Act 5 - Scene 1
London. A gallery in the palace.
Enter GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a torch before him, met by LOVELL
It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?
It hath struck.
These should be hours for necessities,
Not for delights; times to repair our nature
With comforting repose,
and not for us
To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas!
Whither so late?
Came you from the king, my lord
I did, 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
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
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,
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,
Deserve our better wishes.
But, sir, sir,
Hear me, Sir Thomas: you're a gentleman
Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;
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.
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