Unwimple your visage, dame!
[Turning her face to the window, the Stranger raises her hood for a few seconds. All crowd forward to gaze on her, then turn away, the men with suppressed horror and the women with ill-suppressed mirth. Exclamations rise from all sides: “Oh, what an unlovely lady!... By my soul, a loathly lady!”]
Sir Meliogrance.
[His voice quaking with fear.] Is there no way but this? Leaver would I shed the best blood of my body than ... than.... [Breaks off, stammering, not wishing to be rude.]
Arthur.
There is none other way!
Sir Bors.
I am hors de combat! Already is my troth plighted to ... to ... to several ladies!
Sir Bleoberis.
[Hastily.] And mine! To the same ladies!