[719] _husband, let ... noble:_] Pope. _husband, let ... noble,_ Rowe. _husband (let ... noble)_ Ff. _husband; let ... noble;_ Capell. [720] _the poorest_] _o' th' poorest_ S. Walker conj. [721] _by_] om. Pope. [722] _to have given_] _to've giv'n_ Hanmer. [723] _able_] _abler_ S. Walker conj. [724] _Say_] Ff. _And tell him_ Pope. _Say to him_ Keightley. _passing_] _passing from him_ Capell. _passing fast_ or _passing, passing_ Anon. conj. [725] [Exeunt Capucius and Griffith. Edd. conj. [726] [Enter women. Edd. conj. ACT V. SCENE I. _London. A gallery in the palace._[727] _Enter_ GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester, _a_ Page _with a torch before him, met by_ SIR THOMAS LOVELL. _Gar._ It's one o'clock, boy, is't not? _Boy._ It hath struck. _Gar._ 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? 5 _Lov._ Came you from the king, my lord?[728] _Gar._ I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero[729] With the Duke of Suffolk. _Lov._ I must to him too, Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. _Gar._ Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter? 10 It seems you are in haste: an if there be[730] 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 15 That seeks dispatch by day. _Lov._ My lord, I love you; And durst commend a secret to your ear Much weightier than this work. The queen's in labour,[731] They say, in great extremity; and fear'd[732] She'll with the labour end. _Gar._ The fruit she goes with[733] 20 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. _Lov._ Methinks I could Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says[734] She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 25 Deserve our better wishes. _Gar._ But, sir, sir, Hear me, Sir Thomas: you're a gentleman[735] Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;[736] And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, 'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me, 30 Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, Sleep in their graves.