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.
Why, this last night she held me for a fool-
Ay, God wot, for a thing of stripe and bell.
I bade her make me marshal in her masque-
I had the dress here painted, gold and gray
(That is, not gray but a blue-green like this)-
She tells me she had chosen her marshal, she,