CHASTELARD. What makes you sigh though I be found a fool? You have no blame: and for my death, sweet friend, I never could have lived long either way. Why, as I live, the joy I have of this Would make men mad that were not mad with love; I hear my blood sing, and my lifted heart Is like a springing water blown of wind For pleasure of this deed. Now, in God's name, I swear if there be danger in delight I must die now: if joys have deadly teeth, I'll have them bite my soul to death, and end In the old asp's way, Egyptian-wise; be killed In a royal purple fashion. Look, my love Would kill me if my body were past hurt Of any man's hand; and to die thereof, I say, is sweeter than all sorts of life. I would not have her love me now, for then I should die meanlier some time. I am safe, Sure of her face, my life's end in her sight, My blood shed out about her feet--by God, My heart feels drunken when I think of it. See you, she will not rid herself of me, Not though she slay me: her sweet lips and life Will smell of my spilt blood. MARY BEATON. Give me good-night. CHASTELARD. Yea, and good thanks. [Exit MARY BEATON.] Here is the very place: Here has her body bowed the pillows in And here her head thrust under made the sheet Smell sort of her mixed hair and spice: even here Her arms pushed back the coverlet, pulled here The golden silken curtain halfway in It may be, and made room to lean out loose, Fair tender fallen arms. Now, if God would, Doubtless he might take pity on my soul To give me three clear hours, and then red hell Snare me forever: this were merciful: If I were God now I should do thus much. I must die next, and this were not so hard For him to let me eat sweet fruit and die With my lips sweet from it. For one shall have This fare for common days'-bread, which to me Should be a touch kept always on my sense To make hell soft, yea, the keen pain of hell Soft as the loosening of wound arms in sleep. Ah, love is good, and the worst part of it More than all things but death. She will be here In some small while, and see me face to face That am to give up life for her and go Where a man lies with all his loves put out And his lips full of earth. I think on her, And the old pleasure stings and makes half-tears Under mine eyelids. Prithee, love, come fast, That I may die soon: yea, some kisses through, I shall die joyfully enough, so God Keep me alive till then. I feel her feet Coming far off; now must I hold my heart, Steadying my blood to see her patiently. [Hides himself by the bed.] [Enter the QUEEN and DARNLEY.] QUEEN. Nay, now go back: I have sent off my folk, Maries and all. Pray you, let be my hair; I cannot twist the gold thread out of it That you wound in so close. Look, here it clings: Ah! now you mar my hair unwinding it. Do me no hurt, sir.