Sir Bleoberis.
Gramercy, Madam! It passeth bounds that you should put the suspection of cowardice on me, and there is no knight under heaven that dare make it good on me!
Sir Bors.
Madam, you are a woman, and may not fight, but let now some worshipful knight of our fellowship take on himself your quarrel, and call me coward, and here is my glove to prove the contrary with my hands upon his body! [Throws down his glove.]
Sir Meliogrance.
Then here am I known to all men as Sir Meliogrance, and I will take on me my lady the Queen’s quarrel, and I will joust with you, Sir Bleoberis, and you, Sir Bors, proving you recreant knights with my hands upon your bodies! [He throws down his glove.]
The Damosel.
[Moans.] Now am I right heavy for the sorrow I have brought upon King Arthur’s Court!
A Little Page.
[Runs forward, challengingly.] Now though hardly of years to bear a shield, yet if some worshipful knight of this fellowship will dub me his knight, then will I too take on me the Queen’s quarrel, jousting with the knights of these worshipful knights’ following, for leaver would I be cut into an hundred pieces than that my dear Lady should be gainsayed! [The closing words, spoken almost with sobs.]