QUEEN. What, sick or dead? I am well holpen of you: Come hither to me. What pale blood you have-- Is it for fear you turn such cheeks to me? Why, if I were so loving, by my hand, I would have set my head upon the chance, And loosed him though I died. What will you do? Have you no way? MARY BEATON. None but your mercy. QUEEN. Ay? Why then the thing is piteous. Think, for God's sake-- Is there no loving way to fetch him forth? Nay, what a white thin-blooded thing is love, To help no more than this doth! Were I in love, I would unbar the ways to-night and then Laugh death to death to-morrow, mock him dead; I think you love well with one half your heart, And let fear keep the other. Hark you now, You said there was some friend durst break my bars-- Some Scotch name--faith, as if I wist of it! Ye have such heavy wits to help one with-- Some man that had some mean to save him by-- Tush, I must be at pains for you! MARY BEATON. Nay, madam, It were no boot; he will not be let forth. QUEEN. I say, the name. O, Robert Erskine-yea, A fellow of some heart: what saith he? MARY BEATON. Madam, The thing was sound all through, yea, all went well, But for all prayers that we could make to him He would not fly: we cannot get him forth. QUEEN. Great God! that men should have such wits as this! I have a mind to let him die for that; And yet I wot not. Said he, he loathed his life? MARY BEATON. He says your grace given would scathe yourself, And little grace for such a grace as that Be with the little of his life he kept To cast off some time more unworthily. QUEEN. God help me! what should wise folk do with him? These men be weaker-witted than mere fools When they fall mad once; yet by Mary's soul I am sorrier for him than for men right wise. God wot a fool that were more wise than he Would love me something worse than Chastelard, Ay, and his own soul better. Do you think (There's no such other sort of fool alive) That he may live? MARY BEATON. Yea, by God's mercy, madam, To your great praise and honor from all men If you should keep him living. QUEEN. By God's light, I have good will to do it. Are you sure, If I would pack him with a pardon hence, He would speak well of me-not hint and halt, Smile and look back, sigh and say love runs out, But times have been-with some loose laugh cut short, Bit off at lip-eh? MARY BEATON. No, by heaven he would not. QUEEN. You know how quickly one may be belied-- Faith, you should know it-I never thought the worst, One may touch love and come with clean hands off-- But you should know it. What, he will not fly-- Not though I wink myself asleep, turn blind-- Which that I will I say not?