Unto great Arthur’s court and be his bride,
And I will be that olden Launcelot
In shape and seeming, though I hold a devil.
Oh never more, mine Arthur, will I look
With peace and frankness on thy noble face.
’Twixt thee and me a wall is builded up
Of hideous evil. Guinevere, my love,
We were damned long ago, and this be hell.
Guin. Oh most unfortunate me, thou art not Arthur,
And I am Guinevere and I have loved.