YOur Countrey Courtier kisses your hands for the favor you did him in your last Epistle, and tells you he is of opinion with the Secretary in my Lord Newcastles last new play, That the times are dangerous; and there­fore shall say nothing but Mum: Letters have miscarryed, so may mine; therefore I will send you nothing but tail-paper. Tell the Lincoln-shire Round-heads I am theirs to be confided in: I know they covet news, therfore I pray tell them the King is here, and so am I, but Mum, no more of that. Severall Petitions have been delivered to my Soveraigne, but what they are, you shall not know. The King hawks much at the Hiern, it's a high flight, but no more of that neither, nor any thing else at this time, onely that I am