not plead too lovingly with you
To have your love.

DARNLEY.
Why, yet you have my love.

QUEEN.
Alas, what shall mine enemies do to me
If he be used so hardly of my friends?
Come, sir, you hate me; yet for all your hate
You cannot have such heart.

DARNLEY.
What sort of heart?
I have no heart to be used shamefully
If you mean that.

QUEEN.
Would God I loved you not;
You are too hard to be used lovingly.

DARNLEY.
You are moved too much for such a little love
As you bear me.

QUEEN.
God knows you do me wrong;
God knows the heart, sweet, that I love you with.
Hark you, fair sir, I'd have all well with you;
Do you not fear at sick men's time of night
What end may come? are you so sure of heart?
Is not your spirit surprisable in sleep?
Have you no evil dreams? Nay, look you, love,
I will not be flung off you heart and hand,
I am no snake: but tell me for your love
Have you no fancies how these things will end
In the pit's mouth? how all life-deeds will look
At the grave's edge that lets men into hell?
For my part, who am weak and woman-eyed,
It turns my soul tears: I doubt this blood
Fallen on our faces when we twain are dead
Will scar and burn them: yea, for heaven is sweet,
And loves sweet deeds that smell not of split blood.
Let us not kill: God that made mercy first
Pities the pitiful for their deed's sake.

DARNLEY.
Get you some painting; with a cheek like this
You'll find no faith in listeners.

QUEEN.
How, fair lord?

DARNLEY.
I say that looking with this face of yours
None shall believe you holy; what, you talk,
Take mercy in your mouth, eat holiness,
Put God under your tongue and feed on heaven,
With fear and faith and-faith, I know not what--
And look as though you stood and saw men slain
To make you game and laughter; nay, your eyes
Threaten as unto blood. What will you do
To make men take your sweet word? pitiful--
You are pitiful as he that's hired for death
And loves the slaying yet better than the hire.

QUEEN.
You are wise that live to threat and tell me so;
Do you love life too much?

DARNLEY.
O, now you are sweet,
Right tender now: you love not blood nor death,
You are too tender.

QUEEN.
Yea, too weak, too soft:
Sweet, do not mock me, for my love's sake; see
How soft a thing I am. Will you be hard?
The heart you have, has it no sort of fear?

DA