Sir Thomas: and left him at primero With the Duke of Suffolk. I must to him too, Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter? It seems you are in haste: an if there be No great offence belongs to't, give your friend Some touch of your late business: affairs, that walk, As they say spirits do, at midnight, have In them a wilder nature than the business That seeks dispatch by day. My lord, I love you; And durst commend a secret to your ear Much weightier than this work. The queen's in labour, They say, in great extremity; and fear'd She'll with the labour end. The fruit she goes with I pray for heartily, that it may find Good time, and live: but for the stock, Sir Thomas, I wish it grubb'd up now. Methinks I could Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does Deserve our better wishes. But, sir, sir, Hear me, Sir Thomas: you're a gentleman Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, 'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me, Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, Sleep in their graves. Now, sir, you speak of two The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell, Beside that of the jewel house, is made master O' the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir, Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments, With which the time will load him. The archbishop Is the king's hand and tongue; and who dare speak One syllable against him? Yes, yes, Sir Thomas, There are that dare; and I myself have ventured To speak my mind of him: and indeed this day, Sir, I may tell it you, I think I have Incensed the lords o' the council, that he is, For so I know he is, they know he is, A most arch heretic, a pestilence That does infect the land: with which they moved Have broken with the king; who hath so far Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace And princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefs Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded To-morrow morning to the council-board He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas, And we must root him out. From your affairs I hinder you too long: good night, Sir Thomas. Many good nights, my lord: I rest your servant. Charles,