As it was said.

MARY HAMILTON.
  'Tis your great care of her
  Makes you misdoubt; nought else.

MURRAY.
  Yea, may be so;
  She has no cause I know to sadden her.

[They pass.]

QUEEN.
  I am tired too soon; I could have danced down hours
  Two years gone hence and felt no wearier.
  One grows much older northwards, my fair lord;
  I wonder men die south; meseems all France
  Smells sweet with living, and bright breath of days
  That keep men far from dying. Peace; pray you now,
  No dancing more. Sing, sweet, and make us mirth;
  We have done with dancing measures: sing that song
  You call the song of love at ebb.

MARY BEATON.

[Sings.]

  1.
  Between the sunset and the sea
  My love laid hands and lips on me;
  Of sweet came sour, of day came night,
  Of long desire came brief delight:
  Ah love, and what thing came of thee
  Between the sea-downs and the sea?

  2.
  Between the sea-mark and the sea
  Joy grew to grief, grief grew to me;
  Love turned to tears, and tears to fire,
  And dead delight to new desire;
  Love's talk, love's touch there seemed to be
  Between the sea-sand and the sea.

  3.
  Between the sundown and the sea
  Love watched one hour of love with me;
  Then down the all-golden water-ways
  His feet flew after yesterday's;
   I saw them come and saw them flee
  Between the sea-foam and the sea.

  4.
  Between the sea-strand and the sea
  Love fell on sleep, sleep fell on me;
  The first star saw twain turn to one
  Between the moonrise and the sun;
  The next, that saw not love, saw me
  Between the sea-banks and the sea.

QUEEN.
  Lo, sirs,
  What mirth is here! Some song of yours, fair lord;
  You know glad ways of rhyming—no such tunes
  As go to tears.

CHASTELARD.
  I made this yesterday;
  For its love's sake I pray you let it live.

  1.
  Apres tant de jours, apres tant de pleurs,
  Soyez secourable a mon ame en peine.
  Voyez comme Avril fait l'amour aux fleurs;
  Dame d'amour, dame aux belles couleurs,
  Dieu vous a fait belle, Amour vous fait reine.

  2.
  Rions, je t'en prie; aimons, je le veux.
  Le temps fuit et rit et ne revient guere
  Pour baiser le bout de tes blonds cheveux,
  Pour baiser tes cils, ta bouche et tes yeux;
  L'amour n'a qu'un jour aupres de sa mere.

QUEEN.
  'T is a true song; love shall not pluck time back
  Nor time lie down with love. For me, I am old;
  Have you no hair changed since you changed to Scot?
  I look each day to see my face drawn up
  About the eyes, as if they sucked the cheeks.
  I think this air and face of things here north
  Puts snow at flower-time in the blood, and tears
  Between the sad eyes and the merry mouth
  In their youth-days.

CHASTELARD.
  It is a bitter air.

QUEEN.
  Faith, if I might be gone, sir, would I stay?
  I think, for no man's love's sake.

CHASTELARD.
  I think not.

QUEEN.
  Do you yet mind at landing how the quay
  Looked like a blind wet face in waste of wind
  And washing of wan waves? how the hard mist
  Made the hills ache? your songs lied loud, my knight,
  They said my face would burn off cloud and rain
  Seen once, and fill the crannied land with fire,
  Kindle the capes in their blind black-gray hoods—
  I know not what. You praise me past all loves;
  And these men love me little; 't is some fault,
  I think, to love me: even a fool's sweet fault.
  I have your verse still beating in my head
  Of how the swallow got a wing broken
  In the spring time, and lay upon his side
  Watching the rest fly off i' the red leaf-time,
  And broke his heart with grieving at himself
  Before the snow came. Do you know that lord
  With sharp-set eyes? and him with huge thewed throat?
  Good friends to me; I had need love them well.
  Why do you look one way? I will not have you
  Keep your eyes here: 't is no great wit in me
  To care much now for old French friends of mine.—
  Come, a fresh measure; come, play well for me,
  Fair sirs, your playing puts life in foot and heart.—

DARNLEY.
  Lo you again, sirs, how she laughs and leans,
  Holding him fast—the supple way she hath!
  Your queen hath none such; better as she is
  For all her measures, a grave English maid,
  Than queen of snakes and Scots.

RANDOLPH.
  She is over fair
  To be so sweet and hurt not. A good knight;
  Goodly to look on.

MURRAY.
  Yea, a good sword too,
  And of good kin; too light of loving though;
  These jangling song-smiths are keen love-mongers,
  They snap at all meats.

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.—

QUEEN.
  How they look!
  The least thing courteous galls them to the bone.
  What would one say now I were thinking of?

CHASTELARD.
  It seems, some sweet thing.

QUEEN.
  True, a sweet one, sir—
  That madrigal you made Alys de Saulx
  Of the three ways of love: the first kiss honor,
  The second pity, and the last kiss love.
  Which think you now was that I kissed you with?

CHASTELARD.
  It should be pity, if you be pitiful;
  For I am past all honoring that keep
  Outside the eye of battle, where my kin
  Fallen overseas have found this many a day
  No helm of mine between them; and for love,
  I think of that as dead men of good days
  Ere the wrong side of death was theirs, when God
  Was friends with them.

QUEEN.
  Good; call it pity then.
  You have a subtle riddling