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Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be
(But few now living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all Princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed. Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue,
Than this blest soul shall be. All Princely graces
That mould up such a mighty piece as this,
With all the virtues that attend the good,
Shall still be doubled on her. Truth fhall nurse her,
Holy, and heav'nly thoughts still counsel her:
She shall be loy'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her,
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with

her.
In her days ev'ry man shall cat in safety
Under his own vine, what he plants, and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.
God shall be truly known, and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And claim by those their greatness: not by blood.
Nor shall this peace seep with her; but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden Phænix,
Her ashes new create another heir,
As great in admiration as her self;
So ihall she leave her blessedness to one,
(When heav'n shall call her from this cloud of darkness)
Who from the sacred ashes of her honour
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix’d. Peace, plenry, love, truth, terrour,
That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;
Where-ever the bright sun of heav'n fhall shine,
His honour and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations. He shall flourilh,
And like a mountain cedar reach his branches
To all the plains about him: children's children
Shall see this, and bless heav'n.

King. Thou speakest wonders.

Cran. She shall be to the happiness of England, An aged Princess; many days shall see her,

And

And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had known no more ; but she must die,
She muft, the saints must have her ; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lilly shall she pass
To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

King. O lord Arch-bishop,
Thou'st made me now a man; never, before
This happy child, did I get any thing.
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me,
That when I am in heav'n, I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my maker.
I thank

ye
all

to you, my good Lord-mayor,
And you good brethren, I am much beholden:
I have receiv'd much honour by your presence,
And

ye

shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords, Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye, She will be fick else. This day no man think H'as business at his house, for all shall stay, This little one fall make it holy-day, (Exeunt,

E PI

E P I L O G U E, T'S.

*IS ten to one shis play can never please

All that are here : fome come to take their eafein And seep an act or two; but those we fear We've frighted with our trumpets: fo 'tis clear They'll say 'tis naught. Others, to hear the city Abus'd extreamly, and to cry that's witty; which we have not done neither ; that I fear All the expected good w'are like to hear For this play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good women; (For such a one we shew'd 'em) If they smile, And say't will do; I know within a while All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap, If they hold when their Ladies bid 'em clap:

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