And Mordred lives, reserv’d for Arthur’s death!
Well, ’twas my first conflict: I knew not yet
What wars requir’d: but now my sword is flesh’d,
And taught to gore and bathe in hottest blood.
Then think not, Arthur, that the crown is won!
Thy first success may rue our next assault;
Even at our next encounter (hap when ’twill)
I vow by heaven, by earth, by hell, by all,
That either thou or I, or both shall die!
Conan. Nought should be rashly vow’d against your sire.