I was a madman, rushing on a spear
In rapture. Take your Queen back to your heart,
Forgiven, but as for me—lift up your sword
And claim this forfeit soul.
(A distant chanting is heard.)
Arthur (raising his sword)
I have good cause.
I loved, and you have shamed me; more, undone
My life, my hope, my kingdom! (Letting his point fall.) No, I cannot.
Were we but met in the hot battle’s blood