One sits at home in winter ease,
And one goes out to find
In thought of one, the third who waits,
But bitterness of mind.
- (As he sings, Darnley comes in unseen. He sits, at the far side of the room, listening)
Who plays with love, beats up and down
The snow beyond the gate.
Who plays with love is like to tell
A spring for ever late.
But this I say, if Holyrood
Had crowned a proper king.
These grey walls had the blossoms worn
Of an eternal spring.
Darnley (not moving—after a silence): King David, for example?
Riccio (rising): Sire—we did not know—it was just a rhyme.
Darnley (rising): We did not know—we did not know—
Riccio: Not that—I mean—you startled me.
Darnley: David Riccio—you think I'm a fool.
Riccio: Sire—
