Beauf.
My Lord, it will be late,
Ere you can reach your House.—What, more have You
To say?—Or, know you not, You are expected
Early, to Morrow;—that you waste those Hours,
Which Sleep demands?

Suff.
Why are the Friends of Gloucester
Admitted to him?—I thought, you did propose,
By this Arrest, to disappoint their Meeting.

Beauf.
His meeting Them, at Warwick's.—There, indeed,
His Presence had prov'd fatal.

Suff.
Yet, methinks,
This Liberty should not have been allow'd.

Beauf.
I judged it otherwise: And, accordingly,
Instructed the Centinels; lest, it might seem
Too rigorous a Proceeding, in the King.
Beside; were his Confinement more severe,
It might create Suspicion—

Suff.
Suspicion?—Of What?

Beauf.
A Clamour,—I would say:—But, this Day's Hurry
Disjoints my Words.—

Suff.
Here comes the Queen!—What can it mean?—

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