemly cleansing helped them, I repaired
 
 24 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 With haste to yonder moat and dipped them there. 
 Thy pardon, King. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 'Tis granted easily. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Greeting to all ! This day is framed in gold 
 Forevermore within my memory ! 
 Now is the last great battle fought and won ! 
 Our castle here at Camelot shall to-night 
 So blaze with revel that the envying stars 
 Will wish their light the cressets of our feast. 
 
 ENID. 
 
 A hundred happy preparations wait 
 The gay return of our victorious kin. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Already the great oxen roast in hall ; 
 The tawny wassail tempts the unsparing hand ; 
 Fair garlands, wreathed o'er many a lintel, glow ; 
 And all is prophecy of mirthful peace.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 25 
 
 ( The populace, male and /emale, now appear, joining 
 the troops and warmly saluting them.) 
 
 THE POPULACE. 
 
 While you abroad were daring 
 
 The foemen's fatal spears, 
 Our hearts at home were bearing 
 
 The burden of our fears. 
 No cheerful news could brighten 
 
 Our sorrow, nor assuage ; 
 No telegrams enlighten 
 
 This unprogressive age. 
 
 One consolation served us, 
 
 More dear than you can guess, 
 And fortunately nerved us 
 
 To deal with our distress. 
 It was that war's dimension 
 
 Is yet of meagre span, 
 While powder's vile invention 
 
 Remains unknown to man.
 
 26 THE NEW KING ARl^HUR. 
 
 With all its rush and riot, 
 
 The worst of war to-day 
 Is comfortably quiet 
 
 Beside the future's fray. 
 No clamorous bangs displeasing 
 
 Now vex your valiant lives, 
 With smoke to set you sneezing, 
 
 If still your nose survives. 
 
 Nor was it half a trifle 
 
 To thankfully recall 
 That no malicious rifle 
 
 Had bored you with its ball. 
 And well we recollected 
 
 Your risk was less extreme, 
 With bomb-shells unexpected 
 
 And dynamite a dream. 
 
 To hear the javelin whistle, 
 To shun the hurtling dart, 
 
 To dodge the desperate missile, 
 Will try the stoutest heart.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 27 
 
 But would the thought not thrill you 
 
 More fearfully by far, 
 Of cannons that could kill you 
 
 Three miles from where you are ? 
 
 Your fate were much inferior 
 
 If lumps of lead or zinc 
 Could wander your interior 
 
 Before you'd time to wink ; 
 While dread that seldom ceases 
 
 Would bid you curse your lots, 
 Going up in little pieces 
 
 And coming down in spots ! 
 
 O tenfold more terrific 
 Your danger, to a man's, 
 
 If war were scientific 
 
 In working out her plans ! 
 
 And therefore, warriors plucky, 
 Appreciate the boon
 
 28 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Of having been so lucky 
 In being born so soon ! 
 {The populace and troops retire, singing.) 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Since wine and feast shall blithely hail us home, 
 You, Lancelot, lead the dance in hall to-night 
 With our loved Queen . . . What, Merlin, it is you ? 
 
 MERLIN (who has shown great agitation). 
 My lord, 'tis I, even I, who thankfully 
 Greet your return from hazard in the field. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Nay, kiss not thus our hand, astrologer, 
 Magician, seer, and all things mystical. 
 We reverence too much thy wealth of lore, 
 King as we are, to blush not while we take 
 Obsequious welcome from thy wizard lips. 
 
 MERLIN (in aside to Arthur). 
 Sir King, let not Lord Lancelot dance to-night 
 With Guinevere. The stars themselves forbid.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 29 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Nay, Merlin, art thou tricked with fantasies, 
 Bluff imps that make the goblin residue 
 From spells and incantations of thy past, 
 Nor leave thee yet, but haunt thy moods of rest, 
 As moths a blown-out candle's flameless wick ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Not so, my lord ; thou art in error there. 
 'Twere seemlier that the Queen should lead the 
 
 dance 
 
 With her true spouse, as courtly etiquette 
 By right demands ; and therefore do I speak. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Shrewd Merlin ! and thy stars have told thee this ? 
 Considerate and accommodating stars ! 
 Have they no weightier counsel for thine ears ? 
 Nay, pardon if I wag my beard in mirth, 
 Dread augur, since thy potent oracles 
 Grasp truths of such large import to our realm.
 
 30 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Sire, dost thou laugh at me ? 
 
 KING ARTHUR (with much laughter]. 
 
 No, by the Rood ! 
 
 I weep, good Merlin, though I grant these tears 
 Less kin to grief than sources pleasanter. 
 Hail, Master of Etiquette at Arthur's court ! 
 Wouldst clip thy robes to match a doublet's 
 
 length, 
 
 Curl jauntily thy locks of snow, and don 
 Sword, plume and broidered hose ? Why, so thou 
 
 shalt, 
 
 If so thy choice, and that first knight who smiles 
 At seeing the awful Merlin grown a fop, 
 Shall forfeit straight our countenance and grace . . . 
 Look ye, my lords and gentlewomen ; here 
 Doth age put forth a flower of youth to shame 
 Your lustiest vigor ! Merlin, mark him well, 
 Seeks new renown, and
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 31 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Pause, I do beseech ! 
 
 (I dare not speak and tell him all I know !) 
 Ah, flout me not with raillery, since I warn 
 As eager friend and guardian of thy peace ! 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Thy rapid tongue and that wild stress of gaze 
 Convince me thou art serious. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 O my lord, 
 
 Bear with me but a little while till chance 
 Unloose my speech and I may name the fear 
 It irks me now to hide ! . . . No more ... we are 
 watched ! 
 
 GUINEVERE (aside to LANCELOT). 
 Didst thou note well how Merlin eyed the King ? 
 I quake with terror lest the seer hath guessed 
 What treacherous truth lies hid between us twain.
 
 32 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 These are but idle terrors, Guinevere. 
 Suspicion harms no man of my repute. 
 Great deeds of evil fit the great alone, 
 Who leap on them as they that mount a steed 
 Untamable to feebler hands than theirs. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 The deed thou hast in mind is horrible ; 
 It plucks the sleep from off my lids o' nights, 
 And steals, a ghost of guilt, to haunt the gloom. 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 The face-wash that shall lend those blooming cheeks 
 A pearlier beauty than of mortal tint 
 The hair-dye that shall stain each silken strand 
 Of those rich tresses into sunnier sheen 
 He has the secret of them, Guinevere, 
 He, Merlin, arch-enchanter, sorcerer, sage. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 I know. Yet Arthur deems me fair enough . . . 
 I am his Queen. Oh, Lancelot, tempt me not !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 33 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 The face-wash and the hair-dye magic boons, 
 Whose baffling whereabouts alone he knows. 
 Men say that in the dusk of days remote 
 A daughter of the stars who reigned as queen 
 O'er an immortal race, loved foolishly 
 A mortal, and her subjects, wroth at this, 
 Fired up and slew her in her palace walls. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 I know the tale . . . And afterward 'twas told . . . 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 That he, even Merlin, who has lived ten spans 
 Of usual life, and dies but when he wills, 
 Then being a wizard in that weird queen's court, 
 Snatched from her piteous eyes the dropping tears,. 
 And from her piteous wounds the rushing blood, 
 In separate flasks of crystal hoarding each. 
 And these he yet retains, from that wild hour 
 Holding them sealed and hidden, and knowing well 
 Their marvellous uses . . . And they shall be thine !
 
 34 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Mine at what cost ? If I will filch for thee 
 The sacred sword, Excalibur, the King's 
 Unconquerable blade, his pride and joy. 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 Even so, my Queen. Excalibur once mine, 
 Its fairy brand makes Merlin do my hest. 
 And I, securing it, will straightway force 
 Delivery of the flasks to thy fair hands. 
 
 VIVIEN (covertly listening). 
 'Tis of the face-wash and the hair-dye, sure, 
 That these twain parley thus in whispers fleet. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 But if I steal it for thee, Lancelot, 
 Our realm will topple into anarchy. 
 Unkinged will Arthur be, and I disqueened, 
 Our Table Round a ruin, and all our fame 
 The jest of babblers in far future times.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 35 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 Not so, my Queen. Possessing that famed sword, 
 I shall not linger here in Camelot. 
 Hence will I fare, with my own people reign, 
 Nor push my empery one jealous inch 
 Beyond the earldom fated me at birth. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 But this were wanton treason in itself . . . 
 Hast thou not sworn to aid and serve the King ? 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 Thee will I serve instead. The precious flasks 
 Made thine, irrevocably thine, perchance 
 Thou wilt become my Queen in place of his ! 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 Elope with thee ! O monstrous impudence ! 
 
 (She sings.) 
 
 My father was King Leodogran, 
 An exceedingly meritorious man,
 
 36 THE NEW KING ARTHUR, 
 
 With a realm that the heathen over-ran 
 
 In a most distracting way. 
 There was never a king so hard-beset ; 
 He was full of the cares that irk and fret ; 
 He was head-over-ears in horrid debt 
 That he hadn't the means to pay. 
 But he brought me up in a style austere, 
 And he always advised me, " Guinevere, 
 If you ever fall in with a cavalier 
 Who should hint of an impropriety, dear, 
 There is only one thing to say : 
 ' Very, very witty but I don't see the wit of it ; 
 Awfully obliged but no, not a bit of it ; 
 Many, many thanks good day !' " 
 
 CHORUS OF KING, KNIGHTS AND LADIES. 
 
 Her father was King Leodogran, 
 An unfortunate impecunious man, 
 Who was neither a prince of plot and plan, 
 Nor a tyrant of brutal sway.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 37 
 
 It is all very well to record his debt, 
 But his creditors and his foes had met, 
 And the first had perished without regret, 
 
 While the last made him still their prey. 
 Yet he reared his child in a mode austere, 
 And he often remarked to her, " Guinevere, 
 If you ever fall in with a knight, my dear, 
 Whose deportment strikes you as insincere, 
 
 Be polite but firm while you say : 
 ' Very, very clever but I don't see the wit of it ; 
 Awfully obliged but no, not a bit of it ; 
 
 Many, many thanks good day !' " 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 My father was King Leodogran, 
 An aristocratic indigent man, 
 With an army at best a ragged clan 
 
 And a navy in sad decay. 
 He had only one or two courtiers left ; 
 Of a parliament he was quite bereft ;
 
 38 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 His crown had been carried off by theft ; 
 
 His exchequer had gone astray. 
 But he still admonished me, " Guinevere, 
 Be discreet in your feminine career, 
 And if wily charmers would dupe you, dear, 
 So arrange that with conscience truly clear 
 
 You can lift up your head and say : 
 ' Very, very pretty but I don't see the wit of it 
 Awfully obliged but no, not a bit of it ; 
 
 Many, many thanks good-day !' " 
 
 CHORUS OF KING, KNIGHTS AND LADIES.. 
 
 Her father was King Leodogran, 
 
 A peculiarly disappointed man, 
 
 Whose reign with a flourish of drums began, 
 
 Though it ended in disarray. 
 Corruption and bribery made him ill : 
 His Lord High Chancellor robbed the till ; 
 When the Royal Grocer sent in a bill, 
 
 Its amount he could not defray.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 39 
 
 Yet the records and annals all cohere 
 That he counselled his daughter, Guinevere 
 " If you ever receive the suggestion, dear, 
 To behave like a moral mutineer, 
 
 Be decisive, and promptly say : 
 ' Very, very pleasant but I don't see the wit of it ; 
 Awfully obliged but no, not a bit of it ; 
 
 Many, many thanks good day !' " 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Come, Guinevere. Let us fare palaceward. 
 Thy lyric candor hath less prudence in it 
 Than lightsome truth . . . You, Lancelot, go with us ? 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 Your Grace, one word with Merlin, I beseech. 
 
 (Omnes retire toward the palace, except MERLIN and SIR 
 LANCELOT.) 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Wouldst converse hold with me, Sir Lancelot ?
 
 40 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 Nay, Merlin, art thou angered ? Speak, I pray. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Thou hast sent missives from the seat of war. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 To whom ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Whom me no whoms. The Queen. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 And thou hast read these missives, Merlin thou ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Never ! But if by magic art I learned 
 Their import, canst thou blame me that I did ? 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 I see. Thy magic art is over-bold. 
 Wax melts in flame ; my letters writ the Queen 
 Were slyly intercepted of thyself !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR, 41 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Mere son of earth, presume not on my rights, 
 Nor scoff them, lest thou writhe in punishment. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 Enough. Thou hast read those missives. Then thou 
 
 know'st 
 I would possess Excalibur for mine. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Conspirator ! Dost thou dare tell me this ? 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Hark, Merlin. Once that mystic sword my own, 
 I rule instead of Arthur. For thyself, 
 Thou shalt, I swear, become Prime Minister 
 Where thou art now mere vassal to the king. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Prime Minister ? . . . What madness moves thy 
 
 speech ? 
 
 The sword from him who wields it may not pass, 
 Except the Queen herself, at midnight hour,
 
 42 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Will steal it with her own fair hands. Even then 
 The earth would quake, hot lightnings rend the sky. 
 And she, its guardian Lady of the Lake, 
 Would rise in wrath, and bid the Table Round 
 Slay the fell traitor who had urged this act. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Meanwhile the sword were mine. And, Merlin, thou 
 Wouldst be Prime Minister in my new realm. 
 Does Arthur value thee at thy fit worth ? 
 To-day thou scarcely hast his jester's rank. 
 As mountebank, even charlatan, he holds 
 Thy reverend self. Reflect ere thou refuse. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 It was ages and ages and ages ago, 
 
 In an antediluvian time, 
 
 When my beard could as now patriarchally flow, 
 And my gaze had the same supernatural glow 
 
 Which at present is thought so sublime,
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 43 
 
 That I served with a monarch whose glory was 
 
 great, 
 As his trusted Secretary of State. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 I am far from objecting that then as that now 
 You extended six feet in your hose, 
 
 And that none could with honesty dare disallow 
 
 Your remarkably intellectual brow 
 And your magisterial nose, 
 
 When the King who is pre-historical dust 
 
 So distinguished you by a prominent trust. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 To resume my remarks where you cut them so 
 short, 
 
 I was not, as a statesman, exempt 
 From the fell office-hunter's insidious court, 
 From the perils and snares of malicious report, 
 
 Or from bribery's evil attempt ;
 
 44 THE NEW KIXG ARTHUR. 
 
 But approaches like these I would straightway 
 
 subdue 
 By the withering glance that I now bend on you. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 If I own that your glance has a singular stress 
 
 Which reacts on my chief spinal nerve, 
 I shall fail to make manifest, nevertheless, 
 How you equally mortify as you impress 
 
 By the probity that you preserve ; 
 Yet I beg very earnestly still to insist 
 That you deal with no common corruptionist. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 I remember that once when a knave had presumed 
 
 His perfidious views to expound, 
 Though of social distinction he blustered and fumed, 
 I arranged that alive in the earth he was tombed, 
 
 With his head poking out above ground ; 
 And while slowly of thirst and of hunger he died, 
 I assure you I laughed till I really cried.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 45 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 So unpleasant are vivid accounts like to these 
 When embellished with your dainty skill, 
 That I beg you will bear it in mind, if you please, 
 How my terrified marrow commences to freeze 
 
 And the roots of my being to thrill ; 
 Yet I cannot deny, notwithstanding alarm, 
 That my villainy wears an exceptional charm. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Oh, if then you had shown me these poisonous 
 
 plums 
 
 Which the branches of treason contain, 
 I perhaps would have had you hung up by your 
 
 thumbs, 
 Or have put red-hot pins in your eyelids and 
 
 gums, 
 
 While I gloated with glee on your pain ; 
 For the impulse of gloating I seldom repress, 
 And I always have gloated with striking success.
 
 46 THE NEW .KING ARTHUR. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 That you gloat with a grace altogether your own, 
 
 You are wasting your words to denote, 
 And indeed a sincere admiration alone 
 Now impels me to have my depravity known, 
 
 For the purpose of seeing you gloat ; 
 Yet an ominous feeling my bosom has crost 
 That you hesitate and are in consequence lost. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 I regard your assumption as wholly unfair, 
 
 And conveyed with unmerited scorn, 
 Since the proud reputation I handsomely bear 
 I for ages and ages of much wear and tear 
 
 Have with noteworthy rectitude borne ; 
 Yet the place of Prime Minister, all will admit, 
 Is a place that my talents would capably fit. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Strike hands, good necromancer. Thou at last 
 Consentest. Big the risk, yet big the prize.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 47 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 My qualms of conscience still abide the same. 
 I feel myself provisionally bad, 
 And that alone. You tempted, and I fell ; 
 But then you tempted fatly. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 So I did. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Enough. My expiation may require 
 Perchance a thousand years. A trifle, that, 
 To me, the immortal Merlin, it is true. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 A trifle weightless as blown thistledown. 
 Had I your same deep funds of earthly life, 
 By fits I would be virtuous and by fits 
 The bacchanal opposite. One century 
 The dusk of cloisters and the garb of serge, 
 The chill high-windowed cell, with loaf and jug, 
 The sandalled feet and prayer-worn rosary-beads.
 
 48 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Next century, mirth and revel, dance and dice, 
 Lights, music, diamond eyes amid the dark 
 Of velvet masks, with folly a gilded toy 
 And grim sin painted all of rainbow hues. 
 Monotony is pleasure's bane and curse, 
 Change and variety are its meat and wine ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Hollow philosophy, I fear, my lord ; 
 Yet hollow things, like wine-cups, oft hold cheer. 
 Does the Queen will to steal this magic brand ? 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 To-night, if thou wilt aid her in the act. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 At set of sun with solemn pomp I bless 
 The sword for this great victory fought and gained, 
 While all our people voice their hymn of thanks. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Piously singing somewhat out of tune 
 I know the ceremony ; it has made me yawn 
 Eleven good times already. Afterward ?
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 49 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 I bear the sword away and lock it up 
 In the huge vault below the castle-moat, 
 To symbolize its ancient years of rest 
 Deep in the bosom of the lake whence rose 
 An arm that held it forth as Arthur's boon, 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Thy pardon, mage, but were not those last words 
 Quoted from some bard who has framed this theme 
 In verse ? I fancy I recall the line. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Sir Lancelot, you are grievously at fault ; 
 Whatever else I am or may become, 
 I am and always grandly will remain 
 Original. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 Again thy pardon, seer. 
 Tell more, I pray.
 
 50 THE NEW KIXG ARTHUR. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 The vault whereof I spoke 
 Hath seven huge iron doors, and each of these 
 Is opened by a separate massive key. 
 At end of all a flight of seven stone steps, 
 Thick-filmed with dank ooze and deceptive slime, 
 Leads to an iron chest whose every nail 
 Juts like the clenched fist of a giant knight 
 From ponderous bands of steel. The Queen's own 
 
 strength 
 
 Must lift the lid and draw Excalibur 
 Out from the chest. If there she chance to fail, 
 The brand itself shall rise and smite her dead, 
 While thou and I, her arch-accomplices, 
 In half the thinking of a thought, are hurled 
 With hideous ruin and combustion down 
 To bottomless perdition. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Grace again . . . 
 Thy last fine phrase was that original ?
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 51 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Completely so, Sir Lancelot. Plagiarism 
 Has never soiled my native eloquence. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 And must the Queen this dangerous journey take 
 In utter darkness ? May she not have light ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 None, save the light of her intelligence, 
 Never a torch of brilliance at its best. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 You wrong her. She will put her wit to proof 
 This night, and if I err not, test as well 
 Her courage ; I will answer you for both. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 'Tis as clear to my mind as the commonest rule 
 
 Mathematical teachings beget, 
 That the Queen is a fool, and that you are a fool, 
 
 And that I am a worse fool yet.
 
 52 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 There are thousands of people who envy our lot, 
 But we can't keep along at a moderate trot ; 
 We've a devilish fancy to see how it feels 
 When you break in a gallop and kick up your 
 heels ! 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 That is true not alone of the Quean, you and me, 
 
 But of all humankind, I am sure ; 
 There is always one apple high up on the tree 
 
 That we'd tear our best clothes to secure. 
 Though in life, as it often occurs, we have got 
 All the tidbits we need floating round in our pot, 
 Spite of prudence and tact we must see how it feels 
 To kick over the pot while we kick up our heels ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 You're a knight with a record for brain and for 
 
 brawn 
 
 Guinevere's royal rank who'll deny ? 
 As the great court-magician I weekly have drawn 
 From my monarch a salary high ;
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 53 
 
 Yet although our life's leaves are without the 
 
 least blot, 
 We've a strange inclination to wish they were 
 
 not ; 
 
 On the nice clean white paper, to see how it feels, 
 We must spill half the ink while we kick up 
 
 our heels ! 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 To obtain a king's throne fortune's favor I sue ; 
 
 Guinevere wants a handsomer lord ; 
 The portfolio of a Prime Minister you 
 Have a long time in secret adored. 
 Very likely 'twere best we should alter no jot 
 From the stations whose changes we privately 
 
 plot, 
 
 Yet we've all a temptation to see how it feels 
 When at last you've concluded to kick up your 
 heels ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 What further speech hath issue on this head 
 We fhlier should hold otherwhere than here.
 
 54 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 True, Merlin. These rude bastions, nooks and 
 
 towers, 
 Were facile ambush for some envious ear. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 And such an one is Modred's. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Fearest thou 
 
 Sir Modred, that sly cousin to the King ? 
 Him of the uneasy eye, unechoing tread 
 And bright prompt smile ? Myself, I like him not. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 If covert foe we have, that foe is he. 
 Come, let us hence. Time fleets, and colloquy 
 Must further shape this dark wild plan for use. 
 
 (MERLIN and SIR LANCELOT retire through an archway 
 
 of the castle. From another egress MODRED cautiously 
 enters, followed by VIVIEN.)
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 55 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Their plot is mine ! Now, Vivien, if the Queen 
 
 Shall get from Merlin's hand the seven great keys 
 
 And tread the slippery stairs until she clutch 
 
 The subterranean sword, Excalibur, 
 
 Returning safe with it to upper air, 
 
 Why, then, what easier than to crouch in wait 
 
 And seize it from her grasp ere Lancelot dream ? 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 O wily Modred, wilt thou dare this thing? 
 
 MODRED. 
 Sweet Vivien, for thy sake I would dare more. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Thou darest nothing. Flatter not thy soul 
 With fantasy of courage for thy spur. 
 Deceit alone is pith and kernel here ; 
 All else is vaunt, ambition, treachery ! 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Hast thou forgot love, too, or canst thou rate 
 Such love as mine a toy to toss and lose ?
 
 56 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Vivien, dost thou remember when we played, 
 Mere boy and girl, together on sea-sands, 
 In sight of those gray beetling walls where dwelt 
 Our kinsman, that bluff Earl who loved us both ? 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Yes, I recall. We shaped amid the sands 
 Full many a castle, drawbridge, gate and moat ; 
 But all were thine, or so thy mood would claim. 
 
 MOORED. 
 All those pretty palaces of sand, 
 
 Swept afar so long by ocean's pride, 
 Were but meant, if thou couldst understand, 
 
 For the little maiden at my side. 
 She it was whose tender eyes and lips 
 
 All the mimic realm should sweetly sway, 
 When my fairy gold in fairy ships 
 
 From enchanted isles had found its way ! 
 
 While her dimpled face, in childish thought, 
 Watched my eager fingers as they plied,
 
 THE NEW KIA'G ARTHUR. 57 
 
 Happy was the toil with which I wrought 
 
 For the little maiden at my side. 
 Every tiny chamber should possess 
 
 Riches past all value and compare 
 Pearls that beam amid the mermaid's tress, 
 
 Corals that the rosy sea-caves bear ! 
 
 Since those idle moments, many a year, 
 
 Filled with shade or sun, has dawned and died. 
 Mightier now the palace I would rear 
 
 For the statelier maiden at my side. 
 Here at last, in honor and renown, 
 
 She may dwell my treasured wife and true, 
 Wearing on her brows the queenly crown 
 
 That by dower of beauty is her due ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Modred, I wonder that thou trustest me 
 With this dread secret of thy coming guilt. 
 What earnest hast thou (nay, let go my hand) 
 That I will clamor not, with wrathful speed,
 
 58 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Thy full intent where those who learn its ill 
 May crush it dead by dungeon, chain or block ? 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Pah, Vivien, well thou knowest that if I hold 
 Excalibur, the power I wield with it 
 Makes Merlin serve me then as Arthur now. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 What import to myself if he so serve ? 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Nay, large, my subtle Vivien, I can prove. 
 The face-wash and the hair-dye Merlin holds 
 He would surrender if I held the sword. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 The face-wash and the hair-dye ? Thou in sooth 
 Hast heard of these long-hoarded talismans ? 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Who here at Camelot has not heard of them ? 
 The little dusk-haired page that trips through hall, 
 Bearing the flagon in his lifted clasp, 
 Wots of the charms and longs to test their worth.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 59 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 And dost thou think that I, Sir Modred, I, 
 Would trifle with such witcheries ? . . . Thou hast 
 
 called 
 
 Full many a time the Lady Vivien fair. 
 Would I be fairer, then, if tress and tint 
 Were fair indeed, as wrought so by these arts ? 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 No silkier could one strand of thy dear hair 
 Gleam to these eyes, my Vivien, if so steeped 
 In sun its gay gold matched the daffodil's ! 
 No tenderer would the curve of that soft cheek 
 Seem to my sense if now its olive tinge 
 Were pinker than the frail wild-rose's leaf ! 
 I love thee seeing that what I love no change 
 Of face-wash or of hair-dye may annul ! 
 Thy smile the beam of thy deep roguish gaze 
 The sorcery of thy dewy lips the arch 
 Of nostril or of brow would bide the same ! 
 And more, the intelligence
 
 60 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Enough. 'Tis plain 
 Thou wouldst prefer me were I not brunette. 
 
 MODRED. 
 (How sweet to rouse her dainty jealousy !) 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 (He does not dream the wherefore of my wish ! 
 Yet once the face-wash and the hair-dye mine, 
 That languid saint, Sir Galahad, whom I love, 
 Might melt and thrill where now his mien is ice !) 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Hast thou forgot, sweet Vivien, that spring day 
 Scarce one year hence, when wandering the dark 
 
 belt 
 
 Of beechwood nigh to Camelot's green domain, 
 I chanced upon thyself and heard thee sing, 
 Dreaming none heard save some stray thrush r 
 
 merle, 
 
 That pensive song beside a shaded pool ? 
 The limpid pool was mirror for thy face,
 
 THE NEIV KING ARTHUR. 61 
 
 And as a maiden to her mirror sings, 
 
 Thou to the shining mere didst pour thy plaint. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 I have forgot. (No lie was gliblier told !) 
 
 MODRED. 
 Nay,- thou rememberest. Sing the song once more. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 What were the gist and lilt of that same song ? 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 The gist I know ; the lilt hath lost itself 
 In revery of the love it roused that day. 
 But this I keep as record of the song : 
 Thou didst deplore thou wert not born a blonde. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 Tell me, tell me, tell me, 
 
 Quiet pool and clear, 
 Why it thus befell me 
 
 To be mourning here !
 
 62 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Why with unabated 
 
 Woe do I regret 
 That I was created 
 
 A confirmed brunette ! 
 Why does hope expel me, 
 
 Like a child from school ? 
 Tell me, tell me, tell me, 
 
 Sleepy little pool ! 
 
 Enid's locks are sunny 
 
 As the wheat's ripe stores ; 
 Golden as new honey 
 
 Lynette's, Lyonors'; 
 Here alone I linger, 
 
 Full of yearnings fond, 
 I, who'd give a finger 
 
 To have been a blonde ! 
 Why so far excel me 
 
 Maud, Yseult, Gudule, 
 Tell me, tell me, tell me, 
 
 Placid little pool !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 63 
 
 Heavy is the tax on 
 
 Patience when I see 
 That it is un-Saxon 
 
 To be dark like me. 
 Were I queen anointed, 
 
 Still my heart would fret, 
 As a disappointed 
 
 And aggrieved brunette ! 
 Why despair should quell me, 
 
 Destiny o'errule, 
 Tell me, tell me, tell me, 
 
 Lazy little pool ! 
 
 In my deep dejection, 
 
 Pool so pure to view, 
 Cast me my reflection, 
 
 Clad with brighter hue ! 
 Weave the sunbeams in it, 
 
 While I thus despond ; 
 Let me dream a minute 
 
 I was born a blonde !
 
 64 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Why should fate repel me, 
 Why should chance befool, 
 
 Tell me, tell me, tell me, 
 Silent little pool ! 
 
 MODRED. 
 The song's true self ; thou hast not missed a word. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 (No hint of Galahad slept within the strain ; 
 'Twas therefore safe to sing it as I did.) 
 
 (SiR GALAHAD now appears from the castle, with bowed 
 head, as of one who muses while he walks.} 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Look where that smooth male vaunt of saintlincss 
 Moves like the animate statue of himself, 
 Paid for ere death in charge to his leal heirs. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 I see ... I would a word with Galahad.
 
 THE NEW KIMG ARTHUR. 65 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 So would not I ... Dear Vivien, ere I go, 
 Thou wilt swear help and secrecy to-night ? 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Stanch help and secrecy . . . Why should I not 
 So swear ? Alas ! I was not born a blonde ! 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Enough. I kiss thy hand in faith and troth. 
 Farewell, my blonde Queen that may shortly be ! 
 Shalt dally long with that white peacock, love ? 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Nay, briefly ... I would question him by stealth, 
 Lest he dream aught of damage to our plan. 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Right, Vivien. Let me read those lucid eyes . . . 
 And so thou lov'st me now I may be King ? 
 Ah, woman, woman, weak as thou wert made, 
 What strength is in thy love for worldly power ! 
 Well, if thou love the place I lift thee to, 
 I'll dream thou still dost prize the hand that lifts !
 
 66 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 In that hand's grip thou hast a mighty faith. 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Why not ? If I can seize Excalibur, 
 Much of the soldiery, this warrant seen, 
 Will join me in revolt, since I am held 
 As one of Arthur's family by near 
 Relationship or shall I rather say 
 Pendragonship ? to our sworn liege, the King. 
 Ah, yes, that brand, once flourished, will convince 
 These dolts that Heaven with Arthur is at odds, 
 And that to me, his kinsman, Modred, falls 
 The right to lead and rule them how I list. 
 But Lancelot as an alien they would hold, 
 Nor pay his hest a shred of courtesy, 
 He being of other than the princely line . . . 
 Note well this grade of difference in our states, 
 My Vivien, and so hug ambition close . . . 
 Again farewell, my Queen that soon shall be ! 
 Grant me one kiss .
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 67 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Nay, not till I am Queen. 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Unpitying girl ! . . . Well, be it thus indeed ! 
 Ere the great pomp is holden we shall meet, 
 And in the dance thy white hand shall I claim . . 
 I trust thee with that self-swamped Galahad ! 
 Again, remember and again, farewell ! 
 
 (MODRED disappears into th: castle, scornfully watched bv 
 VIVIEN.) 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 / mate with thee, thou soul packed thick with spites ! 
 And thou hast trusted me ! Even so we trust 
 The wave that drowns us or the drug that slays ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 What voice was that ? Ah, Lady Vivien, thine ? 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Yes, mine. Did I hold converse with myself 
 Unwittingly ? If so, I crave thy grace.
 
 68 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 Sure none were easier rendered than mine own. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Thou, too, wert lost in musing. May I seek 
 To learn what drooped thy head so sombrely ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Sweet Vivien, if I mused it must have been 
 On mine own superhuman purity. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Ah, true. But purity and coldness wed . . . 
 Sir Galahad, art thou cold as thou art pure ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Meseems I am peculiarly cold . . . 
 I know not . . . Were I grosser I might tell 
 The measure of mine own frigidity 
 In way more accurate. Yet I do think 
 I am exceeding cold. What thinkest thou ?
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 69 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 What think I ? No bare northland berg that lifts 
 A glassy spire in arctic air is more 
 Cold to its clime's dim heaven than thou to love ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Love ? What is love ? I oft have heard it named, 
 And oft have fancied that I lack it not. 
 Myself I love, and virtue which are one . . . 
 And nicety of deportment . . . 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Well, what more ? 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 And meats or fish in season, deftly cooked, 
 Especially with sauce of proper spice. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 Thou questionest what love is ... I will tell ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 Pray, tell ; and I with zest of heed shall hark.
 
 70 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 Love is a temple all alone, 
 
 Pure-white and small of scope, 
 Not built of wood, not built of stone, 
 But built of something that is known 
 
 To human hearts as hope. 
 And here the lover's foot will steal, 
 And here the lover oft will kneel, 
 
 Perchance when no one cares, 
 His love in secret to reveal, 
 
 With tender tears and prayers ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 If love the soul endue 
 
 With loyalty so true, 
 
 Then surely love must be above 
 
 All joys I ever knew ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Love is a garden whose delights 
 May lovers only know ;
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 71 
 
 A garden that is always night's, 
 
 Where westward from her starry heights 
 
 A summer moon drops low ; 
 Where urns of glossy myrtles beam, 
 Where statues from the terrace gleam, 
 
 Where pale cool fountains pour, 
 And lovers in delicious dream 
 
 Go wandering evermore ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 If love may so invite 
 King Arthur's virgin knight, 
 Then love indeed must far exceed 
 The rhymes that poets write ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 Love is a forest in whose deep 
 
 A stream's clear waters glide ; 
 And many a mortal here doth creep, 
 His thirsting lips to lean and steep 
 
 Amid the crystal tide.
 
 72 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 But soon, with hearts that sadly sink, 
 They linger by that river's brink, 
 
 And feel its waves accurst ; 
 For ah, the longer that they drink 
 
 The deadlier grows their thirst ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 If love to such excess 
 May ban as well as bless, 
 Then love must hide a seamy side 
 Of curious ugliness ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 Love is a land where dead leaves fall 
 
 And wild-flowers droop their blooms ; 
 A land that ever feels the thrall 
 Of sorrowing winds that moan and call 
 
 Like voices out of tombs. 
 And here wan lovers roam forlorn, 
 Each with a rose-crown he has worn 
 
 In merrier moods than now ;
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 73 
 
 For every rose has turned a thorn 
 That wounds its wearer's brow ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 If love through storm and sun 
 So strange a course can run, 
 Then love's a bane that any sane 
 Philosopher should shun ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Love keeps a joy to match its worst of woe, 
 And worst its woe when we have loved where lies 
 A blank of dead indifference . . like thine own ! . . 
 Thou sighest, Galahad ; wherefore dost thou sigh ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 I sigh to think how many maids there be 
 On whom my dead indifference must have wrought 
 This woe thou paintest in such dreary phrase.
 
 74 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Nay, them art wrong. Thy comeliness perchance 
 Allures full many a maid, or touches her 
 With spleen of slighted vanity. But this 
 Means not the grief of loving without hope. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Then no maids love me ? Ah, how glad I am ! 
 I merely rouse their wish that I would woo ? 
 'Tis well ; I hate to even account myself 
 As irresponsibly responsible 
 For broken hearts I had no aim to break. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Nay, Galahad, 'tis not entirely so ! 
 I know one maid whose heart is bent for thee 
 Bent cruelly, if not yet quite broke in twain. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Pray, tell me of this maid. 'Twould pleasure me 
 To know her and console her if I could.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 75 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 What balm of consolation wouldst thou bring 
 The sharp distemper of her troubled soul ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 I should advise her with due haste to seek 
 A nunnery, since having loved myself, 
 She could not stoop to lower than myself, 
 And therefore must win recompense alone 
 In pious raptures taught by holy deeds. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 But if she were too worldly for this task 
 Of self-abasement ? if men deemed her fair, 
 And by the power of beauty, wit and grace 
 She dreamed of kindling from thy lethargy 
 A leap of flame as vital as her own ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 I should deplore her motive, were it seen, 
 And recommend a nunnery, all the same.
 
 76 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 pitiless ! has fancy never shaped 
 
 From shadow a life whose love thou couldst hold 
 dear? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 No, never . . . Stay, thy question doth recall 
 A vision which at times hath haunted me. 
 It looked so pure and beautiful, I thought 
 At first it was my own similitude. 
 But later it convinced me that I erred, 
 And that the sex it bore was feminine. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 And thou didst love this vision, Galahad ? 
 Oh, tell me more ! . . . What color were its eyes ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 Strange, Vivien, that while closer scanning thee 
 
 1 do remember, past a gleam of doubt, 
 That it had eyes both hued and lit like thine.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 77 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 (O Heaven ! Wild heart, thy riot pulses curb !) 
 Yes, Galahad and what more ? Pray, had it wings ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 It did not necessarily have wings ; 
 I think wings were not indispensable 
 To its angelical anatomy. 
 But ah, its hair ! . . . a glory of living gold, 
 An aureole of splendor, like a saint's ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 I mark thee well. This vision was a blonde. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 It was. An English, Early-English blonde. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 And I, whose mortal eyes thou late hast called 
 Like to thy vision's / am a brunette ! 
 And yet, O Galahad, if my hair were hers
 
 78 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 If by some trick of magic change these locks 
 Took radiance vivid as thy vision's owned, 
 Wouldst thou, or couldst thou, Galahad O my 
 
 star 
 
 Of knightly sanctity and manful worth ! 
 Wouldst thou, or couldst thou ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Lady, I could not ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 At last the truth is clear to thee at last ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 It is, at last, and thou hast made it so. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 And all thine answer is thy silent scorn ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 Scorn ? Nay, I recommend a nunnery.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 79 
 
 (He sings) 
 
 I consider you, let me candidly to your face respond, 
 Not as perfectly satisfactory as I would a blonde. 
 Yet in ranking me as a personage who to wed were 
 
 fain, 
 
 You have totally misinterpreted, I must here main- 
 tain. 
 
 Not to Galahad, as to Percivale, Bedivere, Geraint, 
 May the argument matrimonial its allurements 
 
 paint ; 
 
 For the solitude of a celibate I prefer and so, 
 To a nunnery, to a nunnery go, go, go ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 An indifference more contemptuous you could 
 
 scarcely reach, 
 And the magnitude of my misery is beyond all 
 
 speech. 
 
 I am confident you'd reciprocate the regard I bear, 
 Could I possibly make it manifest in my head of 
 
 hair ;
 
 8o THE NEW KING ARTHUR, 
 
 The affinity you have told me of would in mist ab- 
 scond, 
 
 Opportunity being given me to become a blonde ; 
 
 And you'd say to me self-reproachfully, with your 
 heart aglow, 
 
 " To a nunnery ? to a nunnery ? no, no, no !" 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 'Twould be difficult to exaggerate the sensation 
 strange 
 
 That I certainly should experience at so great a 
 change ; 
 
 But it seems to me that the quality of my pure repute 
 
 Should reveal to you how unpractical is your pres- 
 ent suit ; 
 
 For so thoroughly unconnubial are the views I hold, 
 
 Their solidity would be permanent if your hair 
 turned gold. 
 
 Aad in consequence I reiterate the remark you 
 know 
 
 "To a nunnery, to a nunnery go, go, go !"
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 8 1 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 I am obstinate in the attitude which I now assume 
 That a physical incapacity has pronounced my 
 
 doom ; 
 
 I insist upon being positive that my hair's dark tint 
 Is accountable for the prejudice that you more than 
 
 hint ; 
 And I prophesy, O my Galahad, that the hour draws 
 
 near 
 When the evidence of your sympathy will at last 
 
 appear, 
 And you'll say to me, self-accusingly, while vour 
 
 eyes o'erflow 
 " To a nunnery ? to a nunnery ? no, no, no !" 
 
 (VIVIEN now disappears into the castle?) 
 
 SIR GALAHAD (alone). 
 
 What meant she by that mood of prophecy ? 
 Poor maid ! can she have dreamed her locks and 
 face
 
 82 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Will feel the touch of those weird lotions hid 
 
 By Merlin through so many a century ? 
 
 I dare be sworn the girl hath some pet scheme 
 
 To win these flasks of the great seer by trick 
 
 Of flattery, or mock love's insidious guile. 
 
 Ah, doubly foiled, if such indeed her aim, 
 
 Since one as well might hope that yonder towers 
 
 Would push from battlement or barbacan 
 
 A growth of living leaves, as Merlin thrill 
 
 To blandishments her smiles could whelm him with. 
 
 Age hath made pale the ruby in his blood, 
 
 As virtue long hath tamed the ripple in mine. 
 
 (KiNG ARTHUR and all his knights, ladies, etc., appear 
 from the castle, the populace also following. Lastly 
 enters MERLIN, clad in priestly robes, holding aloft the 
 magic sword, Excalibur.) 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Now for the rites that will simply and totally 
 Mighty Excalibur's praises attest,
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 83 
 
 Ere he is once again put sacerdotally 
 Down underground in his magical chest. 
 
 Never was blade that excelled by comparison 
 This one in temper or finish at all, 
 
 Fit to extinguish the Turk or the Saracen, 
 Fit to eradicate Roman or Gaul. 
 
 Nothing could vex curiosity crueller 
 
 Than to determine the source of his craft . . 
 Who was the antediluvian jeweller 
 
 Able to shape that magnificent haft ? 
 Yet should my fancy endeavor to speculate 
 
 How such a marvellous weapon was made, 
 I should be tempted by falsehood to peculate, 
 
 Since, like myself, he's a fabulous blade ! 
 
 Still, when we gaze on his exquisite mystery 
 Steel, silver, jewels and gold interblent 
 
 Something we guess of his actual history 
 From the appearance we see him present.
 
 84 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Much of him seems to conclusively indicate 
 That he resulted from some sort of queer 
 
 Silversmith-blacksmith-and jeweller syndicate, 
 Gone out of partnership many a year ! 
 
 If he could speak, what a record of victory 
 
 Would there be found in the words he would say, 
 Causing so often, without valedictory, 
 
 Many a hero to vanish away ! 
 He, of our commonweal chief representative, 
 
 Makes opposition disclose its weak joint, 
 And if inclined to become argumentative, 
 
 Doesn't beg questions, but forces his point ! 
 
 Though at his doings (I mention with jollity) 
 
 Many the critics who cavil and carp, 
 Dulness at least is by no means his quality, 
 
 All guaranteeing him notably sharp. 
 Justice, moreover, should say with sincerity, 
 
 Ere its account of him properly ends,
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 85 
 
 That while he treats all his foes with asperity, 
 No one can charge him with cutting his friends ! 
 
 Persons whose peaceable souls would abolish him, 
 
 As the rude symbol of rapine and fray, 
 Rude as he is, must allow they could polish him 
 
 Not any more than he's polished to-day. 
 Nay, while his coarseness and lack of gentility 
 
 Haters of war with invective would flood, 
 Who can refuse him the right and ability, 
 
 Odd though it seems, to be proud of his blood ? 
 
 CHORUS OF KNIGHTS, LADIES AND POPULACE. 
 
 No more thy strokes we need, 
 
 Our foes in flight to stir. 
 Farewell, thou friend indeed, 
 Farewell, thou famous magic brand, Excalibur ! 
 
 Into thy vault below 
 
 The castle's moat, O sword,
 
 86 
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 To slumber dost thou go, 
 Desired no longer by our leader and our lord ! 
 
 Let Merlin bear thee hence, 
 
 Unlock the seven huge gates, 
 And drop with reverence 
 Thy stalwart body where its mystic chest awaits ! 
 
 Oh, down the seven steep stairs 
 
 Heed lest thou tumble not ; 
 Firm be the hand that bears 
 Excalibur to his dark resting-spot ! 
 
 O Merlin, let no rat 
 
 Thy foot too quickly curb, 
 No surreptitious bat, 
 
 No grim clandestine mouse thine equipoise dis- 
 turb ! 
 
 Be brave as thou art wise ; 
 
 The stairs are slimed with ooze.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 87 
 
 And therefore we advise, 
 O Merlin, that thou shalt put on thine over-shoes ! 
 
 O think how shame would crush 
 Thy soul if thou shouldst wash 
 That sacred sword in slush, 
 Because thou didst not wear the requisite galosh ! 
 
 The Lady of the Lake 
 
 With terrible despatch 
 Her stern revenge would take 
 
 If thou shouldst even employ a single sulphur- 
 match ! 
 
 Thy journey must be free 
 
 From any guiding spark ; 
 By absolute decree 
 Excalibur must go to bed quite in the dark. 
 
 O noble sword, thy might 
 In happiness we shelve,
 
 88 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Since thou hast come to fight 
 The last great battle of the fated twelve. 
 
 Farewell, secure from fray ; 
 
 And shouldst thou crave, instead, 
 For further foes to slay, 
 
 We should reply, "Not any, thank thee go to 
 bed." 
 
 Superbly canst thou strike, 
 
 As we in memory keep, 
 Yet we confess we like 
 Thee best, Excalibur, when thou art fast asleep. 
 
 Of course on moor or fen 
 
 Thy prowess all aver, 
 But we've observed that then 
 The orphans and the widows frequently occur. . . . 
 
 And so farewell, farewell, farewell, Excalibur ! 
 In slumber's holy spell
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 89 
 
 Long may thy grandeur dwell, 
 Yes, even till Doomsday's knell, 
 Farewell, farewell, farewell, 
 Our glorious and victorious sword, Excalibur ! 
 
 (MERLIN moves toward the castle, bearing the sword 
 aloft, followed reverently by KING ARTHUR, the 
 knights, ladies and populace?) 
 
 END OF ACT I.
 
 ACT II.
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE : A garden, with stately adornments, opening 
 back upon the main hallway of KING ARTHUR'S castle. 
 On one hand are the towers of the castle, crowding high 
 up into a moonlit heaven. On the other hand we have 
 a glimpse of the moonlit moat, and beneath it an iron 
 door, closed. Defensive battlements are visible still far- 
 ther on, at this side of the royal demesne. The time is a 
 little before midnight. Distant music is heard, and the 
 lights of a revel are seen, beyond the archway at back, 
 
 Enter SIR GALAHAD, musing pensively. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 With mercy I was harsh to Vivien. 
 
 Best shatter as I did by one stout blow 
 
 The breadth and height of her infatuate hope !
 
 94 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 I think, in spite of what her speech averred, 
 
 That she is only one of many maids 
 
 Who bear me this devout idolatry. 
 
 Why should not many another worship me ? 
 
 And is it Vanity to deem they should ? 
 
 I am not sure if modesty at all 
 
 Concern a being as perfect as myself . . . 
 
 Now, am I wrong to argue in this wise ? 
 
 If I esteemed it wrong I straight should fast 
 
 As I do fast if any speck of blame 
 
 Seem like to mar the unblemished life I live. 
 
 That is, I would abstain from ale at lunch, 
 
 And were my slice of capon dressed to taste, 
 
 I would with pious rigor shake my head 
 
 At thought of second helping. Praise of self, 
 
 In one so superexcellently pure 
 
 As I were mad to claim that I were not, 
 
 Would scarce be more than common sense of worth. 
 
 We would not chide the lily if her white lips 
 
 Found voice one day to tell the passing breeze, 
 
 " I am a lily and sweetly free from stain."
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 95 
 
 Why, therefore, when I say that Galahad 
 Is quite exceptionally void of sin, 
 Should I be held to boast by faultier minds ? 
 No, on mature reflection, I will take 
 My usual share of capon when I lunch, 
 Or even my pasty (should a pasty tempt), 
 Or even two cups of ale (if thirst be keen), 
 And relish all with humble appetite 
 And holy veneration of myself. 
 
 (He sings ^ 
 
 And yet what worldly thought hath shed 
 
 Its power across my soul ? 
 If Vivien had a golden head, 
 
 Could I my love control ? 
 If gold the head of Vivien clad, 
 
 Were love so lightly tamed ? . . . 
 
 Galahad, O Galahad, 
 You ought to be ashamed ! 
 
 1 quite detest this feeling new 
 That wakes my self-contempt ;
 
 96 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 If Vivien's locks were gold of hue, 
 Would love my heart exempt ? 
 
 Ah, truth were best (when turned so sad) 
 By harmless fibs disclaimed . . . 
 
 O Galahad, O Galahad, 
 You ought to be ashamed ! 
 
 In high alarm do I resent 
 
 This firm but fatal bond 
 Of unexpected sentiment 
 
 For Vivien as a blonde. 
 Against my will it makes me glad 
 
 With happiness unnamed . . . 
 O Galahad, O Galahad, 
 
 You ought to be ashamed ! 
 
 Can I believe that love would set 
 
 Her raptures in my reach, 
 If Vivien, who is now brunette, 
 
 Should ever chance to bleach ?
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 97 
 
 As one who slips from good to bad, 
 
 With fear I am inflamed . . . 
 O Galahad, O Galahad, 
 
 You ought to be ashamed ! 
 
 (SiR GALAHAD moves mournfully away, -while a chorus of 
 revellers begins from within the castle) 
 
 CHORUS OF REVELLERS. 
 
 With feast and sport 
 
 We now consort, 
 The merry dames of Arthur's court ; 
 
 While joys abound 
 
 We here are found, 
 The Knights of Arthur's Table Round. 
 
 With nimble feet 
 
 We form and fleet, 
 In many a measure soft and sweet ; 
 
 With shining eyes, 
 
 With happy sighs, 
 We dance till dawn shall scale the skies !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Oh, dance and sing, 
 
 While pages bring 
 The cups where golden dragons cling ; 
 
 Oh, dance and drink, 
 
 With cups that clink, 
 And loitering hands that interlink ! 
 
 Oh, "all is well" 
 
 The sentinel 
 To Camelot's town will shortly tell, 
 
 When proudly, soon, 
 
 At night's mid-noon, 
 The towers of Camelot meet the moon ! 
 
 But we who quaff, 
 
 In mirth's behalf 
 The wine where lustres leap and laugh, 
 
 We dance the more 
 
 While many a score 
 Of sleepy burghers toss and snore.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 99 
 
 In pomp and pride 
 
 The galleries glide, 
 By mantling banners glorified, 
 
 Or glittering tiers 
 
 Of chandeliers 
 On helms of glittering halberdiers. 
 
 At times we seem 
 
 Like shapes of dream 
 That out from shadowy legends gleam ; 
 
 At times we throng 
 
 As they who long 
 Were ghosts of story and of song ! 
 
 At times we hear, 
 
 Or faint or clear, 
 A phantom voice amid our cheer ; 
 
 A wandering air 
 
 The words will bear, 
 " Ye are not and ye never were !"
 
 100 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Oh, dance with glee, 
 
 For what know we 
 Of things that are and things to be ? 
 
 Oh, pour anew 
 
 The wine, for who 
 Hath power to part the false from true ? 
 
 Oh, Merlin sage, 
 
 All gray with age, 
 Dost thou know more than prince or page ? 
 
 Go, teach thy spells, 
 
 Where wisdom dwells, 
 To Dagonet, with his cap-and-bells ! 
 
 Thy learning school, 
 
 By rote and rule, 
 With good King Arthur's gaudy fool ! 
 
 For Dagonet now 
 
 Can guess, we vow, 
 The riddle of life as well as thou !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 101 
 
 We all are here, 
 
 In festal gear, 
 Gawain, Geraint and Bedivere ; 
 
 We all are met, 
 
 Elaine, Lynette, 
 And hosts of lovelier ladies yet ! 
 
 With jest and wile, 
 
 With quip and smile, 
 The hours of banquet we beguile 
 
 With cups that clink, 
 
 And blushes pink, 
 And loitering hands that interlink ! 
 
 Oh, speed the rout, 
 
 And round about, 
 For life's a dream and death's a doubt ! 
 
 Oh, pour the wine, 
 
 For who shall sign 
 The bounds of human and divine ?
 
 102 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Oh, circle well, 
 
 For who can tell 
 The day that brings the funeral-bell ? 
 
 Oh, fill the bowls, 
 
 And when it tolls, 
 May Saints have mercy on our souls ! 
 
 With wines that wink 
 
 And cups that clink, 
 And loitering hands that interlink, 
 
 In feast and sport 
 
 We now consort, 
 The knights and dames of Arthur's court ! 
 
 (MERLIN now slowly enters, and pauses in revery.} 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 The tenor of their wine-song likes me not. 
 Modred was right. My old prestige is lost. 
 They rank me half in jeer with Arthur's fool,
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 103 
 
 That grinning Dagonet, whose wry wit can strike 
 
 With random malice, like a smitten snake. 
 
 Oh, well it is temptation comes my way ; 
 
 Had Lancelot failed to tempt, I must have made 
 
 Some other shift to work my vengeful spleen. 
 
 I wonder, now and then, if dame or lord 
 
 Have chanced, by rumor led or by surmise, 
 
 On the cold ugly truth that I am not 
 
 Wholly the same miraculous personage 
 
 I rate myself . . . Who's there ? 'Tis thou, sir fool ? 
 
 (DAGONET, the fool, has cautiously entered?) 
 
 DAGONET. 
 
 Hats off, good Merlin, when the fool draws nigh. 
 
 He's king, thou knowest it well, when t'other fool, 
 
 His royal master, doth fool otherwhere. 
 
 Nay, I miss terms ; thou dost not don a hat ; 
 
 Thou hast but several centuries of hair, 
 
 White as the whitest plume the goose can vaunt.
 
 104 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Peace, peace, thou fool. The seneschals within 
 Will give thee cakes and comfits of thy fill. 
 Get hence. I muse. 
 
 DAGONET. 
 
 Nay, Merlin, so do I. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Pray, fool, on what large matter dost thou muse ? 
 
 DAGONET. 
 
 On my huge age. That I, last birthday, reached 
 Three thousand years of life and live to tell't. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Thou mockest me, thou wriggling eel of man. 
 I think thy head is like the viper's own 
 The brains of it pushed out by venom. Go !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 105 
 
 DAGOXET. 
 
 Now, marry, if a man hath skill enough, 
 I see not why he should lack power to be 
 Immortal . . . till he dies. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 What saidst thou, knave ? 
 
 DAGONET. 
 
 Xay, never knave, good Merlin always fool ; 
 A most complaisant fool, withal, and one 
 That knows to keep a secret jealously, 
 
 As magpies keep their spoil. 
 
 (He laughs gleefully^ 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 What secret, pray ? 
 
 I warrant 'twas a worse fool than thyself 
 Who gave thee one. 
 
 DAGONET. 
 
 What I do know I know !
 
 106 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 (He sings.) 
 
 At Camelot town, 
 With staff and gown, 
 
 A seer doth dwell in great renown. 
 Of stars and moon, 
 His comrades boon, 
 
 He chants in many a mystic rune. 
 
 He claims to deal, 
 For woe or weal, 
 
 In spells and charms that hurt or heal- 
 To plot and plan, 
 By curse and ban, 
 
 By amulet and by talisman. 
 
 Perchance 'tis true, 
 
 Howe'er they grew, 
 His powers of magic are not few ; 
 
 Beside him here, 
 
 I scent a queer 
 Unsavory brimstone atmosphere.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 107 
 
 But when he states 
 
 His birthday dates 
 Beyond the Flood, he fabricates. 
 
 And when he cries 
 
 He never dies, 
 Why, Dagonet, then, declares he lies ! 
 
 CHORUS OF REVELLERS (heard within). 
 
 O Merlin sage, 
 
 All gray with age, 
 Dost thou know more than prince or page ? 
 
 Go teach thy spells, 
 
 Where wisdom dwells, 
 To Dagonet, with his cap-and-bells ! 
 
 DAGONET (dancing scornfully]. 
 
 O mighty mage, 
 Believed so sage, 
 We both are fools, and earn our wage.
 
 io8 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 O seer most high, 
 You're young as I ; 
 You say you're not, but you know you lie ! 
 
 CHORUS OF REVELLERS. 
 
 O Merlin, school 
 
 By rote and rule 
 Thy learning with King Arthur's fool ; 
 
 For Dagonet now 
 
 Can guess, we vow, 
 The riddle of life as well as thou ! 
 
 DAGONET (dancing before MERLIN while he recedes}. 
 Ah, go to school, 
 From now till Yule, 
 To Dagonet, good King Arthur's fool. 
 For when you cry 
 You'll never die, 
 
 You don't prevaricate no, you lie ! 
 (MERLIN disappears into the castle, DAGONET dancing 
 before him?)
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 109 
 
 DAGONET (alone). 
 By these white moonbeams folding these gray 
 
 towers, 
 
 It needs not even so apt a fool as I 
 To note some wild work is abroad to-night. 
 Thrice did I see Sir Modred scowl by stealth 
 At our brave king, while subtle Vivien 
 Stood at his arm and whispered in his ear. 
 Then, too, the Queen . . . her pallor while she went 
 Between the tapestries of the great South hall, 
 With Lancelot at her side in quick hot speech . . . 
 What means it all ? Ah, well, a fool hath ears . . . 
 Too large his ears, they say, too long his tongue. 
 Howbeit, I know a fool who hath listened much 
 Already, and can listen more, betimes. 
 A very wise and comfortable fool 
 Is Dagonet, since he loves to serve his lord, 
 King Arthur, and with all his lack of wit 
 May serve more wisely than some wise fools dream. 
 (QUEEN GUINEVERE has meanwhile appeared from 
 archway?)
 
 no THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 What dost thou, Dagonet, moping in the moon ? 
 
 DAGONET. 
 
 I mope not, sweet my lady, but compose 
 A soft love-ballad to the maid I love. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Lov'st thou a maid ? In mercy wed her not. 
 Bedlam doth brim with madness, as it is. 
 There, get thee thence ; that gargoyle leer of thine 
 Jars on my mood nay, tarry not to bow. 
 
 DAGONET (aside). 
 
 (If I but loved thy lord the less, fair Queen, 
 I'd show thee, who hast ever used me ill, 
 How fools can hate. . . . But no ; I serve the King. 
 Though curses be my thanks I still will serve. 
 
 (DAGONET goes out.)
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. in 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 How dizzy looks the abyss of my misdeed, 
 Seen from the precipice of sheer resolve ! 
 Yet now it is too late ; I dare not pause. 
 And these majestic towers and buttresses, 
 Courts, galleries, gardens, all in losing these, 
 What may I win ? Perchance a frigid throne 
 Set in dull wastes of country, heaths and wilds. 
 And yet . . . the face-wash and the hair-dye ; here 
 Is guerdon . . . Nay, but wherefore ? If I beamed 
 A hundredfold more beautiful than now, 
 What profit, in a land of clods and churls ? 
 Ah, why should this unrest in human hearts 
 Yearn always after change, though change be loss ? 
 
 (She sings.) 
 
 O lady moon, O mother moon, O moon that movest 
 
 high, 
 Elucidate, explain to me, the wherefore and the 
 
 why !
 
 112 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 What is it that coerces us our mortal term to mar 
 By always wishing we were not the very things we 
 are ? 
 
 O lady moon, in splendid state, 
 
 In beauty pure and high, 
 Investigate and intimate 
 
 The wherefore and the why ! 
 
 O queenly moon, O saintly moon, pale priestess of 
 
 the sky, 
 
 If X be X, what makes him want forever to be Y ? 
 If Y is Y, and well-to-do, then wherefore is he led 
 Invariably to repine because he is not Z ? 
 O lady moon, in lonely state, 
 
 Attend my longing sigh ; 
 Enunciate and extricate 
 
 The wherefore and the why ! 
 
 O sombre moon, O sober moon, however well we 
 
 thrive, 
 Why should we mourn that two and two make four 
 
 instead of five ?
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 113 
 
 And when our ducks are healthy ducks, and swim 
 
 in handsome lakes, 
 
 Why should we droop with discontent because they 
 are not drakes ? 
 
 O lady moon, of glow sedate, 
 With gracious heed reply ; 
 Communicate and indicate 
 The wherefore and the why ! 
 
 (LANCELOT now appears, joining GUINEVERE.)^ 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 My Queen, it lacks not long of twelve o'clock. 
 
 Thy knowledge, as I trust, is now complete, 
 
 By just what means to grasp and gain the sword. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Yes, yes . . . Oh, Lancelot, should I quite break 
 down !
 
 114 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 Break down ? Ah, that would break me up, my 
 
 Queen ! 
 
 Forgive the jest, which hath a modern tinge, 
 Unseemly in our quaint Arthurian age. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Oh, Lancelot, I'm a very foolish queen ! 
 Thou knowest I am ; deny it not . . . Pray tell, 
 Shall not my altered tresses and new skin 
 Find many to admire them in your realm ? 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 Myself above all others, glorious Queen ! 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 How many others ? 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 We in family 
 Are seven, if I count fair the list of us.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. \\$ 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 What ! seven ! And shall no more than fourteen 
 
 eyes 
 Pay homage to my beauty every day ? 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 Yes, vassals, village-folk, and 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Out on thee ! 
 
 What care I whether these admire or no ? 
 Shall I be Queen of Love and Beauty, then, 
 At no more jousts ? or head no cavalcade 
 Of merry falconers in forests green ? 
 No court, no knights, no ladies, as of yore ! 
 Only the secrets of old Merlin's flasks, 
 The face-wash and the hair-dye, and 
 
 LANCELOT. 
 
 Myself ! 
 
 My passionate homage, Guinevere, will hold 
 All other that their deed or speech could pay. 
 
 (He takes a lute from near by, and sings.}
 
 n6 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 If I should make some perfect song; 
 
 Your smile to claim, 
 Another voice, more sweet and strong-, 
 Would wake another song and shame 
 
 My own, erelong 
 If I should make some perfect song, 
 
 Your smile to claim. 
 
 If I should match in marble pure 
 
 That shape divine, 
 The years would level and obscure 
 My sculpture till no certain sign 
 
 Were left secure 
 If I should match in marble pure 
 
 That shape divine ! 
 
 If I caught colors from the sea, 
 
 The flowers, the sun, 
 To paint your picture with ah me ! 
 Back to their native bournes each one 
 
 At last would flee
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 117 
 
 If I caught colors from the sun, 
 The flowers, the sea ! 
 
 Since I can praise from many ways 
 
 No deathless way, 
 
 Tis sweet to dream that for all days 
 Immortally my love shall stay, 
 
 Its own best praise 
 Since I can praise from many ways 
 
 No deathless way ! 
 
 (MERLIN has now appeared?) 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 A tender song, but this were scarce the hour 
 For ditties tuned in such a lightsome key. 
 The Queen hath full instruction of her task ? 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Ay, full, and will perform it if her nerves 
 Can possibly endure the dreadful stress.
 
 Il8 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Nerves, madam ? Dost thou not anticipate 
 Thy time by several centuries too soon ? 
 Nerves feminine, if right I prophesy, 
 Will not importantly develope till 
 Somewhere about the nineteenth century, 
 When ills of strange name, like neuralgia, 
 Dyspepsia and hysteria, wide should rage. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 Great prophet ! fit Prime Minister indeed ! 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Nathless I now do feel what nerves are like . . 
 Oh, Merlin, Lancelot, why do we commit 
 This reckless deed, when all have much to lose, 
 When none, in losing much, may safely count 
 As absolute result on winning more ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 I cannot give the answer you exact ; 
 It is immersed in psychologic mist ;
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 119 
 
 And yet I will advance it as a fact 
 
 That many people stalk 
 
 From virtue's proper walk 
 Because of some obscure cerebral twist. 
 And therefore what we do I would explain 
 
 By venturing the clause 
 
 That it is done because 
 All three of us are morally insane. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 How thoroughly delightful to be told 
 
 This welcome and invigorating news ! 
 With altered gaze my conduct I behold, 
 
 When on the grim affair 
 
 At last I bring to bear 
 Your liberally scientific views ; 
 Since now 'tis far more easy to explain 
 
 The reason of our lapse 
 
 By saying that perhaps 
 All three of us are morally insane.
 
 120 THE NEW KING ARTHUR, 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Extenuating circumstances ought 
 
 Undoubtedly to help condone our crime, 
 And possibly you've neither of you thought 
 
 That we have been compelled 
 
 To live in days of eld, 
 A most romantic yet barbaric time ! 
 So this consideration may explain 
 
 The mischief we are at 
 
 More lucidly than that 
 All three of us are morally insane. 
 
 GUINEVERE, MERLIN and SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Oh, yes, though we are keenly picturesque, 
 
 Our casuistry may appear amiss, 
 And stimulate sardonical burlesque 
 For persons yet unborn, 
 Who probably will scorn 
 Our total want of moral synthesis. 
 And so this new reflection may explain
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 121 
 
 Our object of debate 
 Much better than to state 
 All three of us are morally insane. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Let us return, my Queen, else all within 
 
 
 Will gossip of our absence from the rout. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Sir Lancelot, for the last time thou and I 
 As Queen and subject will together dance. 
 And then . . . Why, then I shall be Queen no more 
 Only the most ungrateful wife on earth ! 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 But think you may be morally insane. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Alas ! that plea may legally excuse 
 The brazen indiscretion I commit. 
 But can it salve the wound of conscience ? no !
 
 122 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT (to MERLIN). 
 Thou hast no salves for wounds of conscience, eh ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 There grew a field-herb hereabouts, wherefrom 
 I once distilled a physic for remorse. 
 But scarce the people of its use had learned 
 When I was so besieged by calls for it 
 That roundly at last I cried to them, " Go cure 
 Your own remorses," and I spilled my drug. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Let us pass in, Sir Lancelot, thou and I 
 The wicked courtier and his foolish Queen ! 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Remember, Merlin. On the stroke of twelve 
 All three of us do meet where now we stand. 
 
 (SiR LANCELOT and GUINEVERE^ out.}
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 123 
 
 4 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Small marvel that the Queen should hate her fault 
 Ere consummate ! I cannot well decide 
 Wherefore she lets herself slip into it. 
 True, Lancelot is a comelier make of man, 
 Steps freer and hath more majesty of build. 
 Then Arthur is a most transcendent prig ; 
 I think 'twere hard for one to ever find, 
 Not though he lived three spans of mortal life, 
 A more self-centred prig than is our King. 
 Not Galahad may compare with him in this, 
 For Galahad's glory of self is like a child's. 
 And yet I think some motive sways the Queen, 
 Unguessed by any one save Lancelot. 
 Nor is it her regard for Lancelot, 
 Nor yet . . . 
 
 VIVIEN (who has covertly approached}. 
 
 Great seer, the revel tempts not thee ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Nor thee, it seems, fair Lady Vivien.
 
 124 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Thou call'st me fair ; I would be fair indeed, 
 Had I that face-wash and that hair-dye, kept 
 In separate flasks of crystal by thyself 
 This many and many a year. O give them me ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 An idle tale. No charms like these are mine. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Denial is easy, but I know . . I know ! 
 (Now, could I win these flasks ere twelve be struck, 
 I would play false to Modred and inform 
 The King what treachery menaces his realm !) 
 Nay, Merlin, hide the treasures if thou wilt, 
 Yet Vivien, who already holds thee dear, 
 For such an act of generosity 
 Would pay thee all her heart in recompense ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 (I never had such flasks, as Heaven could prove ! 
 Yet I have heard this rumor, and it served
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 3,25 
 
 My purpose to augment authority 
 
 And fame for witchcraft by a mute assent.) 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 What mutterest thou so weirdly to thyself, 
 Great Merlin ? Is it bane to hurt poor me ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Nay, lady. Rather would I strike the dust 
 From some rare moth's voluptuous-colored wings, 
 Than send a sorrow to thy guileless life. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 I beg from thee those magic flasks, kind seer ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Would I could give them ! Yet it may not be ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 Then grant me but a few dear drops from each !
 
 1.26 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 (I never felt so hollow a fraud as now !) 
 A few drops, Lady Vivien ? No, not one ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Not one ! . . . What symmetry thy nose conveys, 
 Here in the dubious moonlight's dreamy dusk ! 
 I always yearned to love a man who had 
 ^Importance, dignity and wisdom, all 
 Blent in the single compass of a nose ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 I have been told ere now my nose was not 
 Contemptible . . . Yet seek not for the flasks ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 And then thy beard, thy patriarchal beard ! 
 Always from early girlhood I have longed 
 To win the love and loyalty of a man 
 With beard so admirably white as thine !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 127 
 
 (GALAHAD now appears from ramparts of castle, where 
 he has been walking, and overhears VIVIEN'S last 
 words.') 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 O faithless girl, for shame ! 
 O girl of trick and feint ! 
 
 clever young tactician ! 
 You make love just the same 
 
 To Galahad, the saint, 
 
 As Merlin, the magician ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Has Vivien then made love 
 
 To you, my spotless child ? 
 
 1 scarce the tale can credit ! 
 Yet Galahad, my dove, 
 
 My lily undefiled 
 
 Remember that you said it !
 
 1 28 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Galahad, I see 
 
 Your eyes upon me beam 
 
 With look intensely haughty ; 
 Yet sometimes we are free 
 
 From blame, although we seem 
 Immeasurably naughty ! 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 No wonder, wily friend, 
 
 That I esteemed your mind 
 
 In lore of love omniscient ; 
 
 1 now can comprehend 
 
 The causes that combined 
 To render you proficient. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 A censure so severe 
 
 From this most mild of men 
 
 Should wound its object sadly.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 129 
 
 From all accounts, I fear, 
 My Lady Vivien, 
 
 You've been behaving badly ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 Of course I feel the stings 
 Of all this fuss and buzz, 
 
 As would not be surprising. 
 And yet so many things 
 One innocently does 
 
 Are counted compromising ! 
 
 GALAHAD. 
 
 I fail to catch the sense 
 
 Of your rejoinder dark, 
 
 Though all its wit conceding ; 
 I rest on evidence 
 
 (As lawyers would remark) 
 
 The case that I am pleading. 
 
 (KING ARTHUR now appears Jrom archway of castle.}
 
 130 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 What, lords and ladies, chanting i' the moon ? 
 Wise Merlin here ? and thou, Sir Galahad ? 
 And Lady Vivien ? Where, then is the Queen ? 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 We know not, good my liege. Does she not dance ? 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 She hath not danced this hour, I will be sworn. 
 I thought to find her here. Why look ye all 
 At your most royal sire thus bitingly ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Not bitingly, your Grace, yet with due leave 
 We all have dread lest you be half in wine. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 Half, think ye ? I am nigh three quarters in't. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 My lord !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 131 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 King Arthur thou ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Incredible ! 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Nay, credible enough. I like it, too, 
 This being in wine the first time o" my life. 
 How sits the mad mood, Merlin, on thy King? 
 Say quick, or I'll have Dagonet here, my fool, 
 To answer in thy stead. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 It suits thee well, 
 My lord, as all moods. (Even in wine, still prig !) 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Am I not blameless knight and gentleman, 
 Quite as before ? I warrant you I am ! 
 Where's Galahad ? . . . Ah, so thou hast kept from 
 wine,
 
 132 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 My prodigy ? Alas ! thou hast no more 
 A rival in thy King, but reignest sole 
 For all abstemious habits under sun. 
 
 (GUINEVERE and LANCELOT now appear, and afterward 
 MODRED.) 
 
 Sir Lancelot and the Queen ! So, Guinevere, 
 Thou'rt found at last. Now, by the saints, I ask 
 Is this nice courtesy to leave thy lord, 
 So late returned as victor from dread wars, 
 And while the jubilant revel misses thee, 
 Steal with a knight of ours to watch the moon 
 Float pensive over Camelot's thronging towers ? 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 I do beseech thy clemency, my liege. 
 
 Sir Lancelot kept at heart an eating pain, 
 
 And sought my counsel with desire to use 
 
 What help alleviative I could lend. 
 
 (Some falsehood must I coin, and why not this ?)
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 133 
 
 VIVIEN (to MODRED). 
 
 Mark how the King doth gaze on Lancelot. 
 Can this be jealousy's hot stab and cut, 
 Or do the wine-fumes breed mere flitting wrath ? 
 
 MODRED (to VIVIEN). 
 
 'Tis neither. Wine doth make him jest no more. 
 The King could never bring himself to dream 
 That any spouse of his preferred him not 
 Before all men, live, dead or yet to be. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 What pain of soul could my good Lancelot have 
 He would not tell his King, yet trust his Queen 
 To-night in gallant confidence withal ? 
 
 MODRED (to VIVIEN). 
 
 What said I ? Go persuade the swan her plumes 
 Are soot-black ere thou couldst make Arthur think 
 The woman breathes who does not worship him !
 
 134 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Ah, now I think, my Lancelot, thou perchance 
 Dost grieve remembering that fair girl, Elaine, 
 Who floated down to Camelot in a barge, 
 Quite dead for love of thee. 
 
 GUINEVERE (to LANCELOT). 
 
 Say yes say yes. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 Why, yes, my lord. This was and is my grief. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 A .sorry and pretty tale ; I mind it well. 
 Elaine, the lily-maid of Astolat, 
 Died all for love of thee, who loved her not . 
 Ah me ! how worse than foolish in the maid ! 
 Had she but seen ourself, now, all were changed. 
 We had consoled her graciously. Perchance, 
 On noting that she loved us to excess, 
 We would have given her our Sir Galahad, 
 The lily of men to wed the lily-maid.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 135 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Thanks, thanks, your Majesty. (What gross con- 
 ceit !) 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 (Was ever such a pattern of a man, 
 So drenched and steeped in arrant egotism ?) 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 I made a ballad on the lily-maid ; 
 How goes it ? Let me con it in my thoughts. 
 
 MODRED (to VIVIEN). 
 
 (Twelve soon wil! strike, and if the King bide here, 
 'Twill ruin the whole conspiracy they plan.) 
 
 MERLIN (to SIR LANCELOT and the QUEEN). 
 (If he should sing the ballad, draughts of time 
 Were drawn, ere midnight, that we ill can spare.) 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 (I know . . . Yet when he wills to sing, he sings.)
 
 136 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 (He deems his ballad sweet ; 'tis trivial stuff. 
 Peace rest thee, lily-maid of Astolat !) 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 I have it, every word and every line ! 
 It is an almost faultless piece of work. . . . 
 
 (He sings) 
 In a castle quite decayed, 
 
 Not so very long ago, 
 Dwelt a modest little maid, 
 
 With a neck as white as snow, 
 
 And a manner that was meek and unconventional. 
 To this castle's gate, one day, 
 Did the good Sir Lancelot stray, 
 Though his visit there by no means was intentional. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O you captivating Lancelot, 
 So clever to advance a lot
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 137 
 
 Of pleasantries that ended but in pain ! 
 
 Though your conduct was inviolate, 
 
 With love you did annihilate 
 The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 How her rosy ears did hum 
 
 As she oped the castle-door, 
 And besought the knight to come 
 
 Where her family of four 
 
 Had been lunching upon nothing in particular ! 
 It was certainly no sin 
 For Elaine to ask him fn, 
 Though already somewhat off her perpendicular ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O you captivating Lancelot, 
 
 You're capable to glance a lot, 
 Yet from imprudent speeches you refrain ! 
 
 To your graces not insensible, 
 
 She found you indispensable, 
 The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine !
 
 138 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 To her brothers he was kind, 
 
 And the aged Earl, her sire ; 
 All the culture of his mind 
 
 He induced them to admire, 
 
 While the lily-maid was watching and was listening. 
 But he failed to see the blush 
 That her tender cheek would flush, 
 Or the lights that in her lovely eyes were glistening. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O you captivating Lancelot, 
 You owe to circumstance a lot, 
 
 For making you excel in brawn and brain ; 
 But unhappy was the day with her 
 You had a word to say with her, 
 
 The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine ! 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 By necessity the stay 
 
 Of Sir Lancelot was brief,
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 139 
 
 And he shortly rode away, 
 To the girl's exceeding grief, 
 
 And the flattering regret of all her family ; 
 But before a year had fled, 
 Poor Elaine was lying dead 
 
 On her modest little bed was lying clammily ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O you captivating Lancelot, 
 
 You've added to romance a lot, 
 Yet still you've every reason to complain 
 
 Of the mournful notoriety 
 
 She gave you in society, 
 The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine ! 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 But the luckless lily-maid, 
 
 By her ante-mortem charge, 
 Had her beauteous body laid 
 
 On an ornamental barge,
 
 140 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 That to Camelot floated sombre and funereal ; 
 And the lords and ladies here, 
 When they saw the barge appear, 
 
 Thought they scented very scandalous material. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O you captivating Lancelot, 
 
 In Italy or France a lot 
 Of similar events we could sustain, 
 
 But in England we have froze a bit,- 
 
 And fear she meant to pose a bit, 
 The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine ! 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 Yet Sir Lancelot was sound 
 
 In his conduct as a knight, 
 For the evidence was found 
 
 To exonerate him quite, 
 In a posthumous epistle most poetical. 
 It was hid within her breast, 
 And intelligence expressed 
 Of a passion unrequited and pathetical !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 141 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O you captivating Lancelot, 
 
 Your manners may entrance a lot, 
 Yet all ignoble dealings you disdain ; 
 
 For to smile upon and fascinate 
 
 Was hardly to assassinate 
 The lily-maid of Astolat, Elaine ! 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Pardon, dear Lancelot, if our verse offends. 
 We think that we ere now have sung it thee. 
 Our mood is merry at whiles, as thou dost know, 
 When onerous cares of state engross us not. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 The greatest have been merry amid their cups, 
 And therefore why not thou ? (My sarcasm stings 
 No more than would a nettle sting an ox !) 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 True, I am great. No greater yet has lived. 
 I sometimes marvel at the plenitude
 
 142 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Of mine own greatness just as thou, I know, 
 Sir Galahad, marvellest at thy pure fame. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Nay, sire, I rank my virtue with naught else 
 That lives on earth. I draw my line at earth. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Come, now, Sir Galahad ; and I rank my strength 
 Of greatness well above thy sinless life. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Then does thy majesty in error dwell, 
 Nor wouldst thou speak like this except in wine. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 Thou darest thus to brave my royalty ? 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Yes, for if angry thou wouldst cease to be 
 A blameless knight and stainless gentleman.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 143 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 I had forgot. I must be always those. 
 Yet, Galahad, dost thou positively think 
 Thyself mine equal ? Candidly respond. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 Hadst thou my purity, thou wouldst excel 
 As never king excelled since time began. 
 Had I thy force in fight, I would be more 
 Than thou this hour canst ever dream to be. 
 
 MODRED (to VIVIEN). 
 
 (Mark how they wrangle now in discourse hot. 
 Forsooth, a pair of kings, the realm of each 
 His own immeasurable love for self !) 
 
 SIR LANCELOT (to GUINEVEREJ. 
 ('Twill soon be twelve. Must we stand here and 
 
 list 
 To interchange of vanities like these?
 
 144 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Address the King ; persuade him to return 
 
 Ere languor in the revel he has quit 
 
 Shall mar its joy and spoil his worth as host.) 
 
 GUINEVERE (to SIR LANCELOT). 
 (Fain would I speak, yet fear my wariest phrase 
 Might wake the alert distrust I would avoid.) 
 
 CHORUS OF REVELLERS (heard within). 
 Oh, dance with glee, 
 For what know we 
 Of things that are and things to be ? 
 Oh, pour anew 
 The wine, for who 
 Hath power to part the false from true ? 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Thy hand, my Galahad. Heardest thou that strain ? 
 The knights and nobles call us. Well, agree 
 We both are almost, in our separate ways, 
 Pre-eminently perfect, yet not quite.
 
 7'ffE NEW KING ARTHUR. 145 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 It seems to me, my liege, that I am quite. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Incorrigible Galahad ! Farewell. 
 I go to join the dance again. And thou, 
 Sir Lancelot, hast thou ended with the Queen ? 
 Come all thou, Merlin, too, our seer and priest, 
 Come, taste the flashing wine from golden cups, 
 And dream thy lore its jocund wisdom mates ! 
 
 (They all retire except MODRED and VIVIEN.) 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 A happy chance. The wine-song from within 
 Has lured King Arthur back. Now, Vivien quick ; 
 Hide yonder with me in the buttresses. 
 
 ( The form of a cloaked man steals along back of stage.) 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 Look, Modred. What strange flitting shape was 
 
 that? 
 Nay, saw you nothing ?
 
 146 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 Nothing, as I live. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 Well, well, perchance I only dreamed I saw. 
 
 (She goes with MODRED into ambush.} 
 
 (An interval. The stage is empty. GUINEVERE appears 
 
 from castle. SIR LANCELOT and MERLIN soon follow.) 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 I bade the pages ply the King with wine. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Right hast thou done, my Queen. Tis twelve. 
 
 Prepare. 
 Here are the keys, and yonder is the vault. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Go bravely and go firmly, Guinevere. 
 How art thou shod ? In overshoes, I trust.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 147 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 Look. Are these queenly feet thou dost behold ? 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 O desecrated feet ! . . . And yet endure 
 The ordeal ; it will not be for long. Farewell ! 
 
 {Twelve o'clock sounds from one of the towers?) 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Farewell, my Queen. Haste ere the final stroke ! 
 
 (GUINEVERE hurries to the door of the vault, unlocks it, 
 and disappears^) 
 
 MODRED (heard from the dimness). 
 Look, Vivien. She has gone to seek the sword. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 And art thou sure to seize it first of all, 
 When she emerges ? What if thou shouldst fail ?
 
 148 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 I shall not fail. Nor Lancelot nor the sage 
 Dream we are here. Take courage ; all is well. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Merlin, what voice was that ? Or did my sense 
 Entrap me with the semblance of a voice ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 Sir Lancelot, I heard nothing. All is still. 
 
 (A noise of thunder is heard, and the vault is redly 
 illumined?) 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Heaven save us, Merlin ! Is the Queen beset 
 By peril that we had not counted on ? 
 What mean this glare and sound ? 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Allay thy fears. 
 
 'Tis but the Lady of the Lake, whose wrath
 
 THE NEIV KING ARTHUR. 149 
 
 As guardian of Excalibur we rouse. 
 
 Thus far hath Guinevere her task achieved ; 
 
 Each minute, now, is big with fateful chance. 
 
 (The moonlight becomes obscured ; the thunder grows 
 louder?) 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Alas ! the imperilled Queen ! We both were mad 
 To let her dare those diabolic spells. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 This last wild crash gave signal that the sword 
 Was lifted from his chest below the moat. 
 All future risk threats only her return. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 And see . . . the vault grows ruddier ; that is well. 
 If now no actual flame shall touch the Queen, 
 This fairy wrath will dissipate the dark, 
 And so make easier each new step she takes.
 
 150 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 (GUINEVERE soon emerges from the vault, staggering, and 
 dragging the sword, whose hilt she clutches with both 
 hands. The darkness becomes denser, and the thunder- 
 peals are of greater volume. She utters a shriek as the 
 sword is seized from her hand by some one whose face 
 she cannot discern, and who instantly afterward van- 
 ishes. The darkness is diminishing when she encounters 
 MERLIN and SIR LANCELOT.) 
 
 MERLIX. 
 Thou hast secured the sword, heroic Queen ! 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 Flower of all courage feminine art thou ! 
 
 I kiss thy hands and yet . . . they bear no sword! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Excalibur ? What hast thou done with him ? 
 
 Just ere the darkness grew so dense, I saw 
 
 Thee bearing him, close-clutched, from out the vault.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 151 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 Nay, some one seized him from me, vanishing 
 So swiftly in the lurid dusk, I keep 
 No record of his lineaments or shape. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 O dire misfortune ! Ruin is now our doom ! 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 O dread fatality ! 
 
 (Encountering MODRED) 
 
 Traitor, it was thou ! 
 Thou hast Excalibur ! Confess, or feel 
 My sword forever make thine answers mute ! 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 By every saint I swear to you, the brand 
 Excalibur I have not, nor conceive 
 Whither he has been spirited, or by whom !
 
 152 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 What Mod red utters is the whitest truth. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 Some grewsome mystery lies beneath all this. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Excalibur has disappeared ! Oh, shame, 
 Disaster, punishment unspeakable ! 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 The King approaches. Modred, we are all 
 Conspirators against him ; that is plain. 
 Vivien and you in ambush were concealed, 
 Knowing our plot to rape Excalibur, 
 And hoping to secure him for yourselves. 
 Confess that you, as we, were deep in guile. 
 
 \ 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 We do confess !
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 153 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 We both are black with blame ! 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 So be it. Then let us all stand firm of front, 
 And cleave, each one, to what the other says. 
 Our single hope of safety dwells in this. 
 Let all cry innocence with common tongue, 
 And fight it out hereafter as we may, 
 When watched no longer of the royal eye. 
 
 (KiNG ARTHUR now appears from castle, with many 
 knights, ladies, retainers, etc.} 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 What sounds are these 
 
 That break upon our joy, 
 Our blood to freeze, 
 
 Our revel to destroy ? 
 
 What means, where all was recently so quiet, 
 This horrid elemental roar and riot ?
 
 154 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 What means it all ? 
 
 (We thrill with nameless fright.) 
 Has somebody, with boldness to appall, 
 Done something that offends the rules of right ? 
 Who, then, is the delinquent ? Let us meet him, 
 And with the proper indignation greet him ! 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 We danced, we sang, 
 Our hearts were filled with peace. 
 
 This dreadful clang 
 Began, and would not cease. 
 And while with merriment we strove to shun it, 
 We feared, each one, lest what we drank had done it. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh, no, a little wine 
 Of brand exceeding dear, 
 Could never make the intellect incline 
 To such a strange deception of the ear.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 155 
 
 Habitual intemperance might do it, 
 But as for that, we all of us eschew it ! 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Some impious hand, my lord, hath dared to steal 
 Thy sacred sword, Excalibur. The vault 
 Flared red with light a moment since, while bursts 
 Of thunder shook the heaven, and darkness veiled 
 The journeying moon. Sir Modred thought he saw 
 A cloaked shape dart away at headlong speed, 
 Bearing the sword ; but who the dastard thief 
 We dream not, and the keys that ope the vault 
 I keep, as always, guarded with my life. 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 My sword, Excalibur ! Blood, flame and death ! 
 Where are thy magic arts, astrologer ? 
 Catch me the knave, and I will see him swing 
 This very night from Camelot's tallest tower.
 
 156 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 (DAGONET now appears. He hurries to KING ARTHUR 
 with the sword, and lay sit at his feet, kneeling.} 
 
 OMNES. 
 What, Dagonet ! Then did Dagonet steal the sword ? 
 
 DAGONET. 
 
 Nay, Dagonet saved it for his kingly sire. 
 My liege, they all are traitors Merlin there, 
 And Lancelot, Modred, Vivien yes, even she 
 Thou trustest with surpassing trust thy Queen ! 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 What insolence is this ? Thou canst not, sire, 
 Believe the fool who babbles its mad tale. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 Nay, Lancelot, do not dream the king believes. 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Thy fool, King Arthur, hath purloined the sword, 
 And fearing after, with a true thief's fear, 
 Flings this atrocious charge upon ourselves.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 157 
 
 MODRED. 
 
 I mind me now of what I had forgot, 
 My King, or deemed not worth remembering. 
 This fool, while Merlin dozed, some three hours 
 
 since, 
 
 I saw emerging, with a cat-like tread, 
 From the seer's chamber in the northmost tower. 
 He paled and cowered when I confronted him, 
 Threading by chance the outer corridor. 
 Twas then, past doubt, that he had filched the keys 
 From Merlin, afterward returning them, 
 I dare be sworn, when he had oped the vault 
 And made all ready for his midnight theft. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 And now, in terror, sire, he soils my name 
 With gross aspersion. Ah, 'tis horrible ! 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 A fool's mere random transport. Who but scorns 
 To credit him, or deems his empty rant 
 Of weightier purport than the idle breeze ?
 
 158 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 DAGONET. 
 My lord, King Arthur, hear me when I say 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 That thou art crafty knave no less than fool ! 
 Speak not another word ! Already crime 
 By right has drawn the noose about thy throat ! 
 That we can pardon thee is due alone 
 To thy scant wit, whose work may not be judged 
 Equal with villainies of sounder brains. 
 
 DAGONET. 
 Hear me, Lord Arthur ! Mercifully hear ! 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Get hence, poor Dagonet ; liberty and life 
 Are compassed for thee in our pity, and this 
 We give from natural benignancy, 
 Being perhaps the most magnanimous king 
 That ever sat or shall sit throned to rule.
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 159 
 
 DAGONET. 
 My lord, I plead with you 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Why, seize him, then, 
 
 Sir Lamorack, Sir Gawain, and lodge him safe 
 Within the nearest monastery. Instruct 
 The monks to watch him as a lunatic 
 Of dangerous fashion and conceit, and tell 
 The holy men how he essayed to steal 
 My brand, Excalibur. 
 
 (DAGONET is borne away.} 
 
 Good people, all, 
 
 I pray you will observe my noble act. 
 It is but one of many hundreds more 
 Since I began to reign. Make note of it, 
 Good people ; at some future day 'twill serve 
 With gold memorial letters to illume 
 One of my many monuments on earth.
 
 160 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 I hope your majesty does not expect 
 Complete monopoly, when you are dead, 
 Of all the monuments that shall be built. 
 
 GUINEVERE. 
 
 I tremble, Arthur, at the indignity 
 Of that fool's reckless charge. Sir Lancelot, thou 
 Must feel the scorching wrong of Dagonet's words. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT. 
 
 That jester's falsehood ? Why, the tinkle of bells 
 Trilled through its gravity, making all mere masque 
 And mummery, till I scarce kept wrath to frown. 
 
 / 
 
 MERLIN. 
 
 Sir Lancelot speaks in wisdom. Nay, to heed 
 Such fury of accusation were to clothe 
 Slander with dignity, had even our fool 
 Been other than the garrulous imp he is. 
 (My Queen, be wary lest thy lord should see
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. l6l 
 
 Thine overshoes peep forth below thy robe. 
 Trifles like these might sow calamity 
 And rid the holy men of Dagonet's care.) 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 
 (Sir Galahad, canst thou never love me, then, 
 If I remain brunette ? I promise thee 
 That no brunette of more domestic turn 
 Has ever lived as wife than I would prove.) 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 (Hadst thou been blonde . . . ah, well, I will not say 
 What joy has perished for all future time ! 
 
 Vivien, wildly, passionately loved ! ) 
 
 VIVIEN. 
 (My Galahad ! Dost thou mean it ?) 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 (No, not now. 
 
 1 would have meant it, wert thou only blonde. 
 Farewell, my blonde that art not nor canst be 
 This woful barrier lies between us twain
 
 162 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Forevermore. I shall be virgin knight 
 Henceforth, with one long sorrow in my soul, 
 And all my dreams and thoughts to one sad tune 
 Set ceaselessly " She might have been a blonde !") 
 
 KING ARTHUR. 
 
 Why should this rough mishap our joyance mar f 
 Let u*s forget that Dagonet's folly was. 
 It still wants hours of dawn. Come, ladies, knights, 
 With thanks that good Excalibur is saved, 
 Let us fare back to revel and high pomp. 
 
 (He sings.) 
 
 Excalibur, the sacred sword, 
 Back to his royal owner is restored. 
 Give thanks, with high acclaim, with loud accord ; 
 Let Camelot's towers and halls their echoes deep 
 O'er buttress, moat and bastion rise and sweep. 
 Excalibur, that we could ill afford 
 To lose, has found again his rightful lord ! 
 Give thanks, give thanks,
 
 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 163 
 
 Our loyal people, of all grades and ranks, 
 Give thanks, give thanks ! 
 
 GENERAL CHORUS. 
 Give thanks, give thanks, 
 That by whatever curious tricks or pranks, 
 From out his awful chest 
 Some thief has dared to wrest 
 Our great Excalibur, the villain gains 
 Prompt punishment for all his evil pains. 
 
 Of course the present ode 
 Wherewith we celebrate this unsuccessful crime 
 
 Should mark an episode 
 That merits chronicling in future time. 
 And yet we greatly fear 
 That everybody here 
 
 Will merely prove the subject of romantic rhyme. 
 For none of us with surety can insist 
 That we at all exist, 
 Nor knight, nor seer, nor lady ! 
 It is our private feeling that we all are shady
 
 164 THE NEW KING ARTHUR. 
 
 As matter for the archaeologist ! 
 We somehow feel, although it may be fancy, 
 We soon will disappear by necromancy, 
 Dissolved in something vague and legendary, 
 To puzzle every future antiquary ! 
 But whether right or wrong 
 
 In this our supposition, 
 And whether we belong 
 To poet, to historian or to statistician, 
 
 We still with all due courtesy make bold 
 To call this New King Arthur of our song 
 As thoroughly authentic as the Old. 
 Nay, we will even go farther, 
 And say that no King Arthur 
 One bit of authenticity may hold 
 In his apocryphal and mythic mould, 
 
 Despite the songs that have been sung, 
 Despite the rhymes that have been rung, 
 Despite the tales nonsensical, like this that we have 
 told! 
 
 END.
 
 THE BUNT LING BALL. 
 
 A GRJSCO AMERICAN PLAT. A SOCIAL SATIRE. 
 By the Author of " The New King Arthur." 
 
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