KING.
Charles, I will play no more tonight.
My mind’s not on’t; you are too hard for me.
SUFFOLK.
Sir, I did never win of you before.
KING.
But little, Charles,
Nor shall not, when my fancy’s on my play.
Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news?
LOVELL.
I could not personally deliver to her
What you commanded me, but by her woman
I sent your message, who returned her thanks
In the great’st humbleness, and desired your Highness
Most heartily to pray for her.
KING.
What sayst thou, ha?
To pray for her? What, is she crying out?
LOVELL.
So said her woman, and that her suff’rance made
Almost each pang a death.
KING.
Alas, good lady!
SUFFOLK.
God safely quit her of her burden, and
With gentle travail, to the gladding of
Your Highness with an heir!
KING.
’Tis midnight, Charles.
Prithee, to bed, and in thy prayers remember
Th’ estate of my poor Queen. Leave me alone,
For I must think of that which company
Will not be friendly to.
SUFFOLK.
I wish your Highness
A quiet night, and my good mistress will
Remember in my prayers.