so they will.

QUEEN.
Nay, they would slay me too, cast stones at me,
Drag me alive--they have eaten poisonous words,
They are mad and have no shame.

CHASTELARD.
Ay, like enough.

QUEEN.
Would God my heart were greater; but God wot
I have no heart to bear with fear and die.
Yea, and I cannot help you: or I know
I should be nobler, bear a better heart:
But as this stands--I pray you for good love,
As you hold honor a costlier thing than life--

CHASTELARD.
Well?

QUEEN.
Nay, I would not be denied for shame;
In brief, I pray you give me that again.

CHASTELARD.
What, my reprieve?

QUEEN.
Even so; deny me not,
For your sake mainly: yea, by God you know
How fain I were to die in your death's stead.
For your name's sake. This were no need to swear.
Lest we be mocked to death with a reprieve,
And so both die, being shamed. What, shall I swear?
What, if I kiss you? must I pluck it out?
You do not love me: no, nor honor. Come
I know you have it about you: give it me.

CHASTELARD.
I cannot yield you such a thing again;
Not as I had it.

QUEEN.
A coward? what shift now?
Do such men make such cravens?

CHASTELARD.
Chide me not:
Pity me that I cannot help my heart.

QUEEN.
Heaven mend mine eyes that took you for a man!
What, is it sewn into your flesh? take heed--
Nay, but for shame--what have you done with it?

CHASTELARD.
Why, there it lies, torn up.

QUEEN.
God help me, sir!
Have you done this?

CHASTELARD.
Yea, sweet; what should I do?
Did I not know you to the bone, my sweet?
God speed you well! you have a goodly lord.

QUEEN.
My love, sweet love, you are more fair than he,
Yea, fairer many times: I love you much,
Sir, know you that.

CHASTELARD.
I think I know that well.
Sit here a little till I feel you through
In all my breath and blood for some sweet while.
O gracious body that mine arms have had,
And hair my face has felt on it! grave eyes
And low thick lids that keep since years agone
In the blue sweet of each particular vein
Some special print of me! I am right glad
That I must never feel a bitterer thing
Than your soft curled-up shoulder and amorous arms
From this time forth; nothing can hap to me
Less good than this for all my whole life through.
I would not have some new pain after this
Come spoil the savor. O, your round bird's throat,
More soft