THE LADY. [echoing him] Mary! Mary! Who would have thought that woman to have had so much blood in her! Is it my fault that my counsellors put deeds of blood on me? Fie! If you were women you would have more wit than to stain the floor so foully. Hold not up her head so: the hair is false. I tell you yet again, Mary's buried: she cannot come out of her grave. I fear her not: these cats that dare jump into thrones though they be fit only for men's laps must be put away. Whats done cannot be undone. Out, I say. Fie! a queen, and freckled!
THE MAN. [shaking her arm] Mary, I say: art asleep?
The Lady wakes; starts; and nearly faints. He catches her on his arm.
THE LADY. Where am I? What art thou?
THE MAN. I cry your mercy. I have mistook your person all this while. Methought you were my Mary: my mistress.
THE LADY. [outraged] Profane fellow: how do you dare?
THE MAN. Be not wroth with me, lady. My mistress is a marvellous proper woman. But she does not speak so well as you. "All the perfumes of Arabia"! That was well said: spoken with good accent and excellent discretion.
THE LADY. Have I been in speech with you here?
THE MAN. Why, yes, fair lady. Have you forgot it?
THE LADY. I have walked in my sleep.