Yea now, as I live, I wist not of it: troth, he shall not die. See you, I am pitiful, compassionate, I would not have men slain for my love's sake, But if he live to do me three times wrong, Why then my shame would grow up green and red Like any flower. I am not whole at heart; In faith, I wot not what such things should be; I doubt it is but dangerous; he must die. (MARY BEATON: Yea, but you will not slay him.) Swear me that, I'll say he shall not die for your oath's sake. What will you do for grief when he is dead? (MARY BEATON: Nothing for grief, but hold my peace and die.) Why, for your sweet sake one might let him live; But the first fault was a green seed of shame, And now the flower, and deadly fruit will come With apple-time in autumn. By my life, I would they had slain him there in Edinburgh; But I reprieve him; lo the thank I get, To set the base folk muttering like smoked bees Of shame and love, and how love comes to shame, And the queen loves shame that comes of love; Yet I say nought and go about my ways, And this mad fellow that I respited Being forth and free, lo now the second time Ye take him by my bed in wait. Now see If I can get good-will to pardon him; With what a face may I crave leave of men To respite him, being young and a good knight And mad for perfect love? shall I go say, Dear lords, because ye took him shamefully, Let him not die; because his fault is foul, Let him not die; because if he do live I shall be held a harlot of all men, I pray you, sweet sirs, that he may not die?

Queen Monologue from Chastelard, a Tragedy

Rehearse Queen's monologue