But I am much beholden to your King.
Have you aught else to tell me?
FERIA. Nothing, Madam,
Save that methought I gather'd from the Queen
That she would see your Grace before she--died.
ELIZABETH. God's death! and wherefore spake you not before?
We dally with our lazy moments here,
And hers are number'd. Horses there, without!
I am much beholden to the King, your master.
Why did you keep me prating? Horses, there!
[_Exit_ ELIZABETH, _etc_.
FERIA. So from a clear sky falls the thunderbolt!
Don Carlos? Madam, if you marry Philip,
Then I and he will snaffle your 'God's death,'
And break your paces in, and make you tame;
God's death, forsooth--you do not know King Philip.
[_Exit_.
SCENE IV.--LONDON. BEFORE THE PALACE.
_A light burning within_. VOICES _of the night passing_.
FIRST. Is not yon light in the Queen's chamber?
SECOND. Ay,
They say she's dying.
FIRST. So is Cardinal Pole.
May the great angels join their wings, and make
Down for their heads to heaven!
SECOND. Amen. Come on.
[_Exeunt_.
TWO OTHERS.
FIRST. There's the Queen's light. I hear she cannot live.
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