Gent. In this (give me leave) your Lordship is out of the way: make a back door to let out Intelligencers; seem to be ever busie, and put your door under keepers, and you shall have a troop of Clients sweating to come at you.
Luc. I have a back door already, I will henceforth be busie, Secretary, run and keep the door. [Exit Secretary.
Gent. This will fetch 'um?
Luc. I hope so.
Enter Secretary.
Secr. My Lord, there are some require access to you, about weighty affairs of State.
Luc. Already?
Gent. I told you so.
Luc. How weighty is the business?