- (She sings)
Ill names there are, as Lethington,
Moray, Elizabeth,
By craft of these I am undone,
And love is put to death.
Though brighter wit I had than these,
Their cunning brought me down,
But Mary's love-story shall please
Better than their renown,
Mary the lover be my tale
For the wise men to tell
When Moray joins Elizabeth
And Lethington in hell.
Not Riccio nor Darnley knew
Nor Bothwell how to find
This Mary's best magnificence
Of the great lover's mind.
Beaton: It's well done.
Mary: Truly, at least.
Beaton: Your hair?
Mary: Yes.
Beaton (arranging it): If I were a queen—
Mary: No, Beaton, you wouldn't, I've told
