Mary: Oh, be simple about it, Randolph. Forget your diplomacy—I'm not worth it. Moreover, fate has touched me, and I have a discovering vision. Your genius, my poor ambassador, fades in the climate of my grief. Policy shines when it is pitted against interest. But my interest knows the doom that is coming. Let us talk as friends, with death appointed. I shall not betray you.
Randolph: Madam, I have my allegiance. But all that devotion may offer is yours. And you speak too hopelessly.
Mary: No. Hope I have mastered—that, at least. I shall not want courage, and it may be years. And I shall make a good end. That is all.
Randolph: If some affairs could but be composed, the Queen, I am sure, has good will to you and Scotland.
Mary: To Scotland—where is Scotland, which faction is to be called Scotland? And for me, I tell you, no. Her hope is my destruction; you know it. If I stand before Europe in honour, how long can my cousin delay naming me to her succession?
