Shrieks more than human; globes of hail poured down
An armed winter, and inverted day.
Arth. Dreadful indeed!
Aur. Count then our labour's lost;
For other way lies none, to mount the cliff,
Unless we borrow wings, and sail through air.
Arth. Now I perceive a danger worthy me.
'Tis Osmond's work, a band of hell-hired slaves:
Be mine the hazard, mine shall be the fame.
[Arthur is going out, but is met by Merlin, who takes him by the hand, and brings him back.