’Twas a deft hand did give me that last stroke.
Leech. What be thy message knight, thy time groweth short?
Gwaine. Yea, take away,—tell Launcelot, Gwaine’s vengeance waits him i’ the nether black. (Dies.)
[Curtain.
SCENE III.—Night on the battle field. The royal tent, Arthur’s Camp.
Arthur. Ho! there without. (Enter a Page.) Send me Sir Bedivere.
[Exit Page.
Enter Sir Bedivere.