Come, no news of her;
For God's love talk still rather of our queen.

MARY BEATON.
God give us grace then to speak well of her.
You did right joyfully in our masque last night'
I saw you when the queen lost breath (her head
Bent back, her chin and lips catching the air-
A goodly thing to see her) how you smiled
Across her head, between your lips-no doubt
You had great joy, sir. Did you not take note
Once how one lock fell? that was good to see.

CHASTELARD.
Yea, good enough to live for.

MARY BEATON.
Nay, but sweet
Enough to die. When she broke off the dance,
Turning round short and soft-I never saw
Such supple ways of walking as she has.

CHASTLELARD.
Why do you praise her gracious looks to me?

MARY BEATON.
Sir, for mere sport: but tell me even for love
How much you love her.

CHASTELARD.