QUEEN.
Hark hither, sweet. Get back to Holyrood
And take Carmichael with you: go both up
In some chief window whence the squares lie clear—
Seem not to know what I shall do—mark that—
And watch how things fare under. Have good cheer;
You do not think now I can let him die?
Nay, this were shameful madness if you did,
And I should hate you.
MARY BEATON.
Pray you love me, madam,
And swear you love me and will let me live,
That I may die the quicker.
QUEEN.
Nay, sweet, see,
Nay, you shall see, this must not seem devised;
I will take any man with me, and go;
Yea, for pure hate of them that hate him: yea,
Lay hold upon the headsman and bid strike
Here on my neck; if they will have him die,
Why, I will die too: queens have died this way
For less things than his love is. Nay, I know
They want no blood; I will bring swords to boot
For dear love's rescue though half earth were slain;
What should men do with blood? Stand fast at watch;
For I will be his ransom if I die.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III.—The Upper Chamber in Holyrood.
MARY BEATON seated; MARY CARMICHAEL at a window.
MARY BEATON.
Do you see nothing?
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Nay, but swarms of men
And talking women gathered in small space,
Flapping their gowns and gaping with fools' eyes:
And a thin ring round one that seems to speak,
Holding his hands out eagerly; no more.
MARY BEATON.
Why, I hear more, I hear men shout The Queen.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Nay, no cries yet.