The nightmare real at last. Quick! my Sweet!
Kiss me your latest now. This is my death!
Guin. Launcelot, save, save thyself,
I will bar them with my body here.
They will but trample a dead, dishonored Queen,
Whom brute fatality made its passing sport.
Quick! that way!
Laun. Nay, nay, sweet Love, but I will die with thee.
And show great love can make a greater death.
(Draws.) Would to God I had mine armour.