Oh, Dazzling Luminary, Glorious Orb of Britain whose radiant beams diffuse in all our hearts the light of loyalty, the warmth of admiration: most gracious, wisest Mistress, permit your most obedient, loyal servitor to approach your throne with humblest imprecation. THE QUEEN: If the prayer, my lord, be worthy of its dress, ’Twill need our realm to content you. But give it words, man, plain words. LACY: Most Mighty Regent, you distress me! I approach your queenly presence robed in vestments of State out of reverence for Britain’s Majesty, and in the same spirit I would use orphrey’d phrases sewn with pearls of speech, and you ask me plain words. THE QUEEN: Let’s have ’em jewelled if you will; but what’s your want? LACY: The jewel of this realm, indeed: the prize of all this nether world, the diamaunt of distinction—— [_Bows and waives to Lady Joan._ THE QUEEN: What! That Chit! LACY: Oh, Arbitress of Fate! I supplicate your Sovereign Power! enrich me with a word; set joy-bells ringing with a gest of grace and fill my heart with heavenly gratitude. THE QUEEN: [_To the girl._] And you? Shall he wear you? It misdoubts me the gift’s already given! LADY JOAN: [_Curtseying to the ground._] Oh Fairest Vestal, Mirror of Beauty, Pink of Perfectness: I would requite my Lord with dutiful affection—— THE QUEEN: I was sure you would, and with a dozen brats as well. LADY JOAN: ’Tis only stars and our great Queen can live alone. THE QUEEN: [_To Burghley._] I hate women’s praises; they’re always feigned and false! [_To Lacy._] Do you hold the wedding in our Court, my lord? LACY: Rectress of Action! On bended knees and with a lowly heart I implorate your Majesty, let us withdraw from the blinding light of this world’s Sun and hide our joys in sylvan shade where hours go softly by. THE QUEEN: The wedding should be here; afterwards you can go to your estates; does that please you, girl? LADY JOAN: My beseechings flow to my lord’s desire—— THE QUEEN: By God’s Body, they are both mad; have it as ye will; [_To Lady Joan_] but when you come again your beseechings, as you call them, may flow in another direction. [_To Burghley._] Did ever Christian hear such phrases? [_Lacy and Lady Joan bow and retire._ LORD BURGHLEY: The girl’s worse than the man! THE QUEEN: Saw you any fashion, my lord, which my sex does not exaggerate? The woman has taken the infection from the man, but in the weaker body the fever rages most wildly—— SCENE VI. THE QUEEN: “Her beseechings” forsooth—I’m very weary! [_The Players enter and stand grouped by the servants at the end of the Hall._] Ah! there are our players. Well, let that one approach who wrote the piece—I mean—Ach! I forget his name! [_Turns to Lord Burghley._] Those common names are so hard to remember. [_The servant goes down the Hall and brings Shakespeare to the Queen. As Shakespeare bows low the Queen looks at him, but doesn’t speak for some time._]