“Hic jacet Arthurus Rex quandam Rexque futurus - the once and future king.”

“Hic Rhodus, hic salta!Here is the rose, here dance!”

“hic sacra domus carique penates, hic mihi Roma fuit.”

“Hic Jacet Arthurus Rex Quondam Rexque FuturusArthur is gone…Tristram in CareolSleeps, with a broken sword - and Yseult sleepsBeside him, where the Westering waters rollOver drowned Lyonesse to the outer deeps.Lancelot is fallen . . . The ardent helms that shoneSo knightly and the splintered lances rustIn the anonymous mould of Avalon:Gawain and Gareth and Galahad - all are dust.Where do the vanes and towers of CamelotAnd tall Tintagel crumble? Where do those tragicLovers and their bright eyed ladies rot?We cannot tell, for lost is Merlin's magic.And Guinevere - Call her not back againLest she betray the loveliness time lentA name that blends the rapture and the painLinked in the lonely nightingale's lament.Nor pry too deeply, lest you should discoverThe bower of Astolat a smokey hutOf mud and wattle - find the knightliest loverA braggart, and his lilymaid a slut.And all that coloured tale a tapestryWoven by poets. As the spider's skeinsAre spun of its own substance, so have theyEmbroidered empty legend - What remains?This: That when Rome fell, like a writhen oakThat age had sapped and cankered at the root,Resistant, from her topmost bough there brokeThe miracle of one unwithering shoot.Which was the spirit of Britain - that certain menUncouth, untutored, of our island broodLoved freedom better than their lives; and whenThe tempest crashed around them, rose and stoodAnd charged into the storm's black heart, with swordLifted, or lance in rest, and rode there, helmedWith a strange majesty that the heathen hordeRemembered when all were overwhelmed;And made of them a legend, to their chief,Arthur, Ambrosius - no man knows his name -Granting a gallantry beyond belief,And to his knights imperishable fame.They were so few . . . We know not in what mannerOr where they fell - whether they wentRiding into the dark under Christ's bannerOr died beneath the blood-red dragon of Gwent.But this we know; that when the Saxon routSwept over them, the sun no longer shoneOn Britain, and the last lights flickered out;And men in darkness muttered: Arthur is gone…”

“Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia.”

“Rex lost his specs.”