Guin. Never! Were Launcelot or Arthur standing by,
Insulter of thy Queen, thou wouldst die.
Make way! Make way!
Mordred. Madam, have compassion on my weakness!
A soul is lodged within this crooked body.
No man hath ever loved as Mordred loves.
Guin. Make way! this be hideous.
Mordred. Lady, let your own sorrow plead for Mordred’s sorrow.
As thou hast loved Launcelot unhappy,
So he loves thee.