ng a little sadly, and at last
Kissed him below the chin and parted so
As the dance ended?

MARY HAMILTON.
This was courtesy;
So might I kiss my singing-bird's red bill
After some song, till he bit short my lip.

MARY SEYTON.
But if a lady hold her bird anights
To sing to her between her fingers-ha?
I have seen such birds.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
O, you talk emptily;
She is full of grace; and marriage in good time
Will wash the fool called scandal off men's lips.

MARY HAMILTON.
I know not that; I know how folk would gibe
If one of us pushed courtesy so far.
She has always loved love's fashions well; you wot,
The marshal, head friend of this Chastelard's,
She used to talk with ere he brought her here
And sow their talk with little kisses thick
As roses in rose-harvest. For myself,
I cannot see which side of her that lurks,
Which snares in such wise all the sense of men;
What special beauty, subtle as man's eye
And tender as the inside of the eyelid is,
There grows about her.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
I think her cunning speech--
The soft and rapid shudder of her breath
In talking--the rare tender little laugh--
The pitiful sweet sound like a bird's sigh
When her voice breaks; her talking does it all.

MARY SEYTON.
I say, her eyes with those clear perfect brows:
It is the playing of those eyelashes,
The lure of amorous looks as sad as love,
Plucks all souls toward her like a net.

MARY HAMILTON.
What, what!
You praise her in too lover-like a wise
For women that praise women; such report
Is like robes worn the rough side next the skin,
Frets where it warms.

MARY SEYTON.
You think too much in French.

Enter DARNLEY.

Here comes your thorn; what glove against it now?

MARY HAMILTON.
O, God's good pity! this a thorn of mine?
It has not run deep in yet.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
I am not sure:
The red runs over to your face's edge.

DARNLEY.
Give me one word; nay, lady, for love's sake;
Here, come this way; I will not keep you; no.
--O my sweet soul, why do you wrong me thus?

MARY HAMILTON.
Why will you give me for men's eyes to burn?

DARNLEY.
What, sweet, I love you as mine own soul loves me;
They shall divide when we do.

MARY HAMILTON.
I cannot say.

DARNLEY.
Why, look you, I am broken with the queen;
This is the rancor and the bitter heart
That grows in you; by God it is nought else.