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 liars and gospel, game and the hunters—but all of them with a streak of beastliness in them for the relish of a bawdy tale. And they shall have it. A wallet full of jingles can be bought for a few pence, or I have a turn myself:

Who's in the Queen's chamber? Master Italian Thrift. What's the Queen wearing? Her long hair and her shift.

Mary: And where's the King of Scotland To strike us as we sing? And where's the King of Scotland? There is no King.

Darnley: I won't have it—do you hear me?

Mary: I do.

Darnley: Again, will you dismiss Riccio?

Mary: Must I again? No.

Darndey: Then it is your reckoning. We'll spare you the bawdy songs, perhaps.

Mary: I should.

Darnley: But watch your David—watch him, I say. Keep him close. That's generous of me—to warn you. Perhaps now—this