Make haste, my lord of Suffolk, as you love us.
Butler, post you to London with all speed;
Command the Mayor and shrieves, on their allegiance,
The city gates be presently shut up
And guarded with a strong sufficient watch,
And not a man be suffered to pass
Without a special warrant from our self.
Command the Postern by the Tower be kept,
And proclamation, on the pain of death,
That not a citizen stir from his doors,
Except such as the Mayor and Shrieves shall choose
For their own guard and safety of their persons.
Butler, away; have care unto my charge.

BUTLER.
I go, my Sovereign.

KING.
Butler!

BUTLER.
My Lord.

KING.
Go down by Greenwich, and command a boat
At the Friar's bridge attend my coming down.

BUTLER.
I will, my Lord.