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.
KING.
Charles, good night.
[Exit Suffolk.]
Enter Sir Anthony Denny.
Well, sir, what follows?