Laun. Die Hound! (Brains him.) Launcelot drags him aside and bars the door.
Quick! Help me to this armour! (Takes the arms from Sir Agravaine’s body, and arms himself.)
Guin. (Helping him.) Aye, Love, if prayers are aught, will mine clothe thee.
(Voices outside.) Open up! Traitor! open up!
Guin. Great God, Great God, help this poor Queen who prays! (Launcelot buckles his armour.)
Laun. Now am I ready, fare thee well, sweet Love.
Whatever haps, and we may meet no more,
This side of darkness; carry to thy grave,
That Launcelot loved thee, thee, and only thee.