MARY CARMICHAEL.

Will you behold him dead?

MARY BEATON.

Yea: must a dead man not be looked upon That living one was fain of? give me way.

Lo you, what sort of hair this fellow had; The doomsman gathers it into his hand To grasp the head by for all men to see; I never did that.

MARY CARMICHAEL.

For God's love, let me go.

MARY BEATON.

I think sometimes she must have held it so, Holding his head back, see you, by the hair To kiss his face, still lying in his arms.

Ay, go and weep: it must be pitiful If one could see it. What is this they say?

So perish the Queen's traitors! Yea, but so Perish the Queen! God, do thus much to her For his sake only: yea, for pity's sake Do thus much with her.

MARY CARMICHAEL.

Prithee come in with me: Nay, come at once.

MARY BEATON.

If I should meet with her And spit upon her at her coming in-- But if I live then shall I see one day When God will smite her lying harlot's mouth-- Surely I shall. Come, I will go with you; We will sit down together face to face Now, and keep silence; for this life is hard, And the end of it is quietness at last.

Come, let us go: here is no word to say.

AN USHER.

Make way there for the lord of Bothwell; room-- Place for my lord of Bothwell next the queen.

EXPLICIT