What, sick or dead? I am well holpen of you: Come hither to me. What pale blood you have-- Is it for fear you turn such cheeks to me? Why, if I were so loving, by my hand, I would have set my head upon the chance, And loosed him though I died. What will you do? Have you no way? (MARY BEATON: None but your mercy.) Ay? Why then the thing is piteous. Think, for God's sake-- Is there no loving way to fetch him forth? Nay, what a white thin-blooded thing is love, To help no more than this doth! Were I in love, I would unbar the ways to-night and then Laugh death to death to-morrow, mock him dead; I think you love well with one half your heart, And let fear keep the other. Hark you now, You said there was some friend durst break my bars-- Some Scotch name--faith, as if I wist of it! Ye have such heavy wits to help one with-- Some man that had some mean to save him by-- Tush, I must be at pains for you! (MARY BEATON: Nay, madam, It were no boot; he will not be let forth.) I say, the name. O, Robert Erskine-yea, A fellow of some heart: what saith he?

Queen Monologue from Chastelard, a Tragedy

Rehearse Queen's monologue