Page:Mary Stuart (Drinkwater).djvu/42

 tick, tick, and the rhyme on the lips, and then—as you will, I give it you—it may help invention.

Riccio: And—it means nothing more?

Mary: Come, David, how should it? (Directly to him.) Poets are men, I hope.

Riccio: Surely, Madam. I will work upon it, Sire. A sonnet, perhaps—no, a ballade—and yet, for the lute— Darnley: Consider it. (Going to the door.) There is a moon. It helps, I am told.

(He signs for to go)

Riccio: Your Grace, I am sure, would not misjudge me.

Darnley. No.

( goes)

Mary: What is it?

Darnley: Shamelessly—so.

Mary: What do you mean?

Darnley: Always at your ear.

Mary: Well?

Darnley: What has he been saying to you?

Mary: It would be tedious.

Darnley: What is he, this fellow? Your lover?