[♦] And the Protectors wife belou’d of him,
[♦] And wilt thou still be hammering treason thus,
Away I say, and let me heare no more.
Elnor. How now my Lord. What angry with your Nell,
[35] For telling but her dreame. The next I haue
[♦] Ile keepe to my selfe, and not be rated thus.
Humphrey. Nay Nell, Ile giue no credit to a dreame,
[♦] But I would haue thee to thinke on no such things.
Enters a Messenger.
Messenger. And it please your grace, the King and Queene to [40] morrow morning will ride a hawking to Saint Albones, and craues your company along with them.