Mary: Then answer this, as an honest man. If I leave my kingdom here to its dangers for such time as it may need to travel into England, will the Queen welcome me—receive me even?
Randolph: I can hardly answer that, Madam, here.
Mary: Do it by messenger. Sir Thomas, and say no. Not—"the Queen's High Majesty laments that these present dispositions of her realm"—and so forth in some Cecilian strain, but, bluntly, no.
Randolph: You speak hardly.
Mary: I defend myself. That is all. Though defence is nothing. You might let our cousin know, in some lighter moment, perhaps, that Mary Stuart thought thus—that if she could have found peace and not have been destroyed by base and little lovers, she would have met and instructed the surest wits of England, and have delighted in the match; but that, being tired, she said it was no matter. Enough, then, but this. Cunning has no pleasure when the heart is breaking. If I ask my cousin to appoint a day, she will not do it.
Randolph: If I might advance the matter as I can—
