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He that dares moft, but wag his finger at thee.
By all that's holy, he had better starve,

Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
Sur. May't please your Grace

King. No, Sir, it does not please me.
I thought I had men of understanding
And wisdom, of my council; but I find none.
Was it difcretion, lords, to let this man,

This good man, (few of you deserve that title)
This honeft man, wait like a lowfie foot-boy
At chamber door, and one as great as you are?
Why what a fhame was this? did
my commiffion
Bid ye. fo far forget your felves? I gave ye
Pow'r, as he was a counfellor, to try him,
Not as a groom. There's fome of ye, I fee,
More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye means,
Which ye fhall never have, while I do live.

Cham. My moft dread Sovereign, may it like your
Grace

To let my tongue excufe all. Whas was purpos'd
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather,
If there be faith in men, meant for his tryal,
And fair purgation to the world, than malice;
I'm fure in me.

King. Well, well, my lords refpect him:
Take him, and ufe him well; he's worthy of it,
I will fay thus much for him, If a Prince
May be beholden to a fubject, I

Am, for his love and fervice, fo to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
Be friends for fhame, my lords. My lord of Canterbury,
I have a fuit which you must not deny me.
There is a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In fuch an honour; how may I deferve it,
That am a poor and humble fubject to you?
King. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your fpoons:
you fhall have

Two

Two noble partners with you: the old Dutchefs
Of Norfolk, and the lady Marquefs Dorfet

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 heav'n

Witnefs, how dear I hold this confirmation.

King. Good man, those joyful tears fhew thy true heart;

The common voice I fee is verify'd

Of thee, which fays thus: do my lord of Canterbury
But one fhrewd turn, and he's your friend for ever.
Come, lords, we trifle time away: I long
To have this young one made a christian.
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain:
So I grow ftronger, ye more honour gain.

SCENE VII.

[Exe

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.

Port

You'll

do

'Ou'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals; you take the court for Paris Garden? ye: rude flaves, leave your gaping.

Within. Good Mr. Porter, I belong to th' larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows and be hang'd, ye rogue: is this a place to roar in? fetch me a dozen crab-tree ftaves, and strong ones; these are but fwitches to 'em : I'll fcratch your heads; you must be seeing chriftnings? do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rafcals?

Man. Pray Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible (Unless we fwept them from the door with cannons) To fcatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em fleep On May-day morning, which will never be: We may as well pufh against Paul's, as ftir 'em. Port. How got they in, and be hang'd? Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?

As much as one found cudgel of four foot

(You

(You fee the poor remainder) could diftribute Ì made no fpare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand, to mow 'em down before me; but if I fpar'd any that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or fhe, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again; and that I would not for a cow, God fave her.

Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter!

Port. I fhall be with you prefently, good Mr. Pup py. Keep the door clofe, firrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What fhould you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? is this Morefields to mufter in? or have we fome ftrange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women fo befiege us? blefs me! what a, fry of fornication is at the door? on my chriftian confcience, this one chriftning will beget a thoufand, here will be father, god-father, and all together.

Man. The fpoons will be the bigger, Sir. There is a fellow fomewhat near the door, he should be a brafier by his face, for o' my confcience twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nofe; 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 nofe discharged against me; he ftands there like a mortar-piece to blow us up. There was a haberdasher's wife of fmall wit near him, that rail'd upon me 'till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling fuch a combuftion in the ftate. I mift the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cry'd out Clubs, when I might fee fome forty truncheons draw to her fuccour, which were the hope of the ftrand, where fhe was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broom-staff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower of pibbles, loose shot, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work; the devil was amongst 'em, I think furely.

Port.

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhoufe, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation of Tower-bill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have fome of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; befides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.

Enter Lord Chamberlain.

Cham. Mercy o'me: what a multitude are here?
They grow ftill too; from all parts they are coming,
As if we kept a fair. Where are these porters
These lazy knaves? ye've made a fine hand, fellows?
There's a trim rabble let in, are all these

Your faithful friends o' th' fuburbs? we shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pafs back from th' criftning?

Port. Please your honour,

We are but men, and what fo many may do,
Not being torn in pieces, we have done:
An army cannot rule 'em.

Cham. As I live,

If the King blame me for 't, I'll lay ye all
By th' heels, and fuddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: y'are lazy knaves,
And here ye lye baiting of bombards, when
Ye fhould do fervice. Hark, the trumpets found,
Th' are come already from the chriftening;
Go break among the prefs, and find a way out
To let the troop pafs fairly; or I'll find

A Marshalfea fhall hold ye play these two months.
Port. Make way there for the Princess.

Man. You great fellow, ftand close up, or I'll make your head ake.

Port. You i'th' camblet, get up o'th' rail, I'll peck you o'er the pales elfe.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE VIII.

Enter trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's ftaff, Duke of Suffolk, two noblemen bearing great ftanding bowls for the chriftning gifts; then four noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Dutchefs of Norfolk, god-mother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, &c. Train born by a lady; then follows the marchionefs of Dorlet, the other god-mother, and ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter Speaks:

Gart. Heav'n, from thy endlefs goodness fend long life,

And ever happy, to the high and mighty
Princefs of England, fair Elizabeth.

Flourish. Enter King and Guard.

Cran. And to your royal Grace, and the good Queen,
My noble partners and my felf thus pray;
All comfort, joy, in this moft gracious lady,

That heav'n e'er laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye!

King. Thank you, good lord Arch-bishop:
What is her name?

Cran. Elizabeth.

King. Stand up, lord.

With this kifs take my bleffing: God protect thee, Into whofe hand I give thy life.

Cran. Amen.

King. My noble goffips, y'have been too prodigal, I thank ye heartily: fo fhall this lady, When fhe has fo much English.

Cran. Let me fpeak, Sir,

(For heav'n now bids me) and the words I utter,
Let none think flatt'ry, for they'll find 'em truth.
This royal infant, (heav'n still move about her)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,

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