My mindes not on't, you are too hard for me

Suff. Sir, I did neuer win of you before

King. But little Charles,
Nor shall not when my Fancies on my play.
Now Louel, from the Queene what is the Newes

Lou. I could not personally deliuer to her
What you commanded me, but by her woman,
I sent your Message, who return'd her thankes
In the great'st humblenesse, and desir'd your Highnesse
Most heartily to pray for her

King. What say'st thou? Ha?
To pray for her? What is she crying out?
Lou. So said her woman, and that her suffrance made
Almost each pang, a death

King. Alas good Lady

Suf. God safely quit her of her Burthen, and
With gentle Trauaile, to the gladding of
Your Highnesse with an Heire

King. 'Tis midnight Charles,
Prythee to bed, and in thy Prayres remember
Th' estate of my poore Queene. Leaue me alone,
For I must thinke of that, which company
Would not be friendly too