unaccustomed moment of understanding, you may make a song of me. If it should be so, remember this—you will make little enough of it now, but, then, remember it, if you would make the song well. Mary Stuart was a queen of love, but she had no subjects. She was love's servant, but she found no lord. That is all.
Riccio: No subjects? It is cruel to say that—you know.
Mary: No subjects. Only strangers at the table.
Riccio: I do not understand you, Mary.
Mary: You have said it.
Riccio: I give you myself—all my poet's heart. Is it not enough?
Mary: You are neither subject nor lord. There is no peace in you, David. Just a buzzing in the jar.
Riccio: There are men whose pride you should learn for less than this.
Mary: Ah, then.
Riccio: But my devotion will stay.
Mary: It will satisfy you. It is all that matters. And I am grateful. You are a good secretary, David.
