k
(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