We are ashamed. GAWAINE Blow, trumpets, blow my vengeance. (_Thunder._) ARTHUR It is fated! War and no peace; in earth and heaven, war. (_The storm breaks with blinding violence as the battle begins._ LAUNCELOT’S _knights defend him from_ GAWAINE’S _fury, giving ground R. Confused fighting in darkness. Cries of “Launcelot!” “Joyous Gard!” “Arthur!” and “Gawaine!” A flash of lightning discovers_ GAWAINE _hewing his way through the fighters_.) GAWAINE Gash this accursed darkness, flame of heaven, And find me him. (_He is borne backwards L. by superior force._) I’ll find him, spite of you. Spite of all. (_More thunder. Confusion and fighting as before._) A VOICE Help! ANOTHER Christ and Arthur! ANOTHER Better call the fiend That rides this tempest! (_Thunder again._) ANOTHER VOICE Never was such war Since the angels fell. ANOTHER We are stricken out of heaven. MANY VOICES Gawaine! Gawaine! OTHERS Launcelot! Launcelot! A VOICE Death to you! ANOTHER Brother! I have killed my brother, Woe! A VOICE The King! Where is the King? VOICES The King is slain! ANOTHER We are lost! ANOTHER A curse, the curse of God! BORS (_in the distance_) Fight on! Fight on! VOICES Joyous Gard! Joyous Gard! BORS Press! VOICES Where is Gawaine? BORS Now pursue, pursue; They have no captain. VOICES (_retreating_) Lost, we are all lost! (_The storm mitigates a little, and in the dim light_ BORS _and_ ARTHUR _are seen confronting each other alone, the fight having swept off to the L._) BORS (_calling_) Launcelot! (_To_ ARTHUR) Yield you. There is none to aid. ARTHUR But that my heart is weary unto death And my soul sadder than despair---- BORS The King! _Enter_ LAUNCELOT. Launcelot, Launcelot! Shall I make an end? It is the King. (_He lifts his sword._ ARTHUR _stands motionless, leaning on his sword_.) LAUNCELOT On your life’s peril, hold, O friend, against that sacred head! BORS Yet here Should end all quarrels. LAUNCELOT Down that impious sword, Or never breathe again. My King! Is there a hurt? ARTHUR Not in my flesh. It is of stone, and feels not any more. (_A long-drawn note is sounded by a distant trumpet._) LAUNCELOT