Darnley monologue (Act 1) — Chastelard, a Tragedy

Why, look you, I am broken with the queen; This is the rancor and the bitter heart That grows in you; by God it is nought else. Why, this last night she held me for a fool-- Ay, God wot, for a thing of stripe and bell. I bade her make me marshal in her masque-- I had the dress here painted, gold and gray (That is, not gray but a blue-green like this)-- She tells me she had chosen her marshal, she, The best o' the world for cunning and sweet wit; And what sweet fool but her sweet knight, God help! To serve her with that three-inch wit of his? She is all fool and fiddling now; for me, I am well-pleased; God knows, if I might choose I would not be more troubled with her love. Her love is like a briar that rasps the flesh, And yours is soft like flowers. Come this way, love; So, further in this window; hark you here.