Myself am left: there’s left both seas and lands,
And sword, and fire and chains, and choice of harms.
O gnawing, easeless grief! who now can heal
My maimed mind? It must be heal’d by death.
Angharat. No mischief must be done while I be by;
Or, if there must, there must be more than one.
If death it be you seek, I seek it too;
Alone you may not die, with me you may.
Guenevera. They that will drive th’ unwilling to their death,
Or frustrate death in those that fain would die,