QUEEN. I will not be of cheer: I have done a thing That will turn fire and burn me. Tell me not; If you will do me comfort, whet your sword. But if you hate me, tell me of soft things, For I hate these, and bitterly. Look up; Am I not mortal to be gazed upon? CHASTELARD. Yea, mortal, and not hateful. QUEEN. O lost heart! Give me some mean to die by. CHASTELARD. Sweet, enough. You have made no fault; life is not worth a world That you should weep to take it: would mine were, And I might give you a world-worthier gift Than one poor head that love has made a spoil; Take it for jest, and weep not: let me go, And think I died of chance or malady. Nay, I die well; one dies not best abed. QUEEN. My warrant to reprieve you--that you saw? That came between your hands? CHASTELARD. Yea, not long since. It seems you have no will to let me die. QUEEN. Alas, you know I wrote it with my heart, Out of pure love; and since you were in bonds I have had such grief for love's sake and my heart's-- Yea, by my life I have--I could not choose But give love way a little. Take my hand; You know it would have pricked my heart's blood out To write reprieve with. CHASTELARD. Sweet, your hands are kind; Lay them about my neck, upon my face, And tell me not of writing. QUEEN. Nay, by heaven, I would have given you mine own blood to drink If that could heal you of your soul-sickness. Yea, they know that, they curse me for your sake, Rail at my love--would God their heads were lopped And we twain left together this side death! But look you, sweet, if this my warrant hold You are but dead and shamed; for you must die, And they will slay you shamefully by force Even in my sight. CHASTELARD. Faith, I think so they will. QUEEN. Nay, they would slay me too, cast stones at me, Drag me alive--they have eaten poisonous words, They are mad and have no shame. CHASTELARD. Ay, like enough. QUEEN. Would God my heart were greater; but God wot I have no heart to bear with fear and die. Yea, and I cannot help you: or I know I should be nobler, bear a better heart: But as this stands--I pray you for good love, As you hold honor a costlier thing than life-- CHASTELARD. Well? QUEEN. Nay, I would not be denied for shame; In brief, I pray you give me that again. CHASTELARD. What, my reprieve? QUEEN. Even so; deny me not, For your sake mainly: yea, by God you know How fain I were to die in your death's stead. For your name's sake. This were no need to swear. Lest we be mocked to death with a reprieve, And so both die, being shamed. What, shall I swear? What, if I kiss you? must I pluck it out? You do not love me: no, nor honor. Come I know you have it about you: give it me. CHASTELARD. I cannot yield you such a thing again; Not as I had it. QUEEN. A coward? what shift now? Do such men make such cravens?