Launcelot. Here is a place of prayer, we will alight,
And rest a space and think us of our sins.
Arthur. Launcelot, and were I shrived and clean
Half hell itself were loosened of its pains.
Launcelot. Arthur, friend and lover of my youth,
Could’st thou but throw this black mood from thee now,
And get a sweeter hope into thy soul,
Drive out the horrid phantoms of the past,
And it were hope for Britain. Well thou knowest
Men look to thee to succor this poor land