What’s Mordred’s hate but a nettle on a dunghill?
What is it to me, that go from you for ever?
Look on me, Guenevere, for the last time.
The hard hour’s here, the bitter moment’s come;
To-morrow I hoist for Brittany.
Guenevere
Not yet!
Oh no, not yet!
Launcelot (embracing her)
Once, once again, and then never again!