VORTIGER: I doubt not but thou knowst; yet, to be plain,
I sought thee for thy blood.

MERLIN: By whose direction?

PROXIMUS: By mine;
My art infalable instructed me,
Upon thy blood must the foundation rise
Of the kings building; it cannot stand else.

MERLIN: Hast thou such leisure to enquire my fate,
And let thine own hang careless over thee?
Knowst thou what pendelous mischief roofs thy head,
How fatal, and how sudden?

PROXIMUS: Pish!
Bearded abortive, thou foretel my danger!
My lord, He trifles to delay his own.

MERLIN: No, I yield my self: and here before the king
Make good thine augury, as I shall mine.
If thy fate fall not, thou hast spoke all truth,
And let my blood satisfie the kings desires:
If thou thy self wilt write thine epitaph,
Dispatch it quickly, there's not a minutes time
'Twixt thee and thy death.

PROXIMUS: Ha, ha, ha! [A stone falls and kills Proximus.

MERLIN: I, so thou mayest die laughing.

VORTIGER: Ha! This is above admiration: look, is he dead?

CLOWN: Yes, sir, here's brains to make morter on, if you'l use them. Cousin Merlin, there's no more of this stone fruit ready to fall, is there? I pray, give your uncle a little fair warning.

The Birth of Merlin, Act IV, Scene I