That threaten malice, and do lie in wait
To take advantage of the smallest thing.
But you are welcome: and repose your lordship,
And keep your self here secret in my house,
Until we hear how the lord Herbert speeds.
Here comes my man.

[Enter Harpoole.]

Sirra, what news?

HARPOOLE.
Yonder's one master Butler of the privy chamber,
is sent unto you from the King.

POWIS.
I pray God the lord Herbert be not dead,
And the King, hearing whither I am gone,
Hath sent for me.

COBHAM.
Comfort your self my lord, I warrant you.

HARPOOLE.
Fellow, what ails thee? doost thou quake? dost thou
shake? dost thou tremble? ha?

COBHAM.
Peace, you old fool! Sirra, convey this gentleman
in the back way, and bring the other into the walk.