Page:Mary Stuart (Drinkwater).djvu/27

 think of it lightly, as an easy and deliberate thing. You don't mean love. You mean a trivial, feathery visiting, that does not know what love is. There he is—listen.


 * (The voice below becomes articulate as the song ends)

Mary the lover be my tale For the wise men to tell When Moray joins Elizabeth And Lethington in hell.

Not Riccio nor Damley knew Nor Bothwell how to find This Mary's best magnificence Of the great lover's mind. Hunter: It's a damned silly song. What's it all about? A dog singing, and a fool joining in, and you chattering against all sense.


 * (He moves back to the table)

Boyd: You are emphatic—the emphasis that knows it is misplaced. (He goes again to the portrait.) Look at this queen. She tells you, doesn't she? Doesn't she?

Hunter: What does a dead queen know about