days in the year.
We may do well yet when all's come and gone.
I pray you on this wedding-night of theirs
Do but one thing that I shall ask of you,
And Darnley will not hunger as I shall
For that good time. Sweet, will you swear me this?

MARY BEATON.
Yea; though to do it were mortal to my soul
As the chief sin.

CHASTELARD.
I thank you: let us go.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

THE QUEEN.

SCENE I.--The Queen's Chamber. Night. Lights burning
In front of the bed.

[Enter CHASTELARD and MARY BEATON.]

MARY BEATON.
Be tender of your feet.

CHASTELARD.
I shall not fail:
These ways have light enough to help a man
That walks with such stirred blood in him as mine.

MARY BEATON.
I would yet plead with you to save your head:
Nay, let this be then: sir, I chide you not.
Nay, let all come. Do not abide her yet.

CHASTELARD.
Have you read never in French books the song
Called the Duke's Song, some boy made ages back,
A song of drag-nets hauled across thwart seas
And plucked up with rent sides, and caught therein
A strange-haired woman with sad singing lips,
Cold in the cheek like any stray of sea,
And sweet to touch? so that men seeing her face,
And how she sighed out little Ahs of pain
And soft cries sobbing sideways from her mouth,
Fell in hot love, and having lain with her
Died soon? one time I could have told it through:
Now I have kissed the sea-witch on her eyes
And my lips ache with it; but I shall sleep
Full soon, and a good space of sleep.

MARY BEATON.
Alas!

CHASTELARD.
What makes you sigh though I be found a fool?
You have no blame: and for my death, sweet friend,
I never could have lived long either way.
Why, as I live, the joy I have of this
Would make men mad that were not mad with love;
I hear my blood sing, and my lifted heart
Is like a springing water blown of wind
For pleasure of this deed. Now, in God's name,
I swear if there be danger in delight
I must die now: if joys have deadly teeth,
I'll have them bite my soul to death, and end
In the old asp's way, Egyptian-wise; be killed
In a royal purple fashion. Look, my love
Would kill me if my body were past hurt
Of any man's hand; and to die thereof,
I say, is sweeter than all sorts of life.
I would not have her love me now, for then
I should die meanlier some time. I am safe,
Sure of her face, my l