Darnley: Do you call me stock? A thing for japes—to be mocked at by a harlot and her creeping filth?
Mary: So, we sing our bawdry at the Queen's window? Where is the King to whip such fellows?
Darnley: We know the window from another.
Mary: Where is the King, I say?
Darnley: Looking to his own. David Riccio, I spoke too gently in the yard now. Thieves are honest men—but there are rascals, Italian spawn, creeping things—and heels.
Beaton: My lord, this is the Queen's chamber.
Darnley: Aye, the Queen's chamber—that's it. There are heels, I say—and until then, so—
- (He spits in Riccio's face, and rushes out)
Riccio (moving across to Mary, and kneeling to her): He's mad, he should be held. What shall I do, Madam?
Mary: What shall the Queen do?
Riccio: I am afraid.
Mary: Afraid of what?
Riccio: They hate me here. He has fellows. It will not be safe for me anywhere in Holyrood.
