you can do. Ronsard was a chivalrous poet. I would have you keep it.
Randolph: It shall instruct me, Madam.
- (They rise, and he kneels as she again gives him her hand)
Mary: Adieu.
Randolph: Madam.
- (He goes)
- (Mary moves to an open prayer-book and turns the leaves)
Mary (reading, very quietly, to herself): "And in the evening they will return: grin like a dog, and will go about the city. . . . Unto thee, O my strength, will I sing: for thou, O God, art my refuge, and my merciful God."
- (She stands silent for a moment. Then rings the bell beside her. Beaton comes)
Mary: Did you find my lord Bothwell?
Beaton: He waits your word.
Mary: Ask him to come. First draw the curtains and light the candle.
- (Beaton does so, while Mary reads again the same passage aloud)
