MARY SEYTON.
Ay, and the queen fell in a little wrath
Because she got so many, and tore off
Some of them she had plucked unwittingly--
She said, against her will. What fell to you?

MARY BEATON.
Me? nothing but the stalk of a stripped bunch
With clammy grape-juice leavings at the tip.

MARY CARMICHAEL.
Ay, true, the queen came first and she won all;
It was her bunch we took to cheat you with.
What, will you weep for that now? for you seem
As one that means to weep. God pardon me!
I think your throat is choking up with tears.
You are not well, sweet, for a lying jest
To shake you thus much.

MARY BEATON.
I am well enough:
Give not your pity trouble for my sake.

MARY SEYTON.
If you be well sing out your song and laugh,
Though it were but to fret the fellows there.--
Now shall we catch her secret washed and wet
In the middle of her song; for she must weep
If she sing through.