Queen monologue (Act 4) — Chastelard, a Tragedy

Sweet, and you did me right, And look you, what my mercy bears to fruit, Danger and deadly speech and a fresh fault Before the first was cool in people's lips; A goodly mercy: and I wash hands of it.-- Speak you, there; have you ever found me sharp? You weep and whisper with sloped necks and heads Like two sick birds; do you think shame of me? Nay, I thank God none can think shame of me; But am I bitter, think you, to men's faults? I think I am too merciful, too meek: Why if I could I would yet save this man; 'T is just boy's madness; a soft stripe or two Would do to scourge the fault in his French blood. I would fain let him go. You, Hamilton, You have a heart thewed harder than my heart; When mine would threat it sighs, and wrath in it Has a bird's flight and station, starves before It can well feed or fly; my pulse of wrath Sounds tender as the running down of tears. You are the hardest woman I have known, Your blood has frost and cruel gall in it, You hold men off with bitter lips and eyes-- Such maidens should serve England; now, perfay, I doubt you would have got him slain at once. Come, would you not? come, would you let him live?