QUEEN. Nay, sweet, see, Nay, you shall see, this must not seem devised; I will take any man with me, and go; Yea, for pure hate of them that hate him: yea, Lay hold upon the headsman and bid strike Here on my neck; if they will have him die, Why, I will die too: queens have died this way For less things than his love is. Nay, I know They want no blood; I will bring swords to boot For dear love's rescue though half earth were slain; What should men do with blood? Stand fast at watch; For I will be his ransom if I die. [Exeunt.] SCENE III.--The Upper Chamber in Holyrood. MARY BEATON seated; MARY CARMICHAEL at a window. MARY BEATON. Do you see nothing? MARY CARMICHAEL. Nay, but swarms of men And talking women gathered in small space, Flapping their gowns and gaping with fools' eyes: And a thin ring round one that seems to speak, Holding his hands out eagerly; no more. MARY BEATON. Why, I hear more, I hear men shout The Queen. MARY CARMICHAEL. Nay, no cries yet. MARY BEATON. Ah, they will cry out soon When she comes forth; they should cry out on her; I hear their crying in my heart. Nay, sweet, Do not you hate her? all men, if God please, Shall hate her one day; yea, one day no doubt I shall worse hate her. MARY CARMICHAEL. Pray you, be at peace; You hurt yourself: she will be merciful; What, could you see a true man slain for you? I think I could not; it is not like our hearts To have such hard sides to them. MARY BEATON. O, not you, And I could nowise; there's some blood in her That does not run to mercy as ours doth: That fair face and the cursed heart in her Made keener than a knife for manslaying Can bear strange things. MARY CARMICHAEL. Peace, for the people come. Ah--Murray, hooded over half his face With plucked-down hat, few folk about him, eyes Like a man angered; Darnley after him, Holding our Hamilton above her wrist, His mouth put near her hair to whisper with-- And she laughs softly, looking at her feet. MARY BEATON. She will not live long; God hath given her Few days and evil, full of hate and love, I see well now. MARY CARMICHAEL. Hark, there's their cry--The Queen! Fair life and long, and good days to the Queen! MARY BEATON. Yea, but God knows. I feel such patience here As I were sure in a brief while to die. MARY CARMICHAEL. She bends and laughs a little, graciously, And turns half, talking to I know not whom-- A big man with great shoulders; ah, the face, You get his face now--wide and duskish, yea The youth burnt out of it. A goodly man, Thewed mightily and sunburnt to the bone; Doubtless he was away in banishment, Or kept some march far off. MARY BEATON. Still you see nothing? MARY CARMICHAEL. Yea, now they bring him forth with a great noise, The folk all shouting and men thrust about Each way from him.