King. No, sir, it does not please me. 410 I had thought, I had men of some understanding Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean; Which ye Chan. Thus far, 420 My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd, Concerning his imprisonment, was rather (If there be faith in men) meant for his trial, And fair purgation to the world, than malice; I am sure, in me. King. Well, well, my lords, respect him; Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. 430 I will say thus much for him, If a prince May be beholden to a subject, I Am, for his love and service, so to him. Make me no more ado, but all embrace him; Be friends, for shame, my lords.-My lord of Can terbury, I have a suit which you must not deny me : 3 There There is a fair young maid, that yet wants baptism; You must be godfather, and answer for her. 440 Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory In such an honour; How may I deserve it, That am a poor and humble subject to you ? King. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons: you shall have Two noble partners with you; the old dutchess of Norfolk, And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please you ?Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace, and love this man. Gard. With a true heart, And brother's love, I do it. Cran. And let heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 450 King. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true heart. The common voice, I see, is verify'd Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canterbury To have this young one made a Christian. [Exeunt. SCENE The Palace Yard. Noise and Tumult within: Enter Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: Do you take the court for Paris-Garden? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping. 461 Within. Good master porter, I belong to the larder. · Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hang'd, you rogue. Is this a place to roar in?-Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em.-I'll scratch your heads: You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals? Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossi ble 471 (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons) Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide in ? (You see the poor remainder) could distribute, Port. You did nothing, sir. 479 Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, to mow 'em down before me; but, if I spar'd any, that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again; and that I would not for a cow, God save her. Within. Do you hear, master porter? Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.-Keep the door close, sirrah. Man. What would you have me do? 489 Port. What should you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! O' my christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, god-father, and all together. Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brasier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance: That fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharg'd against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that rail'd upon me 'till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor once, and hit that woman, whọ cry'd out, clubs! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the hope of the strand, where she was quarter'd. They They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff with me, I defy'd 'em still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, deliver'd such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work: The devil was amongst 'em, I think, surely. 517 Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-Hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is to come. Enter the Lord Chamberlain. Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, As if we kept a fair! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves ? Ye have made a fine hand, fellows. There's a trim rabble let in: Are all these 529 Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, When they pass back from the christening. Port. Please your honour, We are but men; and what so many may do, An army cannot rule 'em. Cham. As I live, If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all |