ANGHARAT. Her breast, not yet appeas’d from former rage, Hath chang’d her wrath which, wanting means to work Another’s woe (for such is fury’s wont), Seeks out his own, and raves upon itself. Assuage (alas) that over fervent ire: Through too much anger you offend too much. Thereby the rather you deserve to live For seeming worthy in yourself to die. GUENEVERA. Death is decreed; what kind of death, I doubt: Whether to drown or stifle[255] up this breath, Or forcing blood to die with dint of knife. All hope of prosperous hap is gone. My fame, My faith, my spouse--no good is left unlost! Myself am left: there’s left both seas and lands, And sword, and fire and chains, and choice of harms. O gnawing, easeless grief! who now can heal My maimed mind? It must be heal’d by death. ANGHARAT. No mischief must be done while I be by; Or, if there must, there must be more than one. If death it be you seek, I seek it too; Alone you may not die, with me you may. GUENEVERA. They that will drive th’ unwilling to their death, Or frustrate death in those that fain would die, Offend alike. They spoil, that bootless spare. ANGHARAT. But will my tears and mournings move you nought? GUENEVERA. Then it is best to die when friends do mourn. ANGHARAT. Each-where is death! the fates have well ordain’d, That each man may bereave himself of life, But none of death: death is so sure a doom, A thousand ways do guide us to our graves. Who then can ever come too late to that, Whence, when he is come, he never can return? Or what avails to hasten on our ends, And long for that which destinies have sworn! Look back in time: too late is to repent, When furious rage hath once cut off the choice. GUENEVERA. Death is an end of pain, no pain itself. Is’t meet a plague for such excessive wrong Should be so short? Should one stroke answer all? [_Soliloquizes_] And would’st thou die? well, that contents the laws: What, then, for Arthur’s ire? What for thy fame, Which thou hast stain’d? What for thy stock thou sham’st? Not death nor life alone can give a full Revenge: join both in one--die and yet live. Where pain may not be oft, let it be long. Seek out some lingering death, whereby thy corpse May neither touch the dead nor joy the quick. Die, but no common death: pass nature’s bounds. ANGHARAT. Set plaints aside: despair yields no relief; The more you search a wound the more it stings. GUENEVERA. When guilty minds torment themselves, they heal, Whiles wounds be cur’d, grief is a salve for grief. ANGHARAT. Grief is no just esteemer of our deeds. What so hath yet been done, proceeds from chance. GUENEVERA. The mind and not the chance doth make th’ unchaste. ANGHARAT. Then is your fault from fate; you rest excus’d. None can be deemed faulty for her fate. GUENEVERA. No fate, but manners fail, when we offend. Impute mishaps to fates, to manners faults.