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That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal self in judgment comes to hear

The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden com-

Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such flatteries now, and in my presence;
They are too thin and bare to hide offences.

To me you cannot reach. You play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure,
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody.-
[To CRANMER.] Good man, sit down.

Now let me

see the proudest,

He that dares most, 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 it please your grace,—

K. Hen.

No, sir, it does not please me I had thought, I had had men of some under


And wisdom of my Council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,

This good man,-few of you deserve that title,
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
At chamber-door and one as great as you are?

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Why, what a shame was this!

Did my commission Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye Power, as he was a Councillor to try him, Not as a groom. There's some of ye, I see, More out of malice than integrity, Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ; Which


shall never have while I live. Chan.

Thus far, My most dread sove

vereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed Concerning his imprisonment, was rather -If there be faith in men-meant for his trial And fair prirgation to the world, than malice, I'm sure, in me.

K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; Take him, and use him well ; he's worthy of it. I will say thus much for him,-if a prince May be beholding to a subject, I Am, for his love and service, so to him.

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 ? K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your

spoons. You shall have Two noble partners with you ; the old Duchess of

Norfolk, And Lady Marquess Dorset : will these please you ? Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace, and love this man. Gar.

With a true heart, And brother-love, I do it Cran.

And let Heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. K. llen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy

true heart. The common voice, I see, is verified Of thee, which says thus, 'Do my Lord of Canter


SCENE III. - The Palace Yard.

Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his

Мап. .

Port. You 'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you take the Court for Paris-garden! Ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

[Within.] Good master Porter, I belong to the larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue !- Is this a place to roar in 1–Fetch me a dozen c ab-tree staves, and strong ones : these are but so itches to them. -I'll scratch your heads : you m' st be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale an I cakes here, you rude rascals ? Mo 2. Pray, sir, be patient : 't is as much im

possible, Unlı ss we sweep them from the door with cannons,

You see the poor remainder-could distribute,

I made no spare, sir.


You did nothing, sir.

Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,

To mow them down before me; but if I spared any
That had a head to hit, either young or old,
He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,

Let me ne'er 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?

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! On 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 brazier by his face, for o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose: all that stand

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