_Enter_ LADY.
LADY. O Lord! your Grace, your Grace,
I feel so happy: it seems that we shall fly
These bald, blank fields, and dance into the sun
That shines on princes.
ELIZABETH. Yet, a moment since,
I wish'd myself the milkmaid singing here,
To kiss and cuff among the birds and flowers--
A right rough life and healthful.
LADY. But the wench
Hath her own troubles; she is weeping now;
For the wrong Robin took her at her word.
Then the cow kick'd, and all her milk was spilt.
Your Highness such a milkmaid?
ELIZABETH. I had kept
My Robins and my cows in sweeter order
Had I been such.
LADY (_slyly_). And had your Grace a Robin?
ELIZABETH. Come, come, you are chill here; you want the sun
That shines at court; make ready for the journey.
Pray God, we 'scape the sunstroke. Ready at once.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE VI.--LONDON. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
LORD PETRE _and_ LORD WILLIAM HOWARD.
PETRE. You cannot see the Queen. Renard denied her,
Ev'n now to me.
HOWARD. Their Flemish go-between
And all-in-all. I came to thank her Majesty
For freeing my friend Bagenhall from the Tower;
A grace to me! Mercy, that herb-of-grace,
Flowers now but seldom.
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