Mary. Soft, what idleness! So fine?
So rude? And bid me sing! You get but silence;
Or, if I sing,—beshrew me, it shall be
A dole of song, a little starveling breath
As near to silence as a song can be.
[She sings under-breath, fantastically.]
Say how many kisses be
Lent and lost twixt you and me?
'Can I tell when they begun?'
Nay, but this were prodigal:
Let us learn to count withal.
Since no ending is to spending,
Sum our riches, one by one.
'You shall keep the reckoning,
Count each kiss while I do sing.'
Herbert.
Oh, not these little wounds. You vex my heart;
Heal it again with singing,—come, sweet, come.
Into the garden! None shall trouble us.
This place has memories and conscience too:
Drown all, my mermaid. Wind them in your hair
And drown them, drown them all.
[He swings open the garden-door for her. At the same moment Anne's voice is heard approaching.]
Anne [without]. Some music there?
Herbert.
Perdition! Quick—behind me, love.
[Swinging the door shut again, and looking through the crack.]
Mary.
'Tis she—
Nan Hughes, 'tis she! How came she here? By heaven,
She crosses us to-day. Nan Hughes lights here
In a Bank tavern! Nay, I'll not be seen.
Sooner or later it must mean the wreck
Of both ... should the Queen know.
Herbert. The spite of chance!
She talks with someone in the arbor there
Whose face I see not. Come, here's doors at least.
[They cross hastily. Mary opens the door on the left and looks within.]
Mary.
Too thick.... I shall be penned. But guard you this
And tell me when they're gone. Stay, stay;—mend all.
If she have seen me,—swear it was not I.
Heaven speed her home, with her new body-guard!