Ah, but I wrong the ballad-verse: what's good In such frayed fringes of old rhymes, to make Their broken burden lag with us? meseems I could be sad now if I fell to think The least sad thing; aye, that sweet lady's fool, Fool sorrow, would make merry with mine eyes For a small thing. Nay, but I will keep glad, Nor shall old sorrow be false friends with me. But my first wedding was not like to this-- Fair faces then and laughter and sweet game, And a pale little mouth that clung on mine When I had kissed him by the faded eyes And either thin cheek beating with faint blood. Well, he was sure to die soon; I do think He would have given his body to be slain, Having embraced my body. Now, God knows, I have no man to do as much for me As give me but a little of his blood To fill my beauty from, though I go down Pale to my grave for want--I think not. Pale-- I am too pale purely--Ah! [See him in the glass, coming forward.] CHASTELARD. Be not afraid. QUEEN. Saint Mary! what a shaken wit have I! Nay, is it you? who let you through the doors? Where be my maidens? which way got you in? Nay, but stand up, kiss not my hands so hard; By God's fair body, if you but breathe on them You are just dead and slain at once. What adder Has bit you mirthful mad? for by this light A man to have his head laughed off for mirth Is no great jest. Lay not your eyes on me; What, would you not be slain? CHASTELARD. I pray you, madam, Bear with me a brief space and let me speak. I will not touch your garments even, nor speak But in soft wise, and look some other way, If that it like you; for I came not here For pleasure of the eyes; yet, if you will, Let me look on you. QUEEN. As you will, fair sir. Give me that coif to gather in my hair-- I thank you--and my girdle-nay, that side. Speak, if you will; yet if you will be gone, Why, you shall go, because I hate you not. You know that I might slay you with my lips, With calling out? but I will hold my peace.