God, for dear mercy, let me not forget Why I should be so angry; the dull blood Beats at my face and blinds me-I am chafted to death, And I am shamed; I shall go mad and die.
Truly I think I did kneel down, did pray, Yea, weep (who knows?) it may be-all for that.
Yea, if I wept not, this was blood brake forth And burnt mine eyelids; I will have blood back, And wash them cool in the hottest of his heart, Or I will slay myself: I cannot tell:
I have given gold for brass, and lo the pay Cleaves to my fingers: there's no way to mend-Not while life stays: would God that it were gone!
The fool will feed upon my fame and laugh;
Till one seal up his tongue and lips with blood, He carries half my honor and good name Between his teeth. Lord God, mine head will fail!
When have I done thus since I was alive?
And these ill times will deal but ill with me-My old love slain, and never a new to help, And my wits gone, and my blithe use of life, And all the grace was with me. Love-perchance If I save love I shall well save myself.
I could find heart to bid him take such fellows And kill them to my hand. I was the fool To sue to these and shame myself: God knows I was a queen born, I will hold their heads Here in my hands for this. Which of you waits?
[Enter MARY BEATON and MARY CARMICHAEL.]
No maiden of them?-what, no more than this?
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Madam, the lady Seyton is gone forth;
She is ill at heart with watching.
QUEEN.
Ay, at heart-
All girls must have such tender sides to the heart They break for one night's watching, ache to death For an hour's pity, for a half-hour's love-Wear out before the watches, die by dawn, And ride at noon to burial. God's my pity!
Where's Hamilton? doth she ail too? at heart, I warrant her at heart.
MARY BEATON.
I know not, madam.
QUEEN.
What, sick or dead? I am well holpen of you:
Come hither to me. What pale blood you have-Is it for fear you turn such cheeks to me?
Why, if I were so loving, by my hand, I would have set my head upon the chance, And loosed him though I died. What will you do?
Have you no way?
MARY BEATON.
None but your mercy.
QUEEN.
Ay?
Why then the thing is piteous. Think, for God's sake-Is there no loving way to fetch him forth?
Nay, what a white thin-blooded thing is love, To help no more than this doth! Were I in love, I would unbar the ways to-night and then Laugh death to death to-morrow, mock him dead;I think you love well with one half your heart, And let fear keep the other. Hark you now, You said there was some friend durst break my bars-Some Scotch name-faith, as if I wist of it!
Ye have such heavy wits to help one with-
Some man that had some mean to save him by-
Tush, I must be at pains for you!
MARY BEATON.
Nay, madam, It were no boot; he will not be let forth.
QUEEN.
I say, the name. O, Robert Erskine-yea, A fellow of some heart: what saith he?
MARY BEATON.
Madam, The thing was sound all through, yea, all went well, But for all prayers that we could make to him He would not fly: we cannot get him forth.
QUEEN.
Great God! that men should have such wits as this!
I have a mind to let him die for that;
And yet I wot not. Said he, he loathed his life?
MARY BEATON.
He says your grace given would scathe yourself, And little grace for such a grace as that Be with the little of his life he kept To cast off some time more unworthily.
QUEEN.
God help me! what should wise folk do with him?
These men be weaker-witted than mere fools When they fall mad once; yet by Mary's soul I am sorrier for him than for men right wise.
God wot a fool that were more wise than he Would love me something worse than Chastelard, Ay, and his own soul better. Do you think (There's no such other sort of fool alive)That he may live?
MARY BEATON.
Yea, by God's mercy, madam, To your great praise and honor from all men If you should keep him living.
QUEEN.
By God's light, I have good will to do it. Are you sure, If I would pack him with a pardon hence, He would speak well of me-not hint and halt, Smile and look back, sigh and say love runs out, But times have been-with some loose laugh cut short, Bit off at lip-eh?
MARY BEATON.
No, by heaven he would not.
QUEEN.
You know how quickly one may be belied-
Faith, you should know it-I never thought the worst, One may touch love and come with clean hands off-But you should know it. What, he will not fly-Not though I wink myself asleep, turn blind-
Which that I will I say not?
MARY BEATON.
Nay, not he;
We had good hope to bring him well aboard, Let him slip safe down by the firths to sea, Out under Leith by night-setting, and thence Take ship for France and serve there out of sight In the new wars.
QUEEN.
Ay, in the new French wars-
You wist thereof too, madam, with good leave-A goodly bait to catch mine honor with And let me wake up with my name bit through.
I had been much bounden to you twain, methinks, But for my knight's sake and his love's; by God, He shall not die in God's despite nor mine.
Call in our chief lords; bid one see to it:
Ay, and make haste.
[Exeunt MARY BEATON and MARY CARMICHAEL.]
Now shall I try their teeth:
