DARNLEY.
Give me one word; nay, lady, for love's sake;
Here, come this way; I will not keep you; no.
—O my sweet soul, why do you wrong me thus?
MARY HAMILTON.
Why will you give me for men's eyes to burn?
DARNLEY.
What, sweet, I love you as mine own soul loves me;
They shall divide when we do.
MARY HAMILTON.
I cannot say.
DARNLEY.
Why, look you, I am broken with the queen;
This is the rancor and the bitter heart
That grows in you; by God it is nought else.
Why, this last night she held me for a fool—
Ay, God wot, for a thing of stripe and bell.
I bade her make me marshal in her masque—
I had the dress here painted, gold and gray
(That is, not gray but a blue-green like this)—
She tells me she had chosen her marshal, she,
The best o' the world for cunning and sweet wit;
And what sweet fool but her sweet knight, God help!
To serve her with that three-inch wit of his?
She is all fool and fiddling now; for me,
I am well-pleased; God knows, if I might choose
I would not be more troubled with her love.
Her love is like a briar that rasps the flesh,
And yours is soft like flowers. Come this way, love;
So, further in this window; hark you here.
Enter CHASTELARD.
MARY BEATON.
Good morrow, sir.
CHASTELARD.
Good morrow, noble lady.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
You have heard no news? what news?
CHASTELARD.
Nay, I have none.
That maiden-tongued male-faced Elizabeth
Hath eyes unlike our queen's, hair not so soft,
And lips no kiss of love's could bring to flower
In such red wise as our queen's; save this news,
I know none English.