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.--