Shatter that dearest jewel of his life,
This realm; make me their poisoned instrument,
And in the crash drag down into the dirt,
O infamy!—my Queen?
Get to your work, Mordred; prime your crew;
Hatch your plot! Still I have my word to say.
If no way else avails I’ll take me hence
To my own country, and you shall stretch your hands
To grasp at nothing. Well,
Whatever comes, I have a sword that’s clean.