THE LADY. _[echoing him]_ Mary! Mary! Who would have thought that woman to have had so much blood in her! Is it my fault that my counsellors put deeds of blood on me? Fie! If you were women you would have more wit than to stain the floor so foully. Hold not up her head so: the hair is false. I tell you yet again, Mary's buried: she cannot come out of her grave. I fear her not: these cats that dare jump into thrones though they be fit only for men's laps must be put away. Whats done cannot be undone. Out, I say. Fie! a queen, and freckled! THE MAN. _[shaking her arm]_ Mary, I say: art asleep? _The Lady wakes; starts; and nearly faints. He catches her on his arm._ THE LADY. Where am I? What art thou? THE MAN. I cry your mercy. I have mistook your person all this while. Methought you were my Mary: my mistress. THE LADY. _[outraged]_ Profane fellow: how do you dare? THE MAN. Be not wroth with me, lady. My mistress is a marvellous proper woman. But she does not speak so well as you. "All the perfumes of Arabia"! That was well said: spoken with good accent and excellent discretion. THE LADY. Have I been in speech with you here? THE MAN. Why, yes, fair lady. Have you forgot it? THE LADY. I have walked in my sleep. THE MAN. Walk ever in your sleep, fair one; for then your words drop like honey. THE LADY. _[with cold majesty]_ Know you to whom you speak, sir, that you dare express yourself so saucily? THE MAN. _[unabashed]_ Not I, not care neither. You are some lady of the Court, belike. To me there are but two sorts of women: those with excellent voices, sweet and low, and cackling hens that cannot make me dream. Your voice has all manner of loveliness in it. Grudge me not a short hour of its music. THE LADY. Sir: you are overbold. Season your admiration for a while with-- THE MAN. _[holding up his hand to stop her]_ "Season your admiration for a while--" THE LADY. Fellow: do you dare mimic me to my face? THE MAN. Tis music. Can you not hear? When a good musician sings a song, do you not sing it and sing it again till you have caught and fixed its perfect melody? "Season your admiration for a while": God! the history of man's heart is in that one word admiration. Admiration! _[Taking up his tablets]_ What was it? "Suspend your admiration for a space--" THE LADY. A very vile jingle of esses. I said "Season your--" THE MAN. _[hastily]_ Season: ay, season, season, season. Plague on my memory, my wretched memory! I must een write it down. _[He begins to write, but stops, his memory failing him]._ Yet tell me which was the vile jingle? You said very justly: mine own ear caught it even as my false tongue said it. THE LADY. You said "for a space." I said "for a while." THE MAN. "For a while" _[he corrects it]._ Good! _[Ardently]_ And now be mine neither for a space nor a while, but for ever.