And turned the holy Mass into a mock,
Would I still kneel, or would I rise in anger
And make an end of that foul mimicry?
This but adds strength to Guinevere’s argument,
Believest thou, then, the power of the Church?
The Church would give our love an ugly name.
Lancelot. Faith, I believe, and I do not believe.
The shocks of life oft startle us to thought,
Rouse us from acquiescence and reveal
That what we took for credence was but custom.