Guin. A truce of words, I saw with mine own eyes,
What all the Court and all the world doth know.
Launcelot’s Love, the Maid of Astolat,
Is mouthed by all fool’s lips in all men’s ears,
Till Guinevere is even Mordred’s scorn.
I’d slay thee, were I only but a man.
Laun. Madam! by my love!—
Guin. By thy love, a flimsy foresworn thing,
A toylet of a moment! Such as thou!