LADY CLAYPOLE. If, sweet coz, I cease
To praise him, it shall be for sweeter words
Ev'n than his praise!
EDITH. Impossible!
LADY CLAYPOLE. And yet,
Were I a maid that loved as Edith loves,
Tidings of him I loved were sweeter words
Ev'n than his praise.
EDITH. Tidings!—Oh, pardon, coz!—
Tidings from Spain?
LADY CLAYPOLE. No, Edith, not from Spain;
Tidings from London. Cecil is returned.
Just ere we met, his courier's jaded steed
Halted below. Sir Hubert had arrived,
And, on the instant, sought my father.
EDITH. Come!
And I to hear it from another's lips!
LADY CLAYPOLE. Nay, coz, be just: with matters of great weight—
Matters that crave at once my father's ear—
Be sure that he is laden.
(Enter a Servant)
SERVANT. Pardon, Madam!
Methought the General here!
LADY CLAYPOLE. Who asks my father?
SERVANT. Sir Hubert Cecil, just arrived from Spain,
Craves audience with his honor.