The wager lay on both their lives and bloods.
At length, when Mordred spied his force to faint,
And felt himself oppress’d with Arthur’s strength,
(O hapless lad, a match unmeet for him)
He loathes to live in that afflicted state,
And, valiant with a forced virtue, longs
To die the death: in which perplexed mind,
With grenning teeth and crabbed looks he cries,
I cannot win, yet will I not be won.
What! should we shun our fates, or play with Mars,