But, as it chanced, a hunter in those woods
Was shooting at the deer, and aimed so ill
His arrow found its quarry in my side.
Guenevere
Ah!
Launcelot
I fell. I knew no more. But for good hap,
Some clown had tracked me to those muddy leaves,
Me that had shaped a splendid field to die on—
And found me—sorry venison——