He fences right well yon Knight of Arthur’s realm.
Yet he seems to my mind a little coy.
Perhaps size is the whole essence of it.
Since when has size been the essence, whole or otherwise, of anything?
It seems that there comes a point in this play which to cross turns chivalry un-chivalrous.
It is a point most unseemly but at which point in the play if ever should the guest oust the host?
Why, I fear our Noble Knight is as far away as ever he was from perceiving the essence of a woman’s heart.
He is blinded by rude desire as are all those who fear its tumultuous loss.
And so the age old drama unfolds in spite of all our Knights resolve…
Was the outcome ever seriously in doubt?
The endless round… goes round… and round.
Morgan (with relish)
What is born… must die…
Only that which is not born does not die…
…And they call this conception… immaculate.
– Leaf and Flame: La Belle Dame sans Merci