Chastelard, a Tragedy

Produced by Tony Adam

Chastelard, a tragedy.

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Boston: E.P. Dutton, 1866.

(author's edition)

PERSONS.

MARY STUART. MARY BEATON. MARY SEYTON. MARY CARMICHAEL. MARY HAMILTON. PIERRE DE BOSCOSEL DE CHASTELARD. DARNLEY. MURRAY. RANDOLPH. MORTON. LINDSAY. FATHER BLACK.

Guards, Burgesses, a Preacher, Citizens, &c.

Another Yle is there toward the Northe, in the See Occean, where that ben fulle cruele and ful evele Wommen of Nature: and thei han precious Stones in hire Eyen; and their ben of that kynde, that zif they beholden ony man, thei slen him anon with the beholdynge, as dothe the Basilisk.

MAUNDEVILE'S Voiage and Travaile, Ch. xxviii.

I DEDICATE THIS PLAY, AS A PARTIAL EXPRESSION OF REVERENCE AND GRATITUDE, TO THE CHIEF OF LIVING POETS; TO THE FIRST DRAMATIST OF HIS AGE; TO THE GREATEST EXILE, AND THEREFORE TO THE GREATEST MAN OF FRANCE; TO VICTOR HUGO.

ACT I.

MARY BEATON.

SCENE I.—The Upper Chamber in Holyrood.

The four MARIES.

MARY BEATON (sings):—

  1.
  Le navire
  Est a l'eau;
  Entends rire
  Ce gros flot
  Que fait luire
  Et bruire
  Le vieux sire
  Aquilo.

  2.
  Dans l'espace
  Du grand air
  Le vent passe
  Comme un fer;
  Siffle et sonne,
  Tombe et tonne,
  Prend et donne
  A la mer.

  3.
  Vois, la brise
  Tourne au nord,
  Et la bise
  Souffle et mord
  Sur ta pure
  Chevelure
  Qui murmure
  Et se tord.

MARY HAMILTON.
  You never sing now but it makes you sad;
  Why do you sing?

MARY BEATON.
  I hardly know well why;
  It makes me sad to sing, and very sad
  To hold my peace.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  I know what saddens you.

MARY BEATON.
  Prithee, what? what?

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  Why, since we came from France,
  You have no lover to make stuff for songs.

MARY BEATON.
  You are wise; for there my pain begins indeed,
  Because I have no lovers out of France.

MARY SEYTON.
  I mind me of one Olivier de Pesme,
  (You knew him, sweet,) a pale man with short hair,
  Wore tied at sleeve the Beaton color.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  Blue—
  I know, blue scarfs. I never liked that knight.

MARY HAMILTON.
  Me? I know him? I hardly knew his name.
  Black, was his hair? no, brown.

MARY SEYTON.
  Light pleases you:
  I have seen the time brown served you well enough.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  Lord Darnley's is a mere maid's yellow.

MARY HAMILTON.
  No,
  A man's, good color.

MARY SEYTON.
  Ah, does that burn your blood?
  Why, what a bitter color is this read
  That fills your face! if you be not in love,
  I am no maiden.

MARY HAMILTON.
  Nay, God help true hearts!
  I must be stabbed with love then, to the bone,
  Yea to the spirit, past cure.

MARY SEYTON.
  What were you saying?
  I see some jest run up and down your lips.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  Finish your song; I know you have more of it;
  Good sweet, I pray you do.

MARY BEATON.
  I am too sad.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  This will not sadden you to sing; your song
  Tastes sharp of sea and the sea's bitterness,
  But small pain sticks on it.

MARY BEATON.
  Nay, it is sad;
  For either sorrow with the beaten lips
  Sings not at all, or if it does get breath
  Sings quick and sharp like a hard sort of mirth:
  And so this song does; or I would it did,
  That it might please me better than it does.

MARY SEYTON.
  Well, as you choose then. What a sort of men
  Crowd all about the squares!

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  Ay, hateful men;
  For look how many talking mouths be there,
  So many angers show their teeth at us.
  Which one is that, stooped somewhat in the neck,
  That walks so with his chin against the wind,
  Lips sideways shut? a keen-faced man—lo there,
  He that walks midmost.

MARY SEYTON.
  That is Master Knox.
  He carries all these folk within his skin,
  Bound up as 't were between the brows of him
  Like a bad thought; their hearts beat inside his;
  They gather at his lips like flies in the sun,
  Thrust sides to catch his face.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  Look forth; so—push
  The window—further—see you anything?

MARY HAMILTON.
  They are well gone; but pull the lattice in,
  The wind is like a blade aslant. Would God
  I could get back one day I think upon:
  The day we four and some six after us
  Sat in that Louvre garden and plucked fruits
  To cast love-lots with in the gathered grapes;
  This way: you shut your eyes and reach and pluck,
  And catch a lover for each grape you get.
  I got but one, a green one, and it broke
  Between my fingers and it ran down through them.

MARY SEYTON.
  Ay, and the queen fell in a little wrath
  Because she got so many, and tore off
  Some of them she had plucked unwittingly—
  She said, against her will. What fell to you?

MARY BEATON.
  Me? nothing but the stalk of a stripped bunch
  With clammy grape-juice leavings at the tip.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  Ay, true, the queen came first and she won all;
  It was her bunch we took to cheat you with.
  What, will you weep for that now? for you seem
  As one that means to weep. God pardon me!
  I think your throat is choking up with tears.
  You are not well, sweet, for a lying jest
  To shake you thus much.

MARY BEATON.
  I am well enough:
  Give not your pity trouble for my sake.

MARY SEYTON.
  If you be well sing out your song and laugh,
  Though it were but to fret the fellows there.—
  Now shall we catch her secret washed and wet
  In the middle of her song; for she must weep
  If she sing through.

MARY HAMILTON.
  I told you it was love;
  I watched her eyes all through the masquing time
  Feed on his face by morsels; she must weep.

MARY BEATON.

  4.
  Le navire
  Passe et luit,
  Puis chavire
  A grand bruit;
  Et sur l'onde
  La plus blonde
  Tete au monde
  Flotte et fuit.

  5.
  Moi, je rame,
  Et l'amour,
  C'est ma flamme,
  Mon grand jour,
  Ma chandelle
  Blanche et belle,
  Ma chapelle

De sejour.

  6.
  Toi, mon ame
  Et ma foi,
  Sois, ma dame;
  Et ma loi;
  Sois ma mie,
  Sois Marie,
  Sois ma vie,
  Toute a moi!

MARY SEYTON.
  I know the song; a song of Chastelard's,
  He made in coming over with the queen.
  How hard it rained! he played that over twice
  Sitting before her, singing each word soft,
  As if he loved the least she listened to.

MARY HAMILTON.
  No marvel if he loved it for her sake;
  She is the choice of women in the world;
  Is she not, sweet?

MARY BEATON.
  I have seen no fairer one.

MARY SEYTON.
  And the most loving: did you note last night
  How long she held him with her hands and eyes,
  Looking a little sadly, and at last
  Kissed him below the chin and parted so
  As the dance ended?

MARY HAMILTON.
  This was courtesy;
  So might I kiss my singing-bird's red bill
  After some song, till he bit short my lip.

MARY SEYTON.
  But if a lady hold her bird anights
  To sing to her between her fingers-ha?
  I have seen such birds.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  O, you talk emptily;
  She is full of grace; and marriage in good time
  Will wash the fool called scandal off men's lips.

MARY HAMILTON.
  I know not that; I know how folk would gibe
  If one of us pushed courtesy so far.
  She has always loved love's fashions well; you wot,
  The marshal, head friend of this Chastelard's,
  She used to talk with ere he brought her here
  And sow their talk with little kisses thick
  As roses in rose-harvest. For myself,
  I cannot see which side of her that lurks,
  Which snares in such wise all the sense of men;
  What special beauty, subtle as man's eye
  And tender as the inside of the eyelid is,
  There grows about her.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  I think her cunning speech—
  The soft and rapid shudder of her breath
  In talking—the rare tender little laugh—
  The pitiful sweet sound like a bird's sigh
  When her voice breaks; her talking does it all.

MARY SEYTON.
  I say, her eyes with those clear perfect brows:
  It is the playing of those eyelashes,
  The lure of amorous looks as sad as love,
  Plucks all souls toward her like a net.

MARY HAMILTON.
  What, what!
  You praise her in too lover-like a wise
  For women that praise women; such report
  Is like robes worn the rough side next the skin,
  Frets where it warms.

MARY SEYTON.
  You think too much in French.

Enter DARNLEY.

Here comes your thorn; what glove against it now?

MARY HAMILTON.
  O, God's good pity! this a thorn of mine?
  It has not run deep in yet.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  I am not sure:
  The red runs over to your face's edge.

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.

MARY SEYTON.
  Come, no news of her;
  For God's love talk still rather of our queen.

MARY BEATON.
  God give us grace then to speak well of her.
  You did right joyfully in our masque last night'
  I saw you when the queen lost breath (her head
  Bent back, her chin and lips catching the air—
  A goodly thing to see her) how you smiled
  Across her head, between your lips-no doubt
  You had great joy, sir. Did you not take note
  Once how one lock fell? that was good to see.

CHASTELARD.
  Yea, good enough to live for.

MARY BEATON.
  Nay, but sweet
  Enough to die. When she broke off the dance,
  Turning round short and soft-I never saw
  Such supple ways of walking as she has.

CHASTLELARD.
  Why do you praise her gracious looks to me?

MARY BEATON.
  Sir, for mere sport: but tell me even for love
  How much you love her.

CHASTELARD.
  I know not: it may be
  If I had set mine eyes to find that out,
  I should not know it. She hath fair eyes: may be
  I love her for sweet eyes or brows or hair,
  For the smooth temples, where God touching her
  Made blue with sweeter veins the flower-sweet white
  Or for the tender turning of her wrist,
  Or marriage of the eyelid with the cheek;
  I cannot tell; or flush of lifting throat,
  I know not if the color get a name
  This side of heaven-no man knows; or her mouth,
  A flower's lip with a snake's lip, stinging sweet,
  And sweet to sting with: face that one would see
  And then fall blind and die with sight of it
  Held fast between the eyelids-oh, all these
  And all her body and the soul to that,
  The speech and shape and hand and foot and heart
  That I would die of-yea, her name that turns
  My face to fire being written-I know no whit
  How much I love them.

MARY BEATON.
  Nor how she loves you back?

CHASTELARD.
  I know her ways of loving, all of them:
  A sweet soft way the first is; afterward
  It burns and bites like fire; the end of that,
  Charred dust, and eyelids bitten through with smoke.

MARY BEATON.
  What has she done for you to gird at her?

CHASTELARD.
  Nothing. You do not greatly love her, you,
  Who do not-gird, you call it. I am bound to France;
  Shall I take word from you to any one?
  So it be harmless, not a gird, I will.

MARY BEATON.
  I doubt you will not go hence with your life.

CHASTELARD.
  Why, who should slay me? No man northwards born,
  In my poor mind; my sword's lip is no maid's
  To fear the iron biting of their own,
  Though they kiss hard for hate's sake.

MARY BEATON.
  Lo you, sir,
  How sharp he whispers, what close breath and eyes—
  And here are fast upon him, do you see?

CHASTELARD.
  Well, which of these must take my life in hand?
  Pray God it be the better: nay, which hand?

MARY BEATON.
  I think, none such. The man is goodly made;
  She is tender-hearted toward his courtesies,
  And would not have them fall too low to find.
  Look, they slip forth.

[Exeunt DARNLEY and MARY HAMILTON.]

MARY SEYTON.
  For love's sake, after them,
  And soft as love can.

[Exeunt MARY CARMICHAEL and MARY SEYTON.]

CHASTELARD.
  True, a goodly man.
  What shapeliness and state he hath, what eyes,
  Brave brow and lordly lip! Were it not fit
  Great queens should love him?

MARY BEATON.
  See how now, fair lord,
  I have but scant breath's time to help myself,
  And I must cast my heart out on a chance;
  So bear with me. That we twain have loved well,
  I have no heart nor wit to say; God wot
  We had never made good lovers, you and I.
  Look you, I would not have you love me, sir,
  For all the love's sake in the world. I say,
  You love the queen, and loving burns you up,
  And mars the grace and joyous wit you had,
  Turning your speech to sad, your face to strange,
  Your mirth to nothing: and I am piteous, I,
  Even as the queen is, and such women are;
  And if I helped you to your love-longing,
  Meseems some grain of love might fall my way
  And love's god help me when I came to love;
  I have read tales of men that won their loves
  On some such wise.

CHASTELARD.
  If you mean mercifully,
  I am bound to you past thought and thank; if worse
  I will but thank your lips and not your heart.

MARY BEATON.
  Nay, let love wait and praise me, in God's name,
  Some day when he shall find me; yet, God wot,
  My lips are of one color with my heart.
  Withdraw now from me, and about midnight
  In some close chamber without light or noise
  It may be I shall get you speech of her:
  She loves you well: it may be she will speak,
  I wot not what; she loves you at her heart.
  Let her not see that I have given you word,
  Lest she take shame and hate her love. Till night
  Let her not see it.

CHASTLELARD.
  I will not thank you now,
  And then I'll die what sort of death you will.
  Farewell.

[Exit.]

MARY BEATON.
  And by God's mercy and my love's
  I will find ways to earn such thank of you.

[Exit.]

ACT I. SCENE II. A Hall in the same.

The QUEEN, DARNLEY, MURRAY, RANDOLPH, the MARIES, CHASTELARD, &c.

QUEEN.
  Hath no man seen my lord of Chastelard?
  Nay, no great matter. Keep you on that side:
  Begin the purpose.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
  Madam, he is here.

QUEEN.
  Begin a measure now that other side.
  I will not dance; let them play soft a little.
  Fair sir, we had a dance to tread to-night,
  To teach our north folk all sweet ways of France,
  But at this time we have no heart to it.
  Sit, sir, and talk. Look, this breast-clasp is new,
  The French king sent it me.

CHASTELARD.
  A goodly thing:
  But what device? the word is ill to catch.

QUEEN.
  A Venus crowned, that eats the hearts of men:
  Below her flies a love with a bat's wings,
  And strings the hair of paramours to bind
  Live birds' feet with. Lo what small subtle work:
  The smith's name, Gian Grisostomo da—what?
  Can you read that? The sea froths underfoot;
  She stands upon the sea and it curls up
  In soft loose curls that run to one in the wind.
  But her hair is not shaken, there 's a fault;
  It lies straight down in close-cut points and tongues,
  Not like blown hair. The legend is writ small:
  Still one makes out this—*Cave*—if you look.

CHASTELARD.
  I see the Venus well enough, God wot,
  But nothing of the legend.

QUEEN.
  Come, fair lord,
  Shall we dance now? My heart is good again.

[They dance a measure.]

DARNLEY.
  I do not like this manner of a dance,
  This game of two by two; it were much better
  To meet between the changes and to mix
  Than still to keep apart and whispering
  Each lady out of earshot with her friend.

MARY BEATON.
  That 's as the lady serves her knight, I think:
  We are broken up too much.

DARNLEY.
  Nay, no such thing;
  Be not wroth, lady, I wot it was the queen
  Pricked each his friend out. Look you now—your ear—
  If love had gone by choosing—how they laugh,
  Lean lips together, and wring hands underhand!
  What, you look white too, sick of heart, ashamed,
  No marvel—for men call it—hark you though—

[They pass.]

MURRAY.
  Was the queen found no merrier in France?

MARY HAMILTON.
  Why, have you seen her sorrowful to-night?

MURRAY.
  I say not so much; blithe she seems at whiles,
  Gentle and goodly doubtless in all ways,
  But hardly with such lightness and quick heart
  As it was said.

MARY HAMILTON.
  'Tis your great care of her
  Makes you misdoubt; nought else.

MURRAY.
  Yea, may be so;
  She has no cause I know to sadden her.

[They pass.]

QUEEN.
  I am tired too soon; I could have danced down hours
  Two years gone hence and felt no wearier.
  One grows much older northwards, my fair lord;
  I wonder men die south; meseems all France
  Smells sweet with living, and bright breath of days
  That keep men far from dying. Peace; pray you now,
  No dancing more. Sing, sweet, and make us mirth;
  We have done with dancing measures: sing that song
  You call the song of love at ebb.

MARY BEATON.

[Sings.]

  1.
  Between the sunset and the sea
  My love laid hands and lips on me;
  Of sweet came sour, of day came night,
  Of long desire came brief delight:
  Ah love, and what thing came of thee
  Between the sea-downs and the sea?

  2.
  Between the sea-mark and the sea
  Joy grew to grief, grief grew to me;
  Love turned to tears, and tears to fire,
  And dead delight to new desire;
  Love's talk, love's touch there seemed to be
  Between the sea-sand and the sea.

  3.
  Between the sundown and the sea
  Love watched one hour of love with me;
  Then down the all-golden water-ways
  His feet flew after yesterday's;
   I saw them come and saw them flee
  Between the sea-foam and the sea.

  4.
  Between the sea-strand and the sea
  Love fell on sleep, sleep fell on me;
  The first star saw twain turn to one
  Between the moonrise and the sun;
  The next, that saw not love, saw me
  Between the sea-banks and the sea.

QUEEN.
  Lo, sirs,
  What mirth is here! Some song of yours, fair lord;
  You know glad ways of rhyming—no such tunes
  As go to tears.

CHASTELARD.
  I made this yesterday;
  For its love's sake I pray you let it live.

  1.
  Apres tant de jours, apres tant de pleurs,
  Soyez secourable a mon ame en peine.
  Voyez comme Avril fait l'amour aux fleurs;
  Dame d'amour, dame aux belles couleurs,
  Dieu vous a fait belle, Amour vous fait reine.

  2.
  Rions, je t'en prie; aimons, je le veux.
  Le temps fuit et rit et ne revient guere
  Pour baiser le bout de tes blonds cheveux,
  Pour baiser tes cils, ta bouche et tes yeux;
  L'amour n'a qu'un jour aupres de sa mere.

QUEEN.
  'T is a true song; love shall not pluck time back
  Nor time lie down with love. For me, I am old;
  Have you no hair changed since you changed to Scot?
  I look each day to see my face drawn up
  About the eyes, as if they sucked the cheeks.
  I think this air and face of things here north
  Puts snow at flower-time in the blood, and tears
  Between the sad eyes and the merry mouth
  In their youth-days.

CHASTELARD.
  It is a bitter air.

QUEEN.
  Faith, if I might be gone, sir, would I stay?
  I think, for no man's love's sake.

CHASTELARD.
  I think not.

QUEEN.
  Do you yet mind at landing how the quay
  Looked like a blind wet face in waste of wind
  And washing of wan waves? how the hard mist
  Made the hills ache? your songs lied loud, my knight,
  They said my face would burn off cloud and rain
  Seen once, and fill the crannied land with fire,
  Kindle the capes in their blind black-gray hoods—
  I know not what. You praise me past all loves;
  And these men love me little; 't is some fault,
  I think, to love me: even a fool's sweet fault.
  I have your verse still beating in my head
  Of how the swallow got a wing broken
  In the spring time, and lay upon his side
  Watching the rest fly off i' the red leaf-time,
  And broke his heart with grieving at himself
  Before the snow came. Do you know that lord
  With sharp-set eyes? and him with huge thewed throat?
  Good friends to me; I had need love them well.
  Why do you look one way? I will not have you
  Keep your eyes here: 't is no great wit in me
  To care much now for old French friends of mine.—
  Come, a fresh measure; come, play well for me,
  Fair sirs, your playing puts life in foot and heart.—

DARNLEY.
  Lo you again, sirs, how she laughs and leans,
  Holding him fast—the supple way she hath!
  Your queen hath none such; better as she is
  For all her measures, a grave English maid,
  Than queen of snakes and Scots.

RANDOLPH.
  She is over fair
  To be so sweet and hurt not. A good knight;
  Goodly to look on.

MURRAY.
  Yea, a good sword too,
  And of good kin; too light of loving though;
  These jangling song-smiths are keen love-mongers,
  They snap at all meats.

DARNLEY.
  What! by God I think,
  For all his soft French face and bright boy's sword,
  There be folks fairer: and for knightliness,
  These hot-lipped brawls of Paris breed sweet knights—
  Mere stabbers for a laugh across the wine.—

QUEEN.
  There, I have danced you down for once, fair lord;
  You look pale now. Nay then for courtesy
  I must needs help you; do not bow your head,
  I am tall enough to reach close under it.

[Kisses him.]

Now come, we'll sit and see this passage through.—

DARNLEY.
  A courtesy, God help us! courtesy—
  Pray God it wound not where it should heal wounds.
  Why, there was here last year some lord of France
  (Priest on the wrong side as some folk are prince)
  Told tales of Paris ladies—nay, by God,
  No jest for queen's lips to catch laughter of
  That would keep clean; I wot he made good mirth,
  But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise—
  But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise—
  Nay, I laughed too, but lothly.—

QUEEN.
  How they look!
  The least thing courteous galls them to the bone.
  What would one say now I were thinking of?

CHASTELARD.
  It seems, some sweet thing.

QUEEN.
  True, a sweet one, sir—
  That madrigal you made Alys de Saulx
  Of the three ways of love: the first kiss honor,
  The second pity, and the last kiss love.
  Which think you now was that I kissed you with?

CHASTELARD.
  It should be pity, if you be pitiful;
  For I am past all honoring that keep
  Outside the eye of battle, where my kin
  Fallen overseas have found this many a day
  No helm of mine between them; and for love,
  I think of that as dead men of good days
  Ere the wrong side of death was theirs, when God
  Was friends with them.

QUEEN.
  Good; call it pity then.
  You have a subtle riddling skill at love
  Which is not like a lover. For my part,
  I am resolved to be well done with love,
  Though I were fairer-faced than all the world;
  As there be fairer. Think you, fair my knight,
  Love shall live after life in any man?
  I have given you stuff for riddles.

CHASTELARD.
  Most sweet queen,
  They say men dying remember, with sharp joy
  And rapid reluctation of desire,
  Some old thin, some swift breath of wind, some word,
  Some sword-stroke or dead lute-strain, some lost sight,
  Some sea-blossom stripped to the sun and burned
  At naked ebb—some river-flower that breathes
  Against the stream like a swooned swimmer's mouth—
  Some tear or laugh ere lip and eye were man's—
  Sweet stings that struck the blood in riding—nay,
  Some garment or sky-color or spice-smell,
  And die with heart and face shut fast on it,
  And know not why, and weep not; it may be
  Men shall hold love fast always in such wise
  In new fair lives where all are new things else,
  And know not why, and weep not.

QUEEN.
  A right rhyme,
  And right a thyme's worth: nay, a sweet song, though.
  What, shall my cousin hold fast that love of his,
  Her face and talk, when life ends? as God grant
  His life end late and sweet; I love him well.
  She is fair enough, his lover; a fair-faced maid,
  With gray sweet eyes and tender touch of talk;
  And that, God wot, I wist not. See you, sir,
  Men say I needs must get wed hastily;
  Do none point lips at him?

CHASTELARD.
  Yea, guessingly.

QUEEN.
  God help such lips! and get me leave to laugh!
  What should I do but paint and put him up
  Like a gilt god, a saintship in a shrine,
  For all fools' feast? God's mercy on men's wits!
  Tall as a housetop and as bare of brain—
  I'll have no staffs with fool-faced carven heads
  To hang my life on. Nay, for love, no more,
  For fear I laugh and set their eyes on edge
  To find out why I laugh. Good-night, fair lords;
  Bid them cease playing. Give me your hand; good-night.

SCENE III.—MARY BEATON'S chamber: night.

[Enter CHASTELARD.]

CHASTELARD.
  I am not certain yet she will not come;
  For I can feel her hand's heat still in mine,
  Past doubting of, and see her brows half draw,
  And half a light in the eyes. If she come not,
  I am no worse than he that dies to-night.
  This two years' patience gets an end at least,
  Whichever way I am well done with it.
  How hard the thin sweet moon is, split and laced
  And latticed over, just a stray of it
  Catching and clinging at a strip of wall,
  Hardly a hand's breadth. Did she turn indeed
  In going out? not to catch up her gown
  The page let slip, but to keep sight of me?
  There was a soft small stir beneath her eyes
  Hard to put on, a quivering of her blood
  That knew of the old nights watched out wakefully.
  Those measures of her dancing too were changed—
  More swift and with more eager stops at whiles
  And rapid pauses where breath failed her lips.

[Enter MARY BEATON.]

  O, she is come: if you be she indeed
  Let me but hold your hand; what, no word yet?
  You turn and kiss me without word; O sweet,
  If you will slay me be not over quick,
  Kill me with some slow heavy kiss that plucks
  The heart out at the lips. Alas! Sweet love,
  Give me some old sweet word to kiss away.
  Is it a jest? for I can feel your hair
  Touch me—I may embrace your body too?
  I know you well enough without sweet words.
  How should one make you speak? This is not she.
  Come in the light; nay, let me see your eyes.
  Ah, you it is? what have I done to you?
  And do you look now to be slain for this
  That you twist back and shudder like one stabbed?

MARY BEATON.
  Yea, kill me now and do not look at me:
  God knows I meant to die. Sir, for God's love,
  Kill me now quick ere I go mad with shame.

CHASTELARD.
  Cling not upon my wrists: let go the hilt:
  Nay, you will bruise your hand with it: stand up:
  You shall not have my sword forth.

MARY BEATON.
  Kill me now,
  I will not rise: there, I am patient, see,
  I will not strive, but kill me for God's sake.

CHASTELARD.
  Pray you rise up and be not shaken so:
  Forgive me my rash words, my heart was gone
  After the thing you were: be not ashamed;
  Give me the shame, you have no part in it;
  Can I not say a word shall do you good?
  Forgive that too.

MARY BEATON.
  I shall run crazed with shame;
  But when I felt your lips catch hold on mine
  It stopped my breath: I would have told you all;
  Let me go out: you see I lied to you,
  Am I am shamed; I pray you loose me, sir,
  Let me go out.

CHASTELARD.
  Think no base things of me:
  I were most base to let you go ashamed.
  Think my heart's love and honor go with you:
  Yea, while I live, for your love's noble sake,
  I am your servant in what wise may be,
  To love and serve you with right thankful heart.

MARY BEATON.
  I have given men leave to mock me, and must bear
  What shame they please: you have good cause to mock.
  Let me pass now.

CHASTELARD.
  You know I mock you not.
  If ever I leave off to honor you,
  God give me shame! I were the worst churl born.

MARY BEATON.
  No marvel though the queen should love you too,
  Being such a knight. I pray you for her love,
  Lord Chastelard, of your great courtesy,
  Think now no scorn to give me my last kiss
  That I shall have of man before I die.
  Even the same lips you kissed and knew not of
  Will you kiss now, knowing the shame of them,
  And say no one word to me afterwards,
  That I may see I have loved the best lover
  And man most courteous of all men alive?

MARY SEYTON.

[Within.]

Here, fetch the light: nay, this way; enter all.

MARY BEATON.
  I am twice undone. Fly, get some hiding, sir;
  They have spied upon me somehow.

CHASTELARD.
  Nay, fear not;
  Stand by my side.

[Enter MARY SEYTON and MARY HAMILTON.]

MARY HAMILTON.
  Give me that light: this way.

CHASTELARD.
  What jest is here, fair ladies? it walks late,
  Something too late for laughing.

MARY SEYTON.
  Nay, fair sir,
  What jest is this of yours? Look to your lady:
  She is nigh swooned. The queen shall know all this.

MARY HAMILTON.
  A grievous shame it is we are fallen upon;
  Hold forth the light. Is this your care of us?
  Nay, come, look up: this is no game, God wot.

CHASTELARD.
  Shame shall befall them that speak shamefully:
  I swear this lady is as pure and good
  As any maiden, and who believes me not
  Shall keep the shame for his part and the lie.
  To them that come in honor and not in hate
  I will make answer. Lady, have good heart.
  Give me the light there: I will see you forth.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

DARNLEY.

SCENE I.—The great Chamber in Holyrood.

The QUEEN and MARY SEYTON.

QUEEN.
  But will you swear it?

MARY SEYTON.
  Swear it, madam?

QUEEN.
  Ay—
  Swear it.

MARY SEYTON.
  Madam, I am not friends with them.

QUEEN.
  Swear then against them if you are not friends.

MARY SEYTON.
  Indeed I saw them kiss.

QUEEN.
  So lovers use—
  What, their mouths close? a goodly way of love!
  Or but the hands? or on her throat? Prithee—
  You have sworn that.

MARY SEYTON.
  I say what I saw done.

QUEEN.
  Ay, you did see her cheeks (God smite them red!)
  Kissed either side? what, they must eat strange food
  Those singing lips of his?

MARY SEYTON.
  Sweet meat enough—
  They started at my coming five yards off,
  But there they were.

QUEEN.
  A maid may have kissed cheeks
  And no shame in them—yet one would not swear.
  You have sworn that. Pray God he be not mad:
  A sickness in his eyes. The left side love
  (I was told that) and the right courtesy.
  'T is good fools' fashion. What, no more but this?
  For me, God knows I am no whit wroth; not I;
  But, for your fame's sake that her shame will sting,
  I cannot see a way to pardon her—
  For your fame's sake, lest that be prated of.

MARY SEYTON.
  Nay, if she were not chaste—I have not said
  She was not chaste.

QUEEN.
  I know you are tender of her;
  And your sweet word will hardly turn her sweet.

MARY SEYTON.
  Indeed I would fain do her any good.
  Shall I not take some gracious word to her?

QUEEN.
  Bid her not come or wait on me to-day.

MARY SEYTON.
  Will you see him?

QUEEN.
  See—O, this Chastelard?
  He doth not well to sing maids into shame;
  And folk are sharp here; yet for sweet friends' sake
  Assuredly I 'll see him. I am not wroth.
  A goodly man, and a good sword thereto—
  It may be he shall wed her. I am not wroth.

MARY SEYTON.
  Nay, though she bore with him, she hath no great love,
  I doubt me, that way.

QUEEN.
  God mend all, I pray—
  And keep us from all wrongdoing and wild words.
  I think there is no fault men fall upon
  But I could pardon. Look you, I would swear
  She were no paramour for any man,
  So well I love her.

MARY SEYTON.
  Am I to bid him in?

QUEEN.
  As you will, sweet. But if you held me hard
  You did me grievous wrong. Doth he wait there?
  Men call me over tender; I had rather so,
  Than too ungracious. Father, what with you?

[Enter FATHER BLACK.]

  FATHER BLACK.
  God's peace and health of soul be with the queen!
  And pardon be with me though I speak truth.
  As I was going on peaceable men's wise
  Through your good town, desiring no man harm,
  A kind of shameful woman with thief's lips
  Spake somewhat to me over a thrust-out chin,
  Soliciting as I deemed an alms; which alms
  (Remembering what was writ of Magdalen)
  I gave no grudging but with pure good heart,
  When lo some scurril children that lurked near,
  Set there by Satan for my stumbling-stone,
  Fell hooting with necks thwart and eyes asquint,
  Screeched and made horns and shot out tongues at me,
  As at my Lord the Jews shot out their tongues
  And made their heads wag; I considering this
  Took up my cross in patience and passed forth:
  Nevertheless one ran between my feet
  And made me totter, using speech and signs
  I smart with shame to think of: then my blood
  Kindled, and I was moved to smite the knave,
  And the knave howled; whereat the lewd whole herd
  Brake forth upon me and cast mire and stones
  So that I ran sore risk of bruise or gash
  If they had touched; likewise I heard men say,
  (Their foul speech missed not mine ear) they cried,
  "This devil's mass-priest hankers for new flesh
  Like a dry hound; let him seek such at home,
  Snuff and smoke out the queen's French—"

QUEEN.
  They said that?

FATHER BLACK.
  "—French paramours that breed more shames than sons
  All her court through;" forgive me.

QUEEN.
  With my heart.
  Father, you see the hatefulness of these—
  They loathe us for our love. I am not moved:
  What should I do being angry? By this hand
  (Which is not big enough to bruise their lips),
  I marvel what thing should be done with me
  To make me wroth. We must have patience with us
  When we seek thank of men.

FATHER BLACK.
  Madam, farewell;
  I pray God keep you in such patient heart.

[Exit.]

QUEEN.
  Let him come now.

MARY SEYTON.
  Madam, he is at hand.

[Exit.]

[Enter CHASTELARD.]

QUEEN.
  Give me that broidery frame; how, gone so soon?
  No maid about? Reach me some skein of silk.
  What, are you come, fair lord? Now by my life
  That lives here idle, I am right glad of you;
  I have slept so well and sweet since yesternight
  It seems our dancing put me in glad heart.
  Did you sleep well?

CHASTELARD.
  Yea, as a man may sleep.

QUEEN.
  You smile as if I jested; do not men
  Sleep as we do? Had you fair dreams in the night?
  For me—but I should fret you with my dreams—
  I dreamed sweet things. You are good at soothsaying:
  Make me a sonnet of my dream.

CHASTELARD.
  I will,
  When I shall know it.

QUEEN.
  I thought I was asleep
  In Paris, lying by my lord, and knew
  In somewise he was well awake, and yet
  I could not wake too; and I seemed to know
  He hated me, and the least breath I made
  Would turn somehow to slay or stifle me.
  Then in brief time he rose and went away,
  Saying, Let her dream, but when her dream is out
  I will come back and kill her as she wakes.
  And I lay sick and trembling with sore fear,
  And still I knew that I was deep asleep;
  And thinking I must dream now, or I die,
  God send me some good dream lest I be slain,
  Fell fancying one had bound my feet with cords
  And bade me dance, and the first measure made
  I fell upon my face and wept for pain:
  And my cords broke, and I began the dance
  To a bitter tune; and he that danced with me
  Was clothed in black with long red lines and bars
  And masked down to the lips, but by the chin
  I knew you though your lips were sewn up close
  With scarlet thread all dabbled wet in blood.
  And then I knew the dream was not for good.
  And striving with sore travail to reach up
  And kiss you (you were taller in my dream)
  I missed your lips and woke.

CHASTELARD.
  Sweet dreams, you said?
  An evil dream I hold it for, sweet love.

QUEEN.
  You call love sweet; yea, what is bitter, then?
  There's nothing broken sleep could hit upon
  So bitter as the breaking down of love.
  You call me sweet; I am not sweet to you,
  Nor you-O, I would say not sweet to me,
  And if I said so I should hardly lie.
  But there have been those things between us, sir,
  That men call sweet.

CHASTELARD.
  I know not how There is
  Turns to There hath been; 't is a heavier change
  Than change of flesh to dust. Yet though years change
  And good things end and evil things grow great,
  The old love that was, or that was dreamed about,
  That sang and kissed and wept upon itself,
  Laughed and ran mad with love of its own face,
  That was a sweet thing.

QUEEN.
  Nay, I know not well.
  'T is when the man is held fast underground
  They say for sooth what manner of heart he had.
  We are alive, and cannot be well sure
  If we loved much or little: think you not
  It were convenient one of us should die?

CHASTELARD.
  Madam, your speech is harsh to understand.

QUEEN.
  Why, there could come no change then; one of us
  Would never need to fear our love might turn
  To the sad thing that it may grow to be.
  I would sometimes all things were dead asleep
  That I have loved, all buried in soft beds
  And sealed with dreams and visions, and each dawn
  Sung to by sorrows, and all night assuaged
  By short sweet kissed and by sweet long loves
  For old life's sake, lest weeping overmuch
  Should wake them in a strange new time, and arm
  Memory's blind hand to kill forgetfulness.

CHASTELARD.
  Look, you dream still, and sadly.

QUEEN.
  Sooth, a dream;
  For such things died or lied in sweet love's face,
  And I forget them not, God help my wit!
  I would the whole world were made up of sleep
  And life not fashioned out of lies and loves.
  We foolish women have such times, you know,
  When we are weary or afraid or sick
  For perfect nothing.

CHASTELARD.
  [Aside.]
  Now would one be fain
  To know what bitter or what dangerous thing
  She thinks of, softly chafing her soft lip.
  She must mean evil.

QUEEN.
  Are you sad too, sir,
  That you say nothing?

CHASTELARD.
  I? not sad a jot—
  Though this your talk might make a blithe man sad.

QUEEN.
  O me! I must not let stray sorrows out;
  They are ill to fledge, and if they feel blithe air
  They wail and chirp untunefully. Would God
  I had been a man! when I was born, men say,
  My father turned his face and wept to think
  I was no man.

CHASTELARD.
  Will you weep too?

QUEEN.
  In sooth,
  If I were a man I should be no base man;
  I could have fought; yea, I could fight now too
  If men would show me; I would I were the king!
  I should be all ways better than I am.

CHASTELARD.
  Nay, would you have more honor, having this—
  Men's hearts and loves and the sweet spoil of souls
  Given you like simple gold to bind your hair?
  Say you were king of thews, not queen of souls,
  An iron headpiece hammered to a head,
  You might fall too.

QUEEN.
  No, then I would not fall,
  Or God should make me woman back again.
  To be King James-you hear men say King James,
  The word sounds like a piece of gold thrown down,
  Rings with a round and royal note in it—
  A name to write good record of; this king
  Fought here and there, was beaten such a day,
  And came at last to a good end, his life
  Being all lived out, and for the main part well
  And like a king's life; then to have men say
  (As now they say of Flodden, here they broke
  And there they held up to the end) years back
  They saw you-yea, I saw the king's face helmed
  Red in the hot lit foreground of some fight
  Hold the whole war as it were by the bit, a horse
  Fit for his knees' grip-the great rearing war
  That frothed with lips flung up, and shook men's lives
  Off either flank of it like snow; I saw
  (You could not hear as his sword rang), saw him
  Shout, laugh, smite straight, and flaw the riven ranks,
  Move as the wind moves, and his horse's feet
  Stripe their long flags with dust. Why, if one died,
  To die so in the heart and heat of war
  Were a much goodlier thing than living soft
  And speaking sweet for fear of men. Woe's me,
  Is there no way to pluck this body off?
  Then I should never fear a man again,
  Even in my dreams I should not; no, by heaven.

CHASTELARD.
  I never thought you did fear anything.

QUEEN.
  God knows I do; I could be sick with wrath
  To think what grievous fear I have 'twixt whiles
  Of mine own self and of base men: last night
  If certain lords were glancing where I was
  Under the eyelid, with sharp lip and brow,
  I tell you, for pure shame and fear of them,
  I could have gone and slain them.

CHASTELARD.
  Verily,
  You are changed since those good days that fell in France;
  But yet I think you are not so changed at heart
  As to fear man.

QUEEN.
  I would I had no need.
  Lend me your sword a little; a fair sword;
  I see the fingers that I hold it with
  Clear in the blade, bright pink, the shell-color,
  Brighter than flesh is really, curved all round.
  Now men would mock if I should wear it here,
  Bound under bosom with a girdle, here,
  And yet I have heart enough to wear it well.
  Speak to me like a woman, let me see
  If I can play at man.

CHASTELARD.
  God save King James!

QUEEN.
  Would you could change now! Fie, this will not do;
  Unclasp your sword; nay, the hilt hurts my side;
  It sticks fast here. Unbind this knot for me:
  Stoop, and you'll see it closer; thank you: there.
  Now I can breathe, sir. Ah! it hurts me, though:
  This was fool's play.

CHASTELARD.
  Yea, you are better so,
  Without the sword; your eyes are stronger things,
  Whether to save or slay.

QUEEN.
  Alas, my side!
  It hurts right sorely. Is it not pitiful
  Our souls should be so bound about with flesh
  Even when they leap and smite with wings and feet,
  The least pain plucks them back, puts out their eyes,
  Turns them to tears and words? Ah my sweet knight,
  You have the better of us that weave and weep
  While the blithe battle blows upon your eyes
  Like rain and wind; yet I remember too
  When this last year the fight at Corrichie
  Reddened the rushes with stained fen-water,
  I rode with my good men and took delight,
  Feeling the sweet clear wind upon my eyes
  And rainy soft smells blown upon my face
  In riding: then the great fight jarred and joined,
  And the sound stung me right through heart and all;
  For I was here, see, gazing off the hills,
  In the wet air; our housings were all wet,
  And not a plume stood stiffly past the ear
  But flapped between the bridle and the neck;
  And under us we saw the battle go
  Like running water; I could see by fits
  Some helm the rain fell shining off, some flag
  Snap from the staff, shorn through or broken short
  In the man's falling: yea, one seemed to catch
  The very grasp of tumbled men at men,
  Teeth clenched in throats, hands riveted in hair,
  Tearing the life out with no help of swords.
  And all the clamor seemed to shine, the light
  Seemed to shout as a man doth; twice I laughed—
  I tell you, twice my heart swelled out with thirst
  To be into the battle; see, fair lord,
  I swear it seemed I might have made a knight,
  And yet the simple bracing of a belt
  Makes me cry out; this is too pitiful,
  This dusty half of us made up with fears.—
  Have you been ever quite so glad to fight
  As I have thought men must? pray you, speak truth.

CHASTELARD.
  Yea, when the time came, there caught hold of me
  Such pleasure in the head and hands and blood
  As may be kindled under loving lips:
  Crossing the ferry once to the Clerks' Field,
  I mind how the plashing noise of Seine
  Put fire into my face for joy, and how
  My blood kept measure with the swinging boat
  Till we touched land, all for the sake of that
  Which should be soon.

QUEEN.
  Her name, for God's love, sir;
  You slew your friend for love's sake? nay, the name.

CHASTELARD.
  Faith, I forget.

QUEEN.
  Now by the faith I have
  You have no faith to swear by.

CHASTELARD.
  A good sword:
  We left him quiet after a thrust or twain.

QUEEN.
  I would I had been at hand and marked them off
  As the maids did when we played singing games:
  You outwent me at rhyming; but for faith,
  We fight best there. I would I had seen you fight.

CHASTELARD.
  I would you had; his play was worth an eye;
  He made some gallant way before that pass
  Which made me way through him.

QUEEN.
  Would I saw that—
  How did you slay him?

CHASTELARD.
  A clean pass—this way;
  Right in the side here, where the blood has root.
  His wrist went round in pushing, see you, thus,
  Or he had pierced me.

QUEEN.
  Yea, I see, sweet knight.
  I have a mind to love you for his sake;
  Would I had seen.

CHASTELARD.
  Hugues de Marsillac—
  I have the name now; 't was a goodly one
  Before he changed it for a dusty name.

QUEEN.
  Talk not of death; I would hear living talk
  Of good live swords and good strokes struck withal,
  Brave battles and the mirth of mingling men,
  Not of cold names you greet a dead man with.
  You are yet young for fighting; but in fight
  Have you never caught a wound?

CHASTELARD.
  Yea, twice or so:
  The first time in a little outlying field
  (My first field) at the sleepy gray of dawn,
  They found us drowsy, fumbling at our girths,
  And rode us down by heaps; I took a hurt
  Here in the shoulder.

QUEEN.
  Ah, I mind well now;
  Did you not ride a day's space afterward,
  Having two wounds? yea, Dandelot it was,
  That Dandelot took word of it. I know,
  Sitting at meat when the news came to us
  I had nigh swooned but for those Florence eyes
  Slanting my way with sleek lids drawn up close—
  Yea, and she said, the Italian brokeress,
  She said such men were good for great queens' love.
  I would you might die, when you come to die,
  Like a knight slain. Pray God we make good ends.
  For love too, love dies hard or easily,
  But some way dies on some day, ere we die.

CHASTELARD.
  You made a song once of old flowers and loves,
  Will you not sing that rather? 't is long gone
  Since you sang last.

QUEEN.
  I had rather sigh than sing
  And sleep than sigh; 't is long since verily,
  But I will once more sing; ay, thus it was.

[Sings.]

  1.
  J'ai vu faner bien des choses,
  Mainte feuille aller au vent.
  En songeant aux vieilles roses,
       J'ai pleure souvent.

  2.
  Vois-tu dans les roses mortes
  Amour qui sourit cache?
  O mon amant, a nos portes
       L'as-tu vu couche?

  3.
  As-tu vu jamais au monde
  Venus chasser et courir?
  Fille de l'onde, avec l'onde
       Doit-elle mourir?

  4.
  Aux jours de neige et de givre
  L'amour s'effeuille et s'endort;
  Avec mai doit-il revivre,
       Ou bien est-il mort?

  5.
  Qui sait ou s'en vont les roses?
  Qui sai ou s'en va le vent?
  En songeant a telles choses,
       J'ai pleure souvent.

  I never heard yet but love made good knights,
  But for pure faith, by Mary's holiness,
  I think she lies about men's lips asleep,
  And if one kiss or pluck her by the hand
  To wake her, why God help your woman's wit,
  Faith is but dead; dig her grave deep at heart,
  And hide her face with cerecloths; farewell faith.
  Would I could tell why I talk idly. Look,
  Here come my riddle-readers. Welcome all;

[Enter MURRAY, DARNLEY, RANDOLPH, LINDSAY,
MORTON, and other LORDS.]

  Sirs, be right welcome. Stand you by my side,
  Fair cousin, I must lean on love or fall;
  You are a goodly staff, sir; tall enough,
  And fair enough to serve. My gentle lords,
  I am full glad of God that in great grace
  He hath given me such a lordly stay as this;
  There is no better friended queen alive.
  For the repealing of those banished men
  That stand in peril yet of last year's fault,
  It is our will; you have our seal to that.
  Brother, we hear harsh bruits of bad report
  Blown up and down about our almoner;
  See you to this: let him be sought into:
  They say lewd folk make ballads of their spleen,
  Strew miry ways of words with talk of him;
  If they have cause let him be spoken with.

LINDSAY.
  Madam, they charge him with so rank a life
  Were it not well this fellow were plucked out—
  Seeing this is not an eye that doth offend,
  But a blurred glass it were no harm to break;
  Yea rather it were gracious to be done?

QUEEN.
  Let him be weighed, and use him as he is;
  I am of my nature pitiful, ye know,
  And cannot turn my love unto a thorn
  In so brief space. Ye are all most virtuous;
  Yea, there is goodness grafted on this land;
  But yet compassion is some part of God.
  There is much heavier business held on hand
  Than one man's goodness: yea, as things fare here,
  A matter worth more weighing. All you wot
  I am choose a help to my weak feet,
  A lamp before my face, a lord and friend
  To walk with me in weary ways, high up
  Between the wind and rain and the hot sun.
  Now I have chosen a helper to myself,
  I wot the best a woman ever won;
  A man that loves me, and a royal man,
  A goodly love and lord for any queen.
  But for the peril and despite of men
  I have sometime tarried and withheld myself,
  Not fearful of his worthiness nor you,
  But with some lady's loathing to let out
  My whole heart's love; for truly this is hard,
  Not like a woman's fashion, shamefacedness
  And noble grave reluctance of herself
  To be the tongue and cry of her own heart.
  Nathless plain speech is better than much wit,
  So ye shall bear with me; albeit I think
  Ye have caught the mark whereat my heart is bent.
  I have kept close counsel and shut up men's lips,
  But lightly shall a woman's will slip out,
  The foolish little winged will of her,
  Through cheek or eye when tongue is charmed asleep.
  For that good lord I have good will to wed,
  I wot he knew long since which way it flew,
  Even till it lit on his right wrist and sang.
  Lo, here I take him by the hand: fair lords,
  This is my kinsman, made of mine own blood,
  I take to halve the state and services
  That bow down to me, and to be my head,
  My chief, my master, my sweet lord and king.
  Now shall I never say "sweet cousin" more
  To my dear head and husband; here, fair sir,
  I give you all the heart of love in me
  To gather off my lips. Did it like you,
  The taste of it? sir, it was whole and true.
  God save our king!

DARNLEY.
  Nay, nay, sweet love, no lord;
  No king of yours though I were lord of these.

QUEEN.
  Let word be sent to all good friends of ours
  To help us to be glad; England and France
  Shall bear great part of our rejoicings up.
  Give me your hand, dear lord; for from this time
  I must not walk alone. Lords, have good cheer:
  For you shall have a better face than mine
  To set upon your kingly gold and show
  For Scotland's forehead in the van of things.
  Go with us now, and see this news set out.

[Exeunt QUEEN, DARNLEY, and LORDS.]

[As CHASTELARD is going out, enter MARY BEATON.]

MARY BEATON.
  Have you yet heard? You knew of this?

CHASTELARD.
  I know.
  I was just thinking how such things were made
  And were so fair as this is. Do you know
  She held me here and talked—the most sweet talk
  Men ever heard of?

MARY BEATON.
  You hate me to the heart.
  What will you do?

CHASTELARD.
  I know not: die some day,
  But live as long and lightly as I can.
  Will you now love me? faith, but if you do,
  It were much better you were dead and hearsed.
  Will you do one thing for me?

MARY BEATON.
  Yea, all things.

CHASTELARD.
  Speak truth a little, for God's sake: indeed
  It were no harm to do. Come, will you, sweet?
  Though it be but to please God.

MARY BEATON.
  What will you do?

CHASTELARD.
  Ay, true, I must do somewhat. Let me see:
  To get between and tread upon his face—
  Catch both her hands and bid men look at them,
  How pure they were—I would do none of these,
  Though they got wedded all the days in the year.
  We may do well yet when all's come and gone.
  I pray you on this wedding-night of theirs
  Do but one thing that I shall ask of you,
  And Darnley will not hunger as I shall
  For that good time. Sweet, will you swear me this?