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Chan. This is too much;

Forbear, for shame, my lords.

Gard. I have done.

Crom. And I.

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord,-It stands agreed,

I take it, by all voices, that forthwith

You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;

There to remain, 'till the king's further pleasure

Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords?
All. We are.

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy,

But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?

Gard. What other

Would you expect? You are ftrangely troublesome.
Let fome o' the guard be ready there.

Cran. For me?

Enter Guard.

Muft I go like a traitor thither?

Gard. Receive him,

And fee him fafe i' the Tower.

Cran. Stay, good my lords,

I have a little yet to fay. Look there, my lords;
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause

Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it

To a most noble judge, the king my master.
Cham. This is the king's ring.

Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit.

Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous ftone a rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves.

Nor. Do you think, my lords,

The king will fuffer but the little finger

Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham. 'Tis now too certain :

How much more is his life in value with him?

'Would I were fairly out on't.

• Crom. My mind gave me,

In feeking tales, and informations,
Against this man, (whofe honesty the devil

And his difciples only envy at)

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye.

Enter King, frowning on them; takes bis feat.

Gard. Dread fovereign, how much are we bound to heaven

In daily thanks, that gave us fuch a prince;
Not only good and wife, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and, to ftrengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal felf in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

King. You were ever good at fudden commendations,
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear fuch flatteries now, and in my prefence;
They are too thin and bafe to hide offences.
To 'one you cannot reach you play the spaniel;
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'ft me for, I am fure,
Thou haft a cruel nature, and a bloody.-

Good man, fit down. Now let me see the proudeft
[To Cranmer.

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 it please your grace-

h me.

King. No, fir, it does not please me.

I had thought, I had men of fome understanding
And wisdom, of my council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,

This good man, (few of you deferve that title)
This honeft man, wait like a lowly foot-boy
At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this? Did my commiffion
Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Power as he was a counsellor 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 mean;
Which ye shall never have, while I live.

Chan. Thus far,

My most dread fovereign, 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 fure, in me.

King. Well, well, my lords, respect him; Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. I will fay thus much for him, If a prince

May be beholden to a subject, 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 baptifm;
You must be godfather, and answer for her.

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In fuch an honour; How may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble fubject to you?

King. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons: you shall have

Two noble partners with you; the old dutchefs of Nor

folk,

And lady marquifs Dorfet; 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.

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
A fhrewd turn, and he is 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 stronger, you more honour gain.

[Exeunt.

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter, and his Man.

Port. You'll leave your noife anon, ye rafcals: Do you take the court for Paris-garden? ye rude flaves, leave your gaping.

Within. Good mafter 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

you'd Spare your Spoons:]-the prefent ufually made at christenings by the goips-thefe fpoons were fometimes called also apostle spoons, from the figures of thofe faints being carved on the tops.

Paris-garden ?]-the bear garden of that time.

staves,

ftaves, and strong ones; these are but 'fwitches to 'em.I'll scratch your heads: You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rafcals ?

Man. Pray, fir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons) To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em fleep "On May-day morning; which will never be : We may as well push 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 fee the poor remainder) could diftribute, I made no spare, fir.

Port. You did nothing, fir.

Man. I am not Sampfon, nor "fir Guy, nor Colbrand, to mow 'em down before me: but, if I fpar'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 fave her.

Within. Do you hear, master Porter?

Port. I fhall be with you prefently, good master

py. Keep the door close, firrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

pup

Port. What should you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Morefields to mufter in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women fo befiege us? Blefs me, what a fry of fornication is at door! O' my chriftian confcience, this one christening

fwitches to 'em.]-in their eftimation, the mob regard them no more. On May-day morning ;]—

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM, A& IV. S. I. The. afir Guy, nor Colbrand,]-Guy earl of Warwick vanquished the Danish giant Colbrand at Winchefer.

• I would not]-fay, if false.

Y y 3

will