Guinevere. You are Arthur’s friend, your love—
Stands this within the honor of your friendship?
Lancelot. Mother of God—have you no pity?
Guinevere. I would
I could be pitiful, and yet do right.
Alas, how heavy—your tears move me more
Than all—(what am I saying? Dare I trust
So faint a heart? I must make turning back
Impossible);
and with a final resolve she adds: