Vivien. Ha! Now I stabbed thy longings to the quick,
And probed thine ink-heart.—Thou dost love the Queen,
Thou, who doth dwell so far below her scorn!
Mordred. Witch-hag or Devil! Wert thou but a man,
And I would quickly send thee to that hell
Where thou belongest.
Vivien. Nay, I fear thee not.
I am too much a part of all thy plans
For thee to quarrel with. Stab me and thou stabbest
The life of all thy longings. Let my blood,