Chastelard, a tragedy/Act 1

ACT I.

MARY BEATON.

SCENE I.--The Upper Chamber in Holyrood.

The four MARIES.

MARY BEATON (sings):--

1. Le navire Est a l'eau; Entends rire Ce gros flot Que fait luire Et bruire Le vieux sire Aquilo.

2. Dans l'espace Du grand air Le vent passe Comme un fer; Siffle et sonne, Tombe et tonne, Prend et donne A la mer.

3. Vois, la brise Tourne au nord, Et la bise Souffle et mord Sur ta pure Chevelure Qui murmure Et se tord.

MARY HAMILTON. You never sing now but it makes you sad; Why do you sing?

MARY BEATON. I hardly know well why; It makes me sad to sing, and very sad To hold my peace.

MARY CARMICHAEL. I know what saddens you.

MARY BEATON. Prithee, what? what?

MARY CARMICHAEL. Why, since we came from France, You have no lover to make stuff for songs.

MARY BEATON. You are wise; for there my pain begins indeed, Because I have no lovers out of France.

MARY SEYTON. I mind me of one Olivier de Pesme, (You knew him, sweet,) a pale man with short hair, Wore tied at sleeve the Beaton color.

MARY CARMICHAEL. Blue-- I know, blue scarfs. I never liked that knight.

MARY HAMILTON. Me? I know him? I hardly knew his name. Black, was his hair? no, brown.

MARY SEYTON. Light pleases you: I have seen the time brown served you well enough.

MARY CARMICHAEL. Lord Darnley's is a mere maid's yellow.

MARY HAMILTON. No, A man's, good color.

MARY SEYTON. Ah, does that burn your blood? Why, what a bitter color is this read That fills your face! if you be not in love, I am no maiden.

MARY HAMILTON. Nay, God help true hearts! I must be stabbed with love then, to the bone, Yea to the spirit, past cure.

MARY SEYTON. What were you saying? I see some jest run up and down your lips.

MARY CARMICHAEL. Finish your song; I know you have more of it; Good sweet, I pray you do.

MARY BEATON. I am too sad.

MARY CARMICHAEL. This will not sadden you to sing; your song Tastes sharp of sea and the sea's bitterness, But small pain sticks on it.

MARY BEATON. Nay, it is sad; For either sorrow with the beaten lips Sings not at all, or if it does get breath Sings quick and sharp like a hard sort of mirth: And so this song does; or I would it did, That it might please me better than it does.

MARY SEYTON. Well, as you choose then. What a sort of men Crowd all about the squares!

MARY CARMICHAEL. Ay, hateful men; For look how many talking mouths be there, So many angers show their teeth at us. Which one is that, stooped somewhat in the neck, That walks so with his chin against the wind, Lips sideways shut? a keen-faced man--lo there, He that walks midmost.

MARY SEYTON. That is Master Knox. He carries all these folk within his skin, Bound up as 't were between the brows of him Like a bad thought; their hearts beat inside his; They gather at his lips like flies in the sun, Thrust sides to catch his face.

MARY CARMICHAEL. Look forth; so--push The window--further--see you anything?

MARY HAMILTON. They are well gone; but pull the lattice in, The wind is like a blade aslant. Would God I could get back one day I think upon: The day we four and some six after us Sat in that Louvre garden and plucked fruits To cast love-lots with in the gathered grapes; This way: you shut your eyes and reach and pluck, And catch a lover for each grape you get. I got but one, a green one, and it broke Between my fingers and it ran down through them.

MARY SEYTON. Ay, and the queen fell in a little wrath Because she got so many, and tore off Some of them she had plucked unwittingly-- She said, against her will. What fell to you?

MARY BEATON. Me? nothing but the stalk of a stripped bunch With clammy grape-juice leavings at the tip.

MARY CARMICHAEL. Ay, true, the queen came first and she won all; It was her bunch we took to cheat you with. What, will you weep for that now? for you seem As one that means to weep. God pardon me! I think your throat is choking up with tears. You are not well, sweet, for a lying jest To shake you thus much.

MARY BEATON. I am well enough: Give not your pity trouble for my sake.

MARY SEYTON. If you be well sing out your song and laugh, Though it were but to fret the fellows there.-- Now shall we catch her secret washed and wet In the middle of her song; for she must weep If she sing through.

MARY HAMILTON. I told you it was love; I watched her eyes all through the masquing time Feed on his face by morsels; she must weep.

MARY BEATON.

4. Le navire Passe et luit, Puis chavire A grand bruit; Et sur l'onde La plus blonde Tete au monde Flotte et fuit.

5. Moi, je rame, Et l'amour, C'est ma flamme, Mon grand jour, Ma chandelle Blanche et belle, Ma chapelle

De sejour.

6. Toi, mon ame Et ma foi, Sois, ma dame; Et ma loi; Sois ma mie, Sois Marie, Sois ma vie, Toute a moi!

MARY SEYTON. I know the song; a song of Chastelard's, He made in coming over with the queen. How hard it rained! he played that over twice Sitting before her, singing each word soft, As if he loved the least she listened to.

MARY HAMILTON. No marvel if he loved it for her sake; She is the choice of women in the world; Is she not, sweet?

MARY BEATON. I have seen no fairer one.

MARY SEYTON. And the most loving: did you note last night How long she held him with her hands and eyes, Looking a little sadly, and at last Kissed him below the chin and parted so As the dance ended?

MARY HAMILTON. This was courtesy; So might I kiss my singing-bird's red bill After some song, till he bit short my lip.

MARY SEYTON. But if a lady hold her bird anights To sing to her between her fingers-ha? I have seen such birds.

MARY CARMICHAEL. O, you talk emptily; She is full of grace; and marriage in good time Will wash the fool called scandal off men's lips.

MARY HAMILTON. I know not that; I know how folk would gibe If one of us pushed courtesy so far. She has always loved love's fashions well; you wot, The marshal, head friend of this Chastelard's, She used to talk with ere he brought her here And sow their talk with little kisses thick As roses in rose-harvest. For myself, I cannot see which side of her that lurks, Which snares in such wise all the sense of men; What special beauty, subtle as man's eye And tender as the inside of the eyelid is, There grows about her.

MARY CARMICHAEL. I think her cunning speech- The soft and rapid shudder of her breath In talking-the rare tender little laugh- The pitiful sweet sound like a bird's sigh When her voice breaks; her talking does it all.

MARY SEYTON. I say, her eyes with those clear perfect brows: It is the playing of those eyelashes, The lure of amorous looks as sad as love, Plucks all souls toward her like a net.

MARY HAMILTON. What, what! You praise her in too lover-like a wise For women that praise women; such report Is like robes worn the rough side next the skin, Frets where it warms.

MARY SEYTON. You think too much in French.

Enter DARNLEY.

Here comes your thorn; what glove against it now?

MARY HAMILTON. O, God's good pity! this a thorn of mine? It has not run deep in yet.

MARY CARMICHAEL. I am not sure: The red runs over to your face's edge.

DARNLEY. Give me one word; nay, lady, for love's sake; Here, come this way; I will not keep you; no. --O my sweet soul, why do you wrong me thus?

MARY HAMILTON. Why will you give me for men's eyes to burn?

DARNLEY. What, sweet, I love you as mine own soul loves me; They shall divide when we do.

MARY HAMILTON. I cannot say.

DARNLEY. Why, look you, I am broken with the queen; This is the rancor and the bitter heart That grows in you; by God it is nought else. Why, this last night she held me for a fool- Ay, God wot, for a thing of stripe and bell. I bade her make me marshal in her masque- I had the dress here painted, gold and gray (That is, not gray but a blue-green like this)- She tells me she had chosen her marshal, she, The best o' the world for cunning and sweet wit; And what sweet fool but her sweet knight, God help! To serve her with that three-inch wit of his? She is all fool and fiddling now; for me, I am well-pleased; God knows, if I might choose I would not be more troubled with her love. Her love is like a briar that rasps the flesh, And yours is soft like flowers. Come this way, love; So, further in this window; hark you here.

Enter CHASTELARD.

MARY BEATON. Good morrow, sir.

CHASTELARD. Good morrow, noble lady.

MARY CARMICHAEL. You have heard no news? what news?

CHASTELARD. Nay, I have none. That maiden-tongued male-faced Elizabeth Hath eyes unlike our queen's, hair not so soft, And lips no kiss of love's could bring to flower In such red wise as our queen's; save this news, I know none English.

MARY SEYTON. Come, no news of her; For God's love talk still rather of our queen.

MARY BEATON. God give us grace then to speak well of her. You did right joyfully in our masque last night' I saw you when the queen lost breath (her head Bent back, her chin and lips catching the air- A goodly thing to see her) how you smiled Across her head, between your lips-no doubt You had great joy, sir. Did you not take note Once how one lock fell? that was good to see.

CHASTELARD. Yea, good enough to live for.

MARY BEATON. Nay, but sweet Enough to die. When she broke off the dance, Turning round short and soft-I never saw Such supple ways of walking as she has.

CHASTLELARD. Why do you praise her gracious looks to me?

MARY BEATON. Sir, for mere sport: but tell me even for love How much you love her.

CHASTELARD. I know not: it may be If I had set mine eyes to find that out, I should not know it. She hath fair eyes: may be I love her for sweet eyes or brows or hair, For the smooth temples, where God touching her Made blue with sweeter veins the flower-sweet white Or for the tender turning of her wrist, Or marriage of the eyelid with the cheek; I cannot tell; or flush of lifting throat, I know not if the color get a name This side of heaven-no man knows; or her mouth, A flower's lip with a snake's lip, stinging sweet, And sweet to sting with: face that one would see And then fall blind and die with sight of it Held fast between the eyelids-oh, all these And all her body and the soul to that, The speech and shape and hand and foot and heart That I would die of-yea, her name that turns My face to fire being written-I know no whit How much I love them.

MARY BEATON. Nor how she loves you back?

CHASTELARD. I know her ways of loving, all of them: A sweet soft way the first is; afterward It burns and bites like fire; the end of that, Charred dust, and eyelids bitten through with smoke.

MARY BEATON. What has she done for you to gird at her?

CHASTELARD. Nothing. You do not greatly love her, you, Who do not-gird, you call it. I am bound to France; Shall I take word from you to any one? So it be harmless, not a gird, I will.

MARY BEATON. I doubt you will not go hence with your life.

CHASTELARD. Why, who should slay me? No man northwards born, In my poor mind; my sword's lip is no maid's To fear the iron biting of their own, Though they kiss hard for hate's sake.

MARY BEATON. Lo you, sir, How sharp he whispers, what close breath and eyes- And here are fast upon him, do you see?

CHASTELARD. Well, which of these must take my life in hand? Pray God it be the better: nay, which hand?

MARY BEATON. I think, none such. The man is goodly made; She is tender-hearted toward his courtesies, And would not have them fall too low to find. Look, they slip forth.

[Exeunt DARNLEY and MARY HAMILTON.]

MARY SEYTON. For love's sake, after them, And soft as love can.

[Exeunt MARY CARMICHAEL and MARY SEYTON.]

CHASTELARD. True, a goodly man. What shapeliness and state he hath, what eyes, Brave brow and lordly lip! Were it not fit Great queens should love him?

MARY BEATON. See how now, fair lord, I have but scant breath's time to help myself, And I must cast my heart out on a chance; So bear with me. That we twain have loved well, I have no heart nor wit to say; God wot We had never made good lovers, you and I. Look you, I would not have you love me, sir, For all the love's sake in the world. I say, You love the queen, and loving burns you up, And mars the grace and joyous wit you had, Turning your speech to sad, your face to strange, Your mirth to nothing: and I am piteous, I, Even as the queen is, and such women are; And if I helped you to your love-longing, Meseems some grain of love might fall my way And love's god help me when I came to love; I have read tales of men that won their loves On some such wise.

CHASTELARD. If you mean mercifully, I am bound to you past thought and thank; if worse I will but thank your lips and not your heart.

MARY BEATON. Nay, let love wait and praise me, in God's name, Some day when he shall find me; yet, God wot, My lips are of one color with my heart. Withdraw now from me, and about midnight In some close chamber without light or noise It may be I shall get you speech of her: She loves you well: it may be she will speak, I wot not what; she loves you at her heart. Let her not see that I have given you word, Lest she take shame and hate her love. Till night Let her not see it.

CHASTLELARD. I will not thank you now, And then I'll die what sort of death you will. Farewell.

[Exit.]

MARY BEATON. And by God's mercy and my love's I will find ways to earn such thank of you.

[Exit.]

ACT I. SCENE II. -A Hall in the same.

The QUEEN, DARNLEY, MURRAY, RANDOLPH, the MARIES, CHASTELARD, &c.

QUEEN. Hath no man seen my lord of Chastelard? Nay, no great matter. Keep you on that side: Begin the purpose.

MARY CARMICHAEL. Madam, he is here.

QUEEN. Begin a measure now that other side. I will not dance; let them play soft a little. Fair sir, we had a dance to tread to-night, To teach our north folk all sweet ways of France, But at this time we have no heart to it. Sit, sir, and talk. Look, this breast-clasp is new, The French king sent it me.

CHASTELARD. A goodly thing: But what device? the word is ill to catch.

QUEEN. A Venus crowned, that eats the hearts of men: Below her flies a love with a bat's wings, And strings the hair of paramours to bind Live birds' feet with. Lo what small subtle work: The smith's name, Gian Grisostomo da--what? Can you read that? The sea froths underfoot; She stands upon the sea and it curls up In soft loose curls that run to one in the wind. But her hair is not shaken, there 's a fault; It lies straight down in close-cut points and tongues, Not like blown hair. The legend is writ small: Still one makes out this--*Cave*--if you look.

CHASTELARD. I see the Venus well enough, God wot, But nothing of the legend.

QUEEN. Come, fair lord, Shall we dance now? My heart is good again.

[They dance a measure.]

DARNLEY. I do not like this manner of a dance, This game of two by two; it were much better To meet between the changes and to mix Than still to keep apart and whispering Each lady out of earshot with her friend.

MARY BEATON. That 's as the lady serves her knight, I think: We are broken up too much.

DARNLEY. Nay, no such thing; Be not wroth, lady, I wot it was the queen Pricked each his friend out. Look you now--your ear-- If love had gone by choosing--how they laugh, Lean lips together, and wring hands underhand! What, you look white too, sick of heart, ashamed, No marvel--for men call it--hark you though--

[They pass.]

MURRAY. Was the queen found no merrier in France?

MARY HAMILTON. Why, have you seen her sorrowful to-night?

MURRAY. I say not so much; blithe she seems at whiles, Gentle and goodly doubtless in all ways, But hardly with such lightness and quick heart As it was said.

MARY HAMILTON. 'Tis your great care of her Makes you misdoubt; nought else.

MURRAY. Yea, may be so; She has no cause I know to sadden her.

[They pass.]

QUEEN. I am tired too soon; I could have danced down hours Two years gone hence and felt no wearier. One grows much older northwards, my fair lord; I wonder men die south; meseems all France Smells sweet with living, and bright breath of days That keep men far from dying. Peace; pray you now, No dancing more. Sing, sweet, and make us mirth; We have done with dancing measures: sing that song You call the song of love at ebb.

MARY BEATON.

[Sings.]

1. Between the sunset and the sea My love laid hands and lips on me; Of sweet came sour, of day came night, Of long desire came brief delight: Ah love, and what thing came of thee Between the sea-downs and the sea?

2. Between the sea-mark and the sea Joy grew to grief, grief grew to me; Love turned to tears, and tears to fire, And dead delight to new desire; Love's talk, love's touch there seemed to be Between the sea-sand and the sea.

3. Between the sundown and the sea Love watched one hour of love with me; Then down the all-golden water-ways His feet flew after yesterday's; I saw them come and saw them flee Between the sea-foam and the sea.

4. Between the sea-strand and the sea Love fell on sleep, sleep fell on me; The first star saw twain turn to one Between the moonrise and the sun; The next, that saw not love, saw me Between the sea-banks and the sea.

QUEEN. Lo, sirs, What mirth is here! Some song of yours, fair lord; You know glad ways of rhyming--no such tunes As go to tears.

CHASTELARD. I made this yesterday; For its love's sake I pray you let it live.

1. Apres tant de jours, apres tant de pleurs, Soyez secourable a mon ame en peine. Voyez comme Avril fait l'amour aux fleurs; Dame d'amour, dame aux belles couleurs, Dieu vous a fait belle, Amour vous fait reine.

2. Rions, je t'en prie; aimons, je le veux. Le temps fuit et rit et ne revient guere Pour baiser le bout de tes blonds cheveux, Pour baiser tes cils, ta bouche et tes yeux; L'amour n'a qu'un jour aupres de sa mere.

QUEEN. 'T is a true song; love shall not pluck time back Nor time lie down with love. For me, I am old; Have you no hair changed since you changed to Scot? I look each day to see my face drawn up About the eyes, as if they sucked the cheeks. I think this air and face of things here north Puts snow at flower-time in the blood, and tears Between the sad eyes and the merry mouth In their youth-days.

CHASTELARD. It is a bitter air.

QUEEN. Faith, if I might be gone, sir, would I stay? I think, for no man's love's sake.

CHASTELARD. I think not.

QUEEN. Do you yet mind at landing how the quay Looked like a blind wet face in waste of wind And washing of wan waves? how the hard mist Made the hills ache? your songs lied loud, my knight, They said my face would burn off cloud and rain Seen once, and fill the crannied land with fire, Kindle the capes in their blind black-gray hoods-- I know not what. You praise me past all loves; And these men love me little; 't is some fault, I think, to love me: even a fool's sweet fault. I have your verse still beating in my head Of how the swallow got a wing broken In the spring time, and lay upon his side Watching the rest fly off i' the red leaf-time, And broke his heart with grieving at himself Before the snow came. Do you know that lord With sharp-set eyes? and him with huge thewed throat? Good friends to me; I had need love them well. Why do you look one way? I will not have you Keep your eyes here: 't is no great wit in me To care much now for old French friends of mine.-- Come, a fresh measure; come, play well for me, Fair sirs, your playing puts life in foot and heart.--

DARNLEY. Lo you again, sirs, how she laughs and leans, Holding him fast--the supple way she hath! Your queen hath none such; better as she is For all her measures, a grave English maid, Than queen of snakes and Scots.

RANDOLPH. She is over fair To be so sweet and hurt not. A good knight; Goodly to look on.

MURRAY. Yea, a good sword too, And of good kin; too light of loving though; These jangling song-smiths are keen love-mongers, They snap at all meats.

DARNLEY. What! by God I think, For all his soft French face and bright boy's sword, There be folks fairer: and for knightliness, These hot-lipped brawls of Paris breed sweet knights-- Mere stabbers for a laugh across the wine.--

QUEEN. There, I have danced you down for once, fair lord; You look pale now. Nay then for courtesy I must needs help you; do not bow your head, I am tall enough to reach close under it.

[Kisses him.]

Now come, we'll sit and see this passage through.--

DARNLEY. A courtesy, God help us! courtesy-- Pray God it wound not where it should heal wounds. Why, there was here last year some lord of France (Priest on the wrong side as some folk are prince) Told tales of Paris ladies--nay, by God, No jest for queen's lips to catch laughter of That would keep clean; I wot he made good mirth, But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise-- But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise-- Nay, I laughed too, but lothly.--

QUEEN. How they look! The least thing courteous galls them to the bone. What would one say now I were thinking of?

CHASTELARD. It seems, some sweet thing.

QUEEN. True, a sweet one, sir-- That madrigal you made Alys de Saulx Of the three ways of love: the first kiss honor, The second pity, and the last kiss love. Which think you now was that I kissed you with?

CHASTELARD. It should be pity, if you be pitiful; For I am past all honoring that keep Outside the eye of battle, where my kin Fallen overseas have found this many a day No helm of mine between them; and for love, I think of that as dead men of good days Ere the wrong side of death was theirs, when God Was friends with them.

QUEEN. Good; call it pity then. You have a subtle riddling skill at love Which is not like a lover. For my part, I am resolved to be well done with love, Though I were fairer-faced than all the world; As there be fairer. Think you, fair my knight, Love shall live after life in any man? I have given you stuff for riddles.

CHASTELARD. Most sweet queen, They say men dying remember, with sharp joy And rapid reluctation of desire, Some old thin, some swift breath of wind, some word, Some sword-stroke or dead lute-strain, some lost sight, Some sea-blossom stripped to the sun and burned At naked ebb--some river-flower that breathes Against the stream like a swooned swimmer's mouth-- Some tear or laugh ere lip and eye were man's-- Sweet stings that struck the blood in riding--nay, Some garment or sky-color or spice-smell, And die with heart and face shut fast on it, And know not why, and weep not; it may be Men shall hold love fast always in such wise In new fair lives where all are new things else, And know not why, and weep not.

QUEEN. A right rhyme, And right a thyme's worth: nay, a sweet song, though. What, shall my cousin hold fast that love of his, Her face and talk, when life ends? as God grant His life end late and sweet; I love him well. She is fair enough, his lover; a fair-faced maid, With gray sweet eyes and tender touch of talk; And that, God wot, I wist not. See you, sir, Men say I needs must get wed hastily; Do none point lips at him?

CHASTELARD. Yea, guessingly.

QUEEN. God help such lips! and get me leave to laugh! What should I do but paint and put him up Like a gilt god, a saintship in a shrine, For all fools' feast? God's mercy on men's wits! Tall as a housetop and as bare of brain-- I'll have no staffs with fool-faced carven heads To hang my life on. Nay, for love, no more, For fear I laugh and set their eyes on edge To find out why I laugh. Good-night, fair lords; Bid them cease playing. Give me your hand; good-night.

SCENE III.--MARY BEATON'S chamber: night.

[Enter CHASTELARD.]

CHASTELARD. I am not certain yet she will not come; For I can feel her hand's heat still in mine, Past doubting of, and see her brows half draw, And half a light in the eyes. If she come not, I am no worse than he that dies to-night. This two years' patience gets an end at least, Whichever way I am well done with it. How hard the thin sweet moon is, split and laced And latticed over, just a stray of it Catching and clinging at a strip of wall, Hardly a hand's breadth. Did she turn indeed In going out? not to catch up her gown The page let slip, but to keep sight of me? There was a soft small stir beneath her eyes Hard to put on, a quivering of her blood That knew of the old nights watched out wakefully. Those measures of her dancing too were changed-- More swift and with more eager stops at whiles And rapid pauses where breath failed her lips.

[Enter MARY BEATON.]

O, she is come: if you be she indeed Let me but hold your hand; what, no word yet? You turn and kiss me without word; O sweet, If you will slay me be not over quick, Kill me with some slow heavy kiss that plucks The heart out at the lips. Alas! Sweet love, Give me some old sweet word to kiss away. Is it a jest? for I can feel your hair Touch me--I may embrace your body too? I know you well enough without sweet words. How should one make you speak? This is not she. Come in the light; nay, let me see your eyes. Ah, you it is? what have I done to you? And do you look now to be slain for this That you twist back and shudder like one stabbed?

MARY BEATON. Yea, kill me now and do not look at me: God knows I meant to die. Sir, for God's love, Kill me now quick ere I go mad with shame.

CHASTELARD. Cling not upon my wrists: let go the hilt: Nay, you will bruise your hand with it: stand up: You shall not have my sword forth.

MARY BEATON. Kill me now, I will not rise: there, I am patient, see, I will not strive, but kill me for God's sake.

CHASTELARD. Pray you rise up and be not shaken so: Forgive me my rash words, my heart was gone After the thing you were: be not ashamed; Give me the shame, you have no part in it; Can I not say a word shall do you good? Forgive that too.

MARY BEATON. I shall run crazed with shame; But when I felt your lips catch hold on mine It stopped my breath: I would have told you all; Let me go out: you see I lied to you, Am I am shamed; I pray you loose me, sir, Let me go out.

CHASTELARD. Think no base things of me: I were most base to let you go ashamed. Think my heart's love and honor go with you: Yea, while I live, for your love's noble sake, I am your servant in what wise may be, To love and serve you with right thankful heart.

MARY BEATON. I have given men leave to mock me, and must bear What shame they please: you have good cause to mock. Let me pass now.

CHASTELARD. You know I mock you not. If ever I leave off to honor you, God give me shame! I were the worst churl born.

MARY BEATON. No marvel though the queen should love you too, Being such a knight. I pray you for her love, Lord Chastelard, of your great courtesy, Think now no scorn to give me my last kiss That I shall have of man before I die. Even the same lips you kissed and knew not of Will you kiss now, knowing the shame of them, And say no one word to me afterwards, That I may see I have loved the best lover And man most courteous of all men alive?

MARY SEYTON.

[Within.]

Here, fetch the light: nay, this way; enter all.

MARY BEATON. I am twice undone. Fly, get some hiding, sir; They have spied upon me somehow.

CHASTELARD. Nay, fear not; Stand by my side.

[Enter MARY SEYTON and MARY HAMILTON.]

MARY HAMILTON. Give me that light: this way.

CHASTELARD. What jest is here, fair ladies? it walks late, Something too late for laughing.

MARY SEYTON. Nay, fair sir, What jest is this of yours? Look to your lady: She is nigh swooned. The queen shall know all this.

MARY HAMILTON. A grievous shame it is we are fallen upon; Hold forth the light. Is this your care of us? Nay, come, look up: this is no game, God wot.

CHASTELARD. Shame shall befall them that speak shamefully: I swear this lady is as pure and good As any maiden, and who believes me not Shall keep the shame for his part and the lie. To them that come in honor and not in hate I will make answer. Lady, have good heart. Give me the light there: I will see you forth.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.