Awakening from some cursed doze of life
Unto this present glory of our love.
Thou wilt not leave me Launcelot, loveless lorn?
Laun. Aye, this be hell!
Guin. Aye, hell to me to be divorced from thee.
Laun. Thou art betrothed to our great lord high Arthur,
And I that Arthur’s trusted bosom friend.
And yet I’d kiss again thy honied lips,
Though Arthur’s shadow flaming stood between.