Darnley: Be careful. We are not in France.
Mary: You destroy yourself very thoroughly, Darnley.
Darnley: Dismiss him—or I'll have it sung in every tavern in Edinburgh, Or worse.
Mary: Do you love me?
Darnley: What—how do you mean?
Mary: That's plain enough, man, isn't it?
Darnley: I have my pride.
Mary: And what of mine? I'm hungry—do you understand? All this—my body, and my imagination. Hungry for peace—for the man who can establish my heart. What do they say—a light lover, unsure always. And who is there to make me sure? What man is there with authority? Where is he who shall measure me? Listen, my husband. There are tides in me as fierce as any that have troubled women. And they are restless, always, always. Do you think I desire that? Do you think that I have no other longings—to govern with a clear brain, to learn my people, to prove myself against these foreign jealousies, to see strong children about me, to play with an easy festival mind, to walk the evenings at peace? Do you
