Mordred. I go forth to-night.
To wreck my father, stem his tide this way
Unto his rightful kingdom. Speak me love!
Rather tell the lamb skipping the mead,
Go ask the wolf for suckle.
Vivien. Nay Mordred, slay me now and thou wilt know
Vivien had blood full warm to flow for thee.
Mordred. Woman, I’m all iron and adamant
And yet I pity thee for thou hast hell.
I would not slay thee—rather fare thee well.