Queen: (Shaking again.) Let me in, my dear
King! Open! Open! Open! unless that the
falling sickness is come upon you, or that you are
maybe lying dead upon the floor!
Nurse: Not a dead in the world.
Queen: Go, Nurse, I tell you, bring the smith
from the anvil till he will break asunder the lock
of the door!
(King annoyed, waddles to door and opens it
suddenly. Queen stumbles in.)
King: What at all has taken place that you
come bawling and calling and disturbing my rest?
Queen: Oh! Are you sound and well? I was
in dread there did something come upon you,
when you gave no answer at all.
King: Am I bound to answer every call and
clamour the same as a hall-porter at the door?
Queen: It is business that cannot wait. Here
now is a request I have written to the bully of
the King of Alban, bidding him to strike the head
off whatever man will put the letter in his hand.
Write your name and sign to it, in three royal words.
King: I wouldn't sign a letter out of my right
hour if it was to make the rivers run gold. There
is nothing comes of signing letters but more trouble
in the end.
Queen: Give me, so, to bind it a drop of your
own blood as a token and a seal. You will not
refuse, and I telling you the messenger will go
with it, and that will lose his head through it, is no
less than that troublesome cook!