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SCENE I. A Gallery in the Palace.
Enter GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester; a Page with
To waste these times.-Good hour of night, sir Thomas;
Came you from the king, my lord? Gar. I did, sir Thomas; and left him at primero With the duke of Suffolk.
Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter? It seems, you are in haste: an if there be
great offence belongs to't, give your friend
Some touch of your late business: Affairs, that walk (As, they say, spirits do), at midnight, have
In them a wilder nature, than the business
And durst commend a secret to
My lord, I love you; your ear
The queen's in labour, and fear'd,
The fruit, she goes with,
I pray for heartily; that it may find
Good time, and live: but for the stock, sir Thomas, I wish it grubb'd up now.
Methinks, I could
That does infect the land: with which they moved,
Have broken with the king; who hath so far
He be convented. He's a rank weed, sir Thomas,
As LOVELL is going out, enter the KING and the
K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night;
Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.—
What say'st thou? ha? To pray for her? what, is she crying out?
Lov. So said her woman; aud that her sufferance made Almost each pang a death.
Alas, good lady!
Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and
With gentle travail, to the gladding of
Your highness with an heir!
Pr'ythee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
"Tis midnight, Charles,
Leave me alone;
I wish your highness
For I must think of that, which company
Charles, good night.
Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY.
Well, sir, what follows?
Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop,
As you commanded me.
Den. Ay, my good lord.
"Tis true: Where is he, Denny?
Den. He attends your highness' pleasure.
Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake;
I am happily come hither
Bring him to us. [Exit Denny.
Re-enter DENNY, with CRANMER.
Ha! I have said.-Be gone.
[Exeunt Lovell and Denny.
Cran. I am fearful:-Wherefore frowns he thus? "Tis his aspéct of terror. All's not well.
K. Hen. How now, my lord? You do desire to know Wherefore I sent for you.
It is my duty, To attend your highness' pleasure.
'Pray you, arise,
My good and gracious lord of Canterbury.
I have news to tell you: Come, come, give me your hand.
Grievous complaints of you; which, being consider'd,
Which will require your answer, you must take
To make your house our Tower: You a brother of us,
Would come against you.
Cran. I humbly thank your highness; And am right glad to catch this good occasion Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know,
There's none stands under more calumnious tongues, Than I myself, poor man.
In us, thy friend: Give me thy hand, stand up;
Most dread liege,
Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not,
What can be said against me.
Know you not how
Your state stands i'the world, with the whole world? Your enemies
Are many, and not small; their practices
Must bear the same proportion: and not ever