[Exeunt omnes præter Mordred and Conan.
Conan. Would God your highness had been more advised,
Ere too much will had drawn your wits too far!
Then had no wars endanger’d you nor yours,
Nor Mordred’s cause required foreign care.
[Exit.
Mordred. A troubled head: my mind revolts to fear,
And bears my body back. I inwards feel my fall:
My thoughts misgive me much. Down, terror! I
Perceive mine end, and desperate though I must