Came you from the King, my lord?

Lovell
Came you from the King, my lord?
Gardiner
I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero
With the Duke of Suffolk.
Lovell
I must to him too,
Before he go to bed. I’ll take my leave.
Gardiner
Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What’s the matter?
It seems you are in haste. An if there be
No great offense 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
That seeks dispatch by day.

And let me tell you, it will ne’er be well,
’Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take ’t of me,
Till Cranmer, Cromwell—her two hands—and she
Sleep in their graves.

Lovell
My lord, I love you,
And durst commend a secret to your ear
Much weightier than this work. The Queen’s in labor—
They say in great extremity—and feared
She’ll with the labor end.
Gardiner
The fruit she goes with
I pray for heartily, that it may find
Good time and live; but for the stock, Sir Thomas,
I wish it grubbed up now.
Lovell
Methinks I could
Cry the amen, and yet my conscience says
She’s a good creature and, sweet lady, does
Deserve our better wishes.
Gardiner
But, sir, sir,
Hear me, Sir Thomas. You’re a gentleman
Of mine own way. I know you wise, religious;
And let me tell you, it will ne’er be well,
’Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take ’t of me,
Till Cranmer, Cromwell—her two hands—and she
Sleep in their graves.
Lovell
Now, sir, you speak of two
The most remarked i’ th’ kingdom. As for Cromwell,
Besides that of the Jewel House, is made Master
O’ th’ Rolls and the King’s secretary; further, sir,
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments,
With which the time will load him. Th’ Archbishop
Is the King’s hand and tongue, and who dare speak
One syllable against him?
Gardiner
Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,
There are that dare, and I myself have ventured
To speak my mind of him. And indeed this day,
Sir—I may tell it you, I think—I have
Incensed the lords o’ th’ Council that he is—
For so I know he is, they know he is—
A most arch heretic, a pestilence
That does infect the land; with which they, moved,
Have broken with the King, who hath so far
Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace
And princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefs
Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded
Tomorrow morning to the Council board
He be convented. He’s a rank weed, Sir Thomas,
And we must root him out. From your affairs
I hinder you too long. Goodnight, Sir Thomas.
Lovell
Many good nights, my lord. I rest your servant.
 Gardiner and Page exit