DARNLEY. I would do you ease; Let me stay here. QUEEN. Nay, will you go, my lord? DARNLEY. Eh? would you use me as a girl does fruit, Touched with her mouth and pulled away for game To look thereon ere her lips feed? but see, By God, I fare the worse for you. QUEEN. Fair sir, Give me this hour to watch with and say prayers; You have not faith-it needs me to say prayers, That with commending of this deed to God I may get grace for it. DARNLEY. Why, lacks it grace? Is not all wedlock gracious of itself? QUEEN. Nay, that I know not of. Come, sweet, be hence. DARNLEY. You have a sort of jewel in your neck That's like mine here. QUEEN. Keep off your hands and go: You have no courtesy to be a king. DARNLEY. Well, I will go: nay, but I thwart you not. Do as you will, and get you grace; farewell, And for my part, grace keep this watch with me! For I need grace to bear with you so much. [Exit.] QUEEN. So, he is forth. Let me behold myself; I am too pale to be so hot; I marvel So little color should be bold in the face When the blood is not quieted. I have But a brief space to cool my thoughts upon. If one should wear the hair thus heaped and curled Would it look best? or this way in the neck? Could one ungirdle in such wise one's heart [Taking off her girdle.] And ease it inwards as the waist is eased By slackening of the slid clasp on it! How soft the silk is-gracious color too; Violet shadows like new veins thrown up Each arm, and gold to fleck the faint sweet green Where the wrist lies thus eased. I am right glad I have no maids about to hasten me-- So I will rest and see my hair shed down On either silk side of my woven sleeves, Get some new way to bind it back with-yea, Fair mirror-glass, I am well ware of you, Yea, I know that, I am quite beautiful. How my hair shines!-Fair face, be friends with me And I will sing to you; look in my face Now, and your mouth must help the song in mine. Alys la chatelaine Voit venir de par Seine Thiebault le capitaine Qui parle ainsi! Was that the wind in the casement? nay, no more But the comb drawn through half my hissing hair Laid on my arms-yet my flesh moved at it. Dans ma camaille Plus de clou qui vaille, Dans ma cotte-maille Plus de fer aussi.