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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'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 discretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deferve that title)
This honest man, wait like a lowsie foot-boy
At chamber door, and one as great as you are?
Why what a shame was this? did my commission
Bid ye fo far forget your selves? I gave ye
Pow'r, as he was a counsellor, 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 means
Which ye shall never have, while I do live.

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,
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 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 fubject, I
Am, for his love and service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
Be friends for shame, 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 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
Of Norfolk, and the lady Marquess 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

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
But one shrewd 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 stronger, ye more honour gain.

[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,
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 suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: y'are lazy knaves,
And here ye lye baiting of bombards, when
Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets found,
Th'are come already from the chriftening;
Go break among the press, and find a way out
To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find
A Marshalfea shall hold ye play these two months.
Port. Make way there for the Princess.

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
Princess of England, fair Elizabeth.

Flourish. Enter King and Guard.

Cran. And to your royal Grace, and the good Queen,

My noble partners and my self thus pray;
All comfort, joy, in this most 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 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,
When she has so much English.
Cran. Let me speak, 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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