'Would, I had known no more! but she must die, (19) She muft, the Saints must have her yet a Virgin; A moft unfpotted lily fhe fhall pafs

To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
King. O Lord Arch-bishop,

Thou'ft made me now a man; never, before
This happy child, did I get any thing.
This oracle of comfort has fo pleas'd me,
That when I am in heav'n, I fhall defire

To fee what this child does, and praise my maker.
I thank ye all.To you, my good Lord Mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much beholden: (20)
I have receiv'd much honour by your prefence,
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, Lords;
Ye muft all fee the Queen, and fhe muft thank
She will be fick elfe. This day no man think,
H'as business at his houfe, for all shall stay;
This little one shall make it holy day.

ye,

[Exeunt.

(19) Would I bad known no more; but she must die, She muft, the Saints must have ber yet a Virgin, A moft unspotted Lily, &c.] Thus the Editors hitherto, in their Sagacity, have pointed this paffage, and deftroy'd the true Senfe of it. The first part of this Sentence is a Wish: The other should be a forrowful Continuation of the Bishop's Prophecy. But, fure, Cranmer was too wife and pious a Man, too well acquainted with the State of Mortality, to make it a part of his Lamentation that this good Princess must one time or other go to Heaven. the Poet makes a fine Compliment to his Royal Miftrefs's Memory, As I point it, to lament that the muft die without leaving an Heir of her Body be hind her.

(20) And you good Brethren,] But the Aldermen never were call'd Brethren to the King. and Counsellors. Dr. Thirlby, therefore, rightly advis'd; The Top of the Nobility are but Coufins

And your good Brethren

i. e. the Lord Mayor's Brethren; which is properly their Style.

I.

RT

EPILOGUE.

'T

are

IS ten to one, this Play can never please
take their ease,
All that are here: fom: come to
And fleep an A&t or two; but those, we fear,
We've frighted with our trumpets! fo 'tis clear,
They'll fay, it's naught. Others, to hear the city
Abus'd extremely, 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 conftruction of good wɔmen ;
(For fuch a one we fhew'd'em) If they smile,
And fay, 'twill do ; I know within a while
All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
If they bold, when their ladies bid 'em clap.