Queen monologue (Act 4) — Chastelard, a Tragedy

O, do you think I hold you off with words? Why, take it then; there is my handwriting, And here the hand that you shall slay him with. 'Tis a fair hand, a maiden-colored one: I doubt yet it has never slain a man. You never fought yet save for game, I wis. Nay, thank me not, but have it from my sight; Go and make haste for fear he be got forth: It may be such a man is dangerous; Who knows what friends he hath? and by my faith I doubt he hath seen some fighting, I do fear He hath fought and shed men's blood; ye are wise men That will not leave such dangerous things alive; 'T were well he died the sooner for your sakes. Pray you make haste; it is not fit he live.