ways—you are the queen of all beauty, the adorable fragrance of—
Mary: No better than that? You lamentable steward.
Riccio (taking her hand): I love you, Mary.
Mary (moving from him): And you can say that, and make it no better than an impertinence.
Riccio: I love you—I will take you—so.
Mary: You have not the stature, my poor David. Listen. I meant no anger. Sing to me, often. Your songs come out of a cherished life. Flatter me sometimes if you will—I am queen enough to thank my courtiers—and they do not much breed them here in Scotland. And your manners adorn ceremony always—I do not undervalue that—the example is needed. I must not lose you, David; I take pleasure in your company, in your amiability—it is not common. And be content—you will find in this all necessary satisfaction—I shall not starve your nature. But it will be well for us not to speak again of love.
Riccio: To be forbidden that—
Mary: It will be an agreeable distress, never fear. And perhaps in some fortunate, some—
