Sucking between small teeth the sap o' the veins, Dabbling with death her little tender lips-- A bitter beauty, poisonous-pearled mouth. I am not fit to live but for love's sake, So I were best die shortly. Ah, fair love, Fair fearful Venus made of deadly foam, I shall escape you somehow with my death-- Your splendid supple body and mouth on fire And Paphian breath that bites the lips with heat. I had best die. [Enter MARY BEATON.] What, is my death's time come, And you the friend to make death kind to me? 'T is sweetly done; for I was sick for this. MARY BEATON. Nay, but see here; nay, for you shall not die: She has reprieved you; look, her name to that, A present respite; I was sure of her: You are quite safe: here, take it in your hands: I am faint with the end of pain. Read there. CHASTELARD. Reprieve? Wherefore reprieve? Who has done this to me? MARY BEATON. I never feared but God would have you live, Or I knew well God must have punished me; But I feared nothing, had no sort of fear. What makes you stare upon the seal so hard? Will you not read now? CHASTELARD. A reprieve of life-- Reprieving me from living. Nay, by God, I count one death a bitter thing enough. MARY BEATON. See what she writes; you love; for love of you; Out of her love; a word to save your life: But I knew this too though you love me not: She is your love; I knew that: yea, by heaven. CHASTELARD. You knew I had to live and be reprieved: Say I were bent to die now? MARY BEATON. Do not die, For her sweet love's sake; not for pity of me, You would not bear with life for me one hour; But for hers only. CHASTELARD. Nay, I love you well, I would not hurt you for more lives than one. But for this fair-faced paper of reprieve, We'll have no riddling to make death shift sides: Look, here ends one of us. [Tearing it.] For her I love, She will not anger heaven with slaying me; For me, I am well quit of loving her; For you, I pray you be well comforted, Seeing in my life no man gat good by me And by my death no hurt is any man's. MARY BEATON. And I that loved you? nay, I loved you; nay, Why should your like be pitied when they love? Her hard heart is not yet so hard as yours, Nor God's hard heart. I care not if you die. These bitter madmen are not fit to live. I will not have you touch me, speak to me, Nor take farewell of you. See you die well, Or death will play with shame for you, and win, And laugh you out of life. I am right glad I never am to see you any more, For I should come to hate you easily; I would not have you live. [Exit.]