Why will you break my heart with praying to me?

You Seyton, you Carmichael, you have wits, You are not all run to tears; you do not think It is my wrath or will that whets this axe Against his neck?

MARY SEYTON.

Nay, these three weeks agone I said the queen's wrath was not sharp enough To shear a neck.

QUEEN.

Sweet, and you did me right, And look you, what my mercy bears to fruit, Danger and deadly speech and a fresh fault Before the first was cool in people's lips; A goodly mercy: and I wash hands of it.-- Speak you, there; have you ever found me sharp?

You weep and whisper with sloped necks and heads Like two sick birds; do you think shame of me?

Nay, I thank God none can think shame of me; But am I bitter, think you, to men's faults?

I think I am too merciful, too meek: Why if I could I would yet save this man; 'T is just boy's madness; a soft stripe or two Would do to scourge the fault in his French blood.

I would fain let him go. You, Hamilton, You have a heart thewed harder than my heart; When mine would threat it sighs, and wrath in it Has a bird's flight and station, starves before It can well feed or fly; my pulse of wrath Sounds tender as the running down of tears.

You are the hardest woman I have known, Your blood has frost and cruel gall in it, You hold men off with bitter lips and eyes-- Such maidens should serve England; now, perfay, I doubt you would have got him slain at once.

Come, would you not? come, would you let him live?

MARY HAMILTON.

Yes-I think yes; I cannot tell; maybe I would have seen him punished.

QUEEN.

Look you now, There's maiden mercy; I would have him live-- For all my wifehood maybe I weep too; Here's a mere maiden falls to slaying at once, Small shrift for her; God keep us from such hearts!

I am a queen too that would have him live, But one that has no wrong and is no queen, She would-What are you saying there, you twain?

MARY CARMICHAEL.

I said a queen's face and so fair an one's Would lose no grace for giving grace away; That gift comes back upon the mouth it left And makes it sweeter, and set fresh red on it.

QUEEN.

This comes of sonnets when the dance draws breath; These talking times will make a dearth of grace.

But you-what ails you that your lips are shut?

Weep, if you will; here are four friends of yours To weep as fast for pity of your tears.

Do you desire him dead? nay, but men say He was your friend, he fought them on your side, He made you songs-God knows what songs he made!

Speak you for him a little: will you not?

MARY BEATON.

Madam, I have no words.

QUEEN.

No words? no pity-- Have you no mercies for such men? God help!

It seems I am the meekest heart on earth-- Yea, the one tender woman left alive, And knew it not. I will not let him live, For all my pity of him.

MARY BEATON.

Nay, but, madam, For God's love look a little to this thing.

If you do slay him you are but shamed to death; All men will cry upon you, women weep, Turning your sweet name bitter with their tears; Red shame grow up out of your memory And burn his face that would speak well of you: You shall have no good word nor pity, none, Till some such end be fallen upon you: nay, I am but cold, I knew I had no words, I will keep silence.

QUEEN.

Yea now, as I live, I wist not of it: troth, he shall not die.

See you, I am pitiful, compassionate, I would not have men slain for my love's sake, But if he live to do me three times wrong, Why then my shame would grow up green and red Like any flower. I am not whole at heart; In faith, I wot not what such things should be; I doubt it is but dangerous; he must die.

MARY BEATON.

Yea, but you will not slay him.

QUEEN.

Swear me that, I'll say he shall not die for your oath's sake.

What will you do for grief when he is dead?

MARY BEATON.

Nothing for grief, but hold my peace and die.

QUEEN.

Why, for your sweet sake one might let him live; But the first fault was a green seed of shame, And now the flower, and deadly fruit will come With apple-time in autumn. By my life, I would they had slain him there in Edinburgh; But I reprieve him; lo the thank I get, To set the base folk muttering like smoked bees Of shame and love, and how love comes to shame, And the queen loves shame that comes of love; Yet I say nought and go about my ways, And this mad fellow that I respited Being forth and free, lo now the second time Ye take him by my bed in wait. Now see If I can get good-will to pardon him; With what a face may I crave leave of men To respite him, being young and a good knight And mad for perfect love? shall I go say, Dear lords, because ye took him shamefully, Let him not die; because his fault is foul, Let him not die; because if he do live I shall be held a harlot of all men, I pray you, sweet sirs, that he may not die?

MARY BEATON.

Madam, for me I would not have him live; Mine own heart's life was ended with my fame, And my life's breath will shortly follow them; So that I care not much; for you wot well I have lost love and shame and fame and all To no good end; nor while he had his life Have I got good of him that was my love, Save that for courtesy (which may God quit) He kissed me once as one might kiss for love Out of great pity for me; saving this, He never did me grace in all his life.

And when you have slain him, madam, it may be I shall get grace of him in some new way In a new place, if God have care of us.

QUEEN.

Bid you my brother to me presently.

[Exeunt MARIES.]

And yet the thing is pitiful; I would There were some way. To send him overseas, Out past the long firths to the cold keen sea Where the sharp sound is that one hears up here-- Or hold him in strong prison till he died-- He would die shortly--or to set him free And use him softly till his brains were healed-- There is no way. Now never while I live Shall we twain love together any more Nor sit at rhyme as we were used to do, Nor each kiss other only with the eyes A great way off ere hand or lip could reach; There is no way.

[Enter MURRAY.]

O, you are welcome, sir; You know what need I have; but I praise heaven, Having such need, I have such help of you.

I do believe no queen God ever made Was better holpen than I look to be.

What, if two brethren love not heartily, Who shall be good to either one of them?

MURRAY.

Madam, I have great joy of your good will.

QUEEN.

I pray you, brother, use no courtesies: I have some fear you will not suffer me When I shall speak. Fear is a fool, I think, Yet hath he wit enow to fool my wits, Being but a woman's. Do not answer me Till you shall know; yet if you have a word I shall be fain to heart it; but I think There is no word to help me; no man's word: There be two things yet that should do me good, A speeding arm and a great heart. My lord, I am soft-spirited as women are, And ye wot well I have no harder heart: Yea, with all my will I would not slay a thing, But all should live right sweetly if I might; So that man's blood-spilling lies hard on me.

I have a work yet for mine honor's sake, A thing to do, God wot I know not how, Nor how to crave it of you: nay, by heaven, I will not shame myself to show it you: I have not heart.

MURRAY.

Why, if it may be done With any honor, or with good men's excuse, I shall well do it.

QUEEN.

I would I wist that well.

Sir, do you love me?

MURRAY.

Yea, you know I do.

QUEEN.

In faith, you should well love me, for I love The least man in your following for your sake With a whole sister's heart.

MURRAY.

Speak simply, madam; I must obey you, being your bounden man.