yet he loves you, and being mad with love
Makes matter for base mouths to chew upon:
'T were best he live not yet.

QUEEN.
Will you say that?

DARNLEY.
Why should he live to breed you bad reports?
Let him die first.

QUEEN.
Sweet, for your sake, not so.

DARNLEY.
Fret not yourself to pity; let him die.

QUEEN.
Come, let him live a little; it shall be
A grace to us.

DARNLEY.
By God he dies at once.

QUEEN.
Now, by God's mother, if I respite him,
Though you were all the race of you in one
And had more tongues than hairs to cry on me
He should not lose a hair.

DARNLEY.
This is mere mercy--
But you thank God you love him not a whit?

QUEEN.
It shall be what it please; and if I please
It shall be anything. Give me the warrant.

DARNLEY.
Nay, for your sake and love of you, not I,
To make it dangerous.

QUEEN.
O, God' pity, sir!
You are tender of me; will you serve me so,
Against mine own will, show me so much love,
Do me good service that I loath being done,
Out of pure pity?

DARNLEY.
Nay, your word shall stand.

QUEEN.
What makes you gape so beastlike after blood?
Were you not bred up on some hangman's hire
And dicted with fleshmeats at his hand
And fed into a fool? Give me that paper.

DARNLEY.
Now for that word I will not.

QUEEN.
Nay, sweet love,
For your own sake be just a little wise;
Come, I beseech you.

DARNLEY.
Pluck not at my hands.

QUEEN.
No, that I will not: I am brain-broken, mad;
Pity my madness for sweet marriage-sake
And my great love's; I love you to say this;
I would not have you cross me, out of love.
But for true love should I not chafe indeed?
And now I do not.

DARNLEY.
Yea, and late you chid,
You chafed and jested and blew soft and hard--
No, for that "fool" you shall not fool me so.

QUEEN.
You are no churl, sweet, will you see me weep?
Look, I weep now; be friends with my poor tears,
Think each of them beseeches you of love
And hath some tongue to cry on you for love
And speak soft things; for that which loves not you
Is none of mine, not though they grow of grief
And grief of you; be not too hard with them.
You would not of your own heart slay a man;
Nay, if you will, in God's name make me weep,
I will not hate you; but at heart, sweet lord,
Be not at heart my sweet heart's enemy.
If I had many mighty men to friend
I would