I seek for such the proudest height of seat,
King Arthur's kingdom, and bold fame complete?—
Harlot!—sweet spouse of Urience King of Gore!—
Sweet harlot!—here's that death determined o'er!
And now thou hast thy dream, and dreaming grieve
That death so ruins it?—Thy mouth to shrieve!—
Nay, nay, I love thee! witness bare this field!
I love thee!—heart, dost love her and yet yield?—
Enow! enow! so hale me hence to die!"
Then anger in the good King's gloomy eye