What makes you think she is a witch? Look, you stupid bastard. You've got no arms left. Pie Iesu domine... I'm not interested!
A witch! A witch! The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land?
Now look here, my good man... Found them? In Mercia? The coconut's tropical! What? Ridden on a horse? Brave Sir Robin ran away. Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony. Oh, there you go bringing class into it again. Come, Patsy. Oh? All right, we'll call it a draw. Every time I try to talk to someone it's 'sorry this' and 'forgive me that' and 'I'm not worthy'. It's a fair cop.
You have proved yourself worthy. Will you join me? She looks like one.
Bravely ran away, away. Does wood sink in water? So, how do we tell whether she is made of wood? Eh. You are indeed brave, Sir Knight, but the fight is mine.
It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of all England! What? Now stand aside, worthy adversary. Oh, I don't think so. What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers? Yes, I have. Then you shall die.