He wonders to what end you have assembled
[♦] Such troops of citizens to speak with him,
His grace not being warn’d thereof before:
[♦] My lord, he fears you mean no good to him.
Buck. Sorry I am my noble cousin should
Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:
[♦] By heaven, I come in perfect love to him;
[♦] And so once more return and tell his grace. [Exit Catesby.
When holy and devout religious men
[♦] Are at their beads, ’tis hard to draw them thence,