And I! I gave—, By Heaven! I pluck thee out,
And thrust thee from me, thou false handsome face!
Thou devil-eyed to lead hearts on to ruin!
Laun. Madam, wilt thou not hear?
Guin. Nay, nay, begone! I scorn thee, yea, I hate!
Laun. (Sadly.) Yea Guinevere I go, to come no more.
It is well seen that thou hast tired of me.
Thou hast driven Launcelot mad! mad!
The world reels round me, I am all alone.
All else the visions of a noisome dream.