em well.
Why do you look one way? I will not have you
Keep your eyes here: 't is no great wit in me
To care much now for old French friends of mine.--
Come, a fresh measure; come, play well for me,
Fair sirs, your playing puts life in foot and heart.--

DARNLEY.
Lo you again, sirs, how she laughs and leans,
Holding him fast--the supple way she hath!
Your queen hath none such; better as she is
For all her measures, a grave English maid,
Than queen of snakes and Scots.

RANDOLPH.
She is over fair
To be so sweet and hurt not. A good knight;
Goodly to look on.

MURRAY.
Yea, a good sword too,
And of good kin; too light of loving though;
These jangling song-smiths are keen love-mongers,
They snap at all meats.

DARNLEY.
What! by God I think,
For all his soft French face and bright boy's sword,
There be folks fairer: and for knightliness,
These hot-lipped brawls of Paris breed sweet knights--
Mere stabbers for a laugh across the wine.--

QUEEN.
There, I have danced you down for once, fair lord;
You look pale now. Nay then for courtesy
I must needs help you; do not bow your head,
I am tall enough to reach close under it.

[Kisses him.]

Now come, we'll sit and see this passage through.--

DARNLEY.
A courtesy, God help us! courtesy--
Pray God it wound not where it should heal wounds.
Why, there was here last year some lord of France
(Priest on the wrong side as some folk are prince)
Told tales of Paris ladies--nay, by God,
No jest for queen's lips to catch laughter of
That would keep clean; I wot he made good mirth,
But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise--
But she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise--
Nay, I laughed too, but lothly.--

QUEEN.
How they look!
The least thing courteous galls them to the bone.
What would one say now I were thinking of?

CHASTELARD.
It seems, some sweet thing.

QUEEN.
True, a sweet one, sir--
That madrigal you made Alys de Saulx
Of the three ways of love: the first kiss honor,
The second pity, and the last kiss love.
Which think you now was that I kissed you with?

CHASTELARD.
It should be pity, if you be pitiful;
For I am past all honoring that keep
Outside the eye of battle, where my kin
Fallen overseas have found this many a day
No helm of mine between them; and for love,
I think of that as dead men of good days
Ere the wrong side of deat