This only now I crave (O fortune! erst
My faithful friend): let it be soon forgot,
Nor long in mind nor mouth, where Arthur fell:
Yea, though I conqueror die, and full of fame,
Yet let my death and parture rest obscure.
No grave I need (O fates!) nor burial-rights,
Nor stately hearse, nor tomb with haughty top;
But let my carcase lurk; yea, let my death
Be aye unknowen, so that in every coast
I still be fear’d, and look’d for every hour.