Yet she, hearing of my arrival, sent for me.
I found her in one of her withdrawing chambers, sitting low upon her cushions. She called me to her.
I kissed her hand, and told her, It was my chiefest happiness to see her in safety and health, which I wished might long continue.
She took me by the hand, and wrung it hard; and said "No, Robin, I am not well!" and then discoursed with me of her indisposition, and that her heart had been sad and heavy for ten or twelve days: and, in her discourse, she fetched not so few as forty or fifty great sighs.
I was grieved, at the first, to see her in this plight: for, in all my lifetime before, I never knew her fetch a sigh, but when the Queen of Scots was beheaded. Then [in 1587], upon my knowledge, she shed many tears and sighs; manifesting her innocence that she never gave consent to the death of that Queen.
I used the best words I could to persuade her from this melancholy humour; but I found, by her, it was too deep rooted in her heart; and hardly to be removed.
This was upon a Saturday night [? 19th March 1603]: and she gave command that the Great Closet should be prepared for her to go to Chapel the next morning.
The next day, all things being in a readiness; we long expected her coming.
After eleven o'clock, one of the Grooms [of the Chambers] came out, and bade make ready for the Private Closet; for she would not go to the Great.
There we stayed long for her coming: but at last she had cushions laid for her in the Privy Chamber, hard by the Closet door; and there she heard service.