MURRAY.
What, are you made of flesh?
QUEEN.
O, now I see
You had rather lose your wits to do me harm
Than keep sound wits to help me.
MURRAY.
It is right strange;
The worst man living hath some fear, some love,
Holds somewhat dear a little for life's sake,
Keeps fast to some compassion; you have none;
You know of nothing that remembrance knows
To make you tender. I must slay the man?
Nay, I will do it.
QUEEN.
Do, if you be not mad.
I am sorry for him; and he must needs die.
I would I were assured you hate me not:
I have no heart to slay him by my will.
I pray you think not bitterly of me.
MURRAY.
Is it your pleasure such a thing were done?
QUEEN.
Yea, by God's body is it, certainly.
MURRAY.
Nay, for your love then, and for honor's sake,
This thing must be.
QUEEN.
Yea, should I set you on?
Even for my love then, I beseech you, sir,
To seek him out, and lest he prate of me
To put your knife into him ere he come forth:
Meseems this were not such wild work to do.
MURRAY.
I'll have him in the prison taken off.
QUEEN.
I am bounden to you, even for my name's sake,
When that is done.