DARNLEY.
I say that looking with this face of yours
None shall believe you holy; what, you talk,
Take mercy in your mouth, eat holiness,
Put God under your tongue and feed on heaven,
With fear and faith and-faith, I know not what—
And look as though you stood and saw men slain
To make you game and laughter; nay, your eyes
Threaten as unto blood. What will you do
To make men take your sweet word? pitiful—
You are pitiful as he that's hired for death
And loves the slaying yet better than the hire.
QUEEN.
You are wise that live to threat and tell me so;
Do you love life too much?
DARNLEY.
O, now you are sweet,
Right tender now: you love not blood nor death,
You are too tender.
QUEEN.
Yea, too weak, too soft:
Sweet, do not mock me, for my love's sake; see
How soft a thing I am. Will you be hard?
The heart you have, has it no sort of fear?
DARNLEY.
Take off your hand and let me go my way
And do the deed, and when the doing is past
I will come home and teach you tender things
Out of my love till you forget my wrath.
I will be angry when I see good need,
And will grow gentle after, fear not that:
You shall get no wrong of my wrongdoing.
So I take leave.
QUEEN.
Take what you will; take all;
You have taken half my heart away with words:
Take all I have, and take no leave; I have
No leave to give: yea, shortly shall lack leave,
I think, to live; but I crave none of you;
I would have none: yet for the love I have,
If I get ever a man to show it you,
I pray God put you some day in my hand
That you may take that too.
DARNLEY.
Well, as he please;
God keep you in such love; and so farewell.
[Exit.]
QUEEN.
So fare I as your lover, but not well.—
Ah sweet, if God be ever good to me
To put you in my hand! I am come to shame;
Let me think now, and let my wits not go;
God, for dear mercy, let me not forget
Why I should be so angry; the dull blood
Beats at my face and blinds me-I am chafted to death,
And I am shamed; I shall go mad and die.
Truly I think I did kneel down, did pray,
Yea, weep (who knows?) it may be-all for that.
Yea, if I wept not, this was blood brake forth
And burnt mine eyelids; I will have blood back,
And wash them cool in the hottest of his heart,
Or I will slay myself: I cannot tell:
I have given gold for brass, and lo the pay
Cleaves to my fingers: there's no way to mend—
Not while life stays: would God that it were gone!
The fool will feed upon my fame and laugh;
Till one seal up his tongue and lips with blood,
He carries half my honor and good name
Between his teeth. Lord God, mine head will fail!
When have I done thus since I was alive?
And these ill times will deal but ill with me—
My old love slain, and never a new to help,
And my wits gone, and my blithe use of life,
And all the grace was with me. Love-perchance
If I save love I shall well save myself.
I could find heart to bid him take such fellows
And kill them to my hand. I was the fool
To sue to these and shame myself: God knows
I was a queen born, I will hold their heads
Here in my hands for this. Which of you waits?
[Enter MARY BEATON and MARY CARMICHAEL.]