He that dares most, but wag his finger at thee. Would try him to the utmost, had ye means L Cham. My moft dread Sovereign, may it like your Grace To let my tongue excuse all. Whas was purpos'd Concerning his imprisonment, was rather, King. Well, well, my lords respect 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? King. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare yourspoons: you shall have Two Two noble partners with you: the old Dutchess Gard. With a true heart Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 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 [Exe SCENE VII. Noise and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man. Port You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals; do take court for Paris Garden? ye: rude slaves, 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 staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em : I'll fcratch your heads; you must be seeing christnings? do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals? Man. Pray Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible (Unless we swept them from the door with cannons) To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep On May-day morning, which will never be: Wemay 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 (You see the poor remainder) could distribute I made no spare, 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 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 fee a chine again, and that I would not for a cow, God fave her. Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter ! Port. I shall be with you presently, good Mr. Pap py. 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 Morefields 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 the door? on my christian conscience, this one christning 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 confcience 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 discharged against me; he stands there like a mortar-piece to blow us up. 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 mist the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cry'd out Clubs, when I might fee some forty truncheons draw to her fuccour, which were the hope of the strand, where she 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 still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd such a shower 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 surely. Fort. 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 fome 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 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'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 pass back from th' cristning? Port. Please your honour, We are but men, and what so many may do, Cham. As I live, If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all Man. You great fellow, stand 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 else. [Exeunt. SCENE SCENE VIII. Enter trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's staff, Duke of Suffolk, two noblemen bearing great standing bowls for the chriftning gifts; then four noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Dutchess of Norfolk, god-mother, bearing the child richly habited in pantle, &c. Train born by a lady, then follows the marchioness of Dorset, the other god-mother, and ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter Speaks. a Gart. Heav'n, from thy endless goodness send long life, And ever happy, to the high and mighty Flourish. Enter King and Guard. Cran. And to your royal Grace, and the good Queen, My noble partners and my self thus pray; King. Thank you, good lord Arch-bishop: What is her name? Cran. Elizabeth. King. Stand up, lord. With this kifs take my blessing: God protect thee, Into whose hand I give thy life. Cran. Amen. King. My noble goffips, y'have been too prodigal, I thank ye heartily: so shall this lady, (For heav'n now bids me) and the words I utter, Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, |