[Enter Harpoole.]
Sirra, what news?
HARPOOLE. Yonder’s one master Butler of the privy chamber, is sent unto you from the King.
POWIS.
I pray God the lord Herbert be not dead,
And the King, hearing whither I am gone,
Hath sent for me.
COBHAM.
Comfort your self my lord, I warrant you.
HARPOOLE. Fellow, what ails thee? doost thou quake? dost thou shake? dost thou tremble? ha?
COBHAM. Peace, you old fool! Sirra, convey this gentleman in the back way, and bring the other into the walk.
HARPOOLE.
Come, sir; you are welcome, if you love my lord.
POWIS.
God have mercy, gentle friend.
[Exeunt.]