ELIZABETH. Why did not Mary Fitton Cry help against--which lover? MARY. Lover, Madam? ELIZABETH. There’s tinker, tailor, soldier--the old rhyme-- There’s Pembroke, Marlowe, Shakespeare-- MARY. Madam! Madam! I’ll not bear this! ELIZABETH. Ay, you have fierce black eyes-- What will you do then if you will not bear it? You have leave to show. MARY. I say I did cry out To both that they should cease. ELIZABETH. So you cried out! Bring up your witnesses that heard you cry! MARY. I did not stand and watch. I ran upon them. I was flung off and bruised. ELIZABETH. Show me the bruise! MARY. High on my arm-- ELIZABETH. Rip up your sleeve and show me! You stand, you stare, you’re white. I think you shake. MARY. Anger not fear, though you were ten times Queen Of twenty Englands! ELIZABETH. Quiet, and quiet, my girl! This ill-spent night has left you feverish. You are too free for court, Too bruised and touzled for my gentlemen. You shall go home, I think, to heal this bruise, To cleanse your body and soul in country air And banished quiet till I send for you. MARY. Upon what count? ELIZABETH. On none. But I’ve no time, No room for butter-fingers. Here’s a man slain Upon your lap that England needed. Go! Go, blunted tool! [_She touches a bell._] MARY. Madam! Madam! You wrong me! ELIZABETH. I’ve wronged your betters, Mary, Mary Fitton, As tide wrongs pebble, or as wind wrongs chaff At threshing time. _A page enters at the great door on the right._ Send Mr. Shakespeare to me! MARY. This is the justice of the Queen of England! ELIZABETH. My justice. MARY. Have I not served you? ELIZABETH. All things serve me. They choose their path. I use them in their path. MARY. As once you used, they say-- ELIZABETH. Do not dare! Do not dare! MARY. Dare, Madam? May I not wonder, like another. Why you have used me thus?