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: I have done with fear; now nothing but pure love And power and pity shall have part in me; I will not throw them such a spirit in flesh To make their prey on. Though he be mad indeed, It is the goodliest madness ever smote Upon man's heart. A kingly knight-in faith, Meseems my face can yet make faith in men And break their brains with beauty: for a word, An eyelid's twitch, an eye's turn, tie them fast And make their souls cleave to me. God be thanked, This air has not yet curdled all the blood That went to make me fair. An hour agone, I thought I had been forgotten of men's love More than dead women's faces are forgot Of after lovers. All men are not of earth: For all the frost of fools and this cold land There be some yet catch fever of my face And burning for mine eyes' sake. I did think My time was gone when men would dance to death As to a music, and lie laughing down In the grave and take their funerals for their feasts, To get one kiss of me. I have some strength yet, Though I lack power on men that lack men's blood.

Yea, and God wot I will be merciful; For all the foolish hardness round my heart That tender women miss of to their praise, They shall not say but I had grace to give Even for love's sake. Why, let them take their way: What ails it them though I be soft or hard?

Soft hearts would weep and weep and let men die For very mercy and sweet-heartedness; I that weep little for my pity's sake, I have the grace to save men. Let fame go-- I care not much what shall become of fame, So I save love and do mine own soul right; I'll have my mercy help me to revenge On all the crew of them. How will he look, Having my pardon! I shall have sweet thanks And love of good men for my mercy's love-- Yea, and be quit of these I hate to death, With one good deed.

[Enter the MARIES.]

MARY BEATON.

Madam, the lords are here.

QUEEN.

Stand you about me, I will speak to them.

I would the whole world stood up in my face And heard what I shall say. Bid them come in.

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

Hear you, fair lords, I have a word to you; There is one thing I would fain understand-- If I be queen or no; for by my life Methinks I am growing unqueenly. No man speak?

Pray you take note, sweet lord ambassador, I am no queen: I never was born queen; Alack, that one should fool us in this wise!

Take up my crown, sir, I will none of it Till it hath bells on as a fool's cap hath.

Nay, who will have it? no man take it up?

Was there none worthy to be shamed but I?

Here are enow good faces, good to crown; Will you be king, fair brother? or you, my lord?

Give me a spinner's curch, a wisp of reed, Any mean thing; but, God's love, no more gold, And no more shame: let boys throw dice for it, Or cast it to the grooms for tennis-play, For I will none.

MURRAY.

What would your highness have?

QUEEN.

Yea, yea, I said I was no majesty; I shall be shortly fallen out of grace.

What would I have? I would have leave to live; Perchance I shall not shortly: nay, for me That have no leave to respite other lives To keep mine own life were small praise enow.

MURRAY.

Your majesty hath power to respite men, As we well wot; no man saith otherwise.

QUEEN.

What, is this true? 't is a thing wonderful-- So great I cannot be well sure of it.

Strange that a queen should find such grace as this At such lords' hands as ye be, such great lords: I pray you let me get assured again, Lest I take jest for truth and shame myself And make you mirth: to make your mirth of me, God wot it were small pains to you, my lords, But much less honor. I may send reprieve-- With your sweet leaves I may?

MURRAY.

Assuredly.

QUEEN.

Lo, now, what grace is this I have of you!

I had a will to respite Chastelard, And would not do it for very fear of you: Look you, I wist not ye were merciful.

MORTON.

Madam--

QUEEN.

My lord, you have a word to me?

Doth it displease you such a man should live?

MORTON.

'T were a mad mercy in your majesty To lay no hand upon his second fault And let him thrice offend you.

QUEEN.

Ay, my lord?

MORTON.

It were well done to muffle lewd men's mouths By casting of his head into their laps: It were much best.

QUEEN.

Yea, truly were it so?

But if I will not, yet I will not, sir, For all the mouths in Scotland. Now, by heaven, As I am pleased he shall not die but live, So shall ye be. There is no man shall die, Except it please me; and no man shall say, Except it please me, if I do ill or well.

Which of you now will set his will to mine?

Not you, nor you I think, nor none of you, Nor no man living that loves living well.

Let one stand forth and smite me with his hand, Wring my crown off and cast it underfoot, And he shall get my respite back of me, And no man else: he shall bid live or die, And no man else; and he shall be my lord, And no man else. What, will not one be king?

Will not one here lay hold upon my state?

I am queen of you for all things come and gone.

Nay, my chief lady, and no meaner one, The chiefest of my maidens, shall bear this And give it to my prisoner for a grace; Who shall deny me? who shall do me wrong?

Bear greeting to the lord of Chastelard, And this withal for respite of his life, For by my head he shall die no such way: Nay, sweet, no words, but hence and back again.

[Exit MARY BEATON.]

Farewell, dear lords; ye have shown grace to me, And some time I will thank you as I may; Till when think well of me and what is done.