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To have this young one made a christian.
A's I have made ye one, lords, one remain :
So I grow ftronger, you more honour gain.



The Palace-yard.

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man. Port. Ou'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals; do you take the Court for Paris Garden? ye rude flaves, 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 ftaves, and ftrong ones; 4 these are but fwitches. To 'em. I'll fcratch your heads; you must be feeing chriftnings? do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rafcals?


Man. Pray Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible (Unless we swept them from the door with cannons) To fcatter '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 see the poor remainder) could diftribute, I made no fpare, 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 fpar'd any that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or fhe, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to fee a chine again; and that I would not for a cow, God fave her.

4 Thefe are but switches to 'em.] To what, or whom? We should point it thus,..

Thefe are but faitubes.—To 'em.

i.e. bave at you, as we now fay. He fays this as he turns upon the mob...


Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter?
Port. I fhall be with you prefently, good Mr.

Keep the door clofe, firrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What fhould you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? is this Morefields to mufter in? or have we fome ftrange Indian with the great tool come to Court, the women fo befiege us? blefs me! what a fry of fornication is at the door? on my christian confcience, this one chriftning will beget a thousand; here will be father, god-father, and all together.

Man. The fpoons will be the bigger, Sir. There is a fellow fomewhat near the door, he should be a brafier by his face; for, o' my confcience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nofe; all that ftand 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 nofe difcharged againft me; he ftands there like a mortar-piece to

blow us up. There was a haberdasher's wife of

fmall wit near him, that rail'd upon me 'till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling fuch a combuftion in the state. I mift the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cry'd out, Clubs! when I might fee from far fome forty truncheoneers, draw to her fuccour ; 5 which were the hope of the ftrand, where fhe was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to th' broomftaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower of pibbles, loose shot, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work; the devil was a mongst 'em, I think, furely.

5 Which were the hope of the ftrand,] i. e. fuch as, by another metaphor, he might have called the flower. But the Oxford Editor, in an ill humour, degrades them to the forlorn hope; and this is called emending.


Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhoufe; and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the Tribulation of Tower-Hill, or the limbs of Limehoufe, 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; befides the running banquet of two beadles, that is to come.

Enter Lord Chamberlain.

Cham. Mercy o' me! what a multitude are here? They grow ftill too; from all parts they are coming, As if we kept a fair. Where are thefe 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 ftore of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from th' christening?

Port. Please your Honour,

We are but men; and what fo 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 fuddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: y'are lazy knaves:
And here ye lye baiting of bumbards, when
Ye fhould do fervice. Hark, the trumpets found;
Th' are come already from the christening;
Go break among the prefs, and find a way out
To let the troop pafs fairly; or I'll find
A Marfbalfea, thall hold ye play these two months.
Port. Make way there for the Princess.

Man. You great fellow, ftand 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.



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Changes to the Palace.

Enter Trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's Ataff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great ftanding bowls for the chrifining gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Dutchess of Norfolk, god-mother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, &c. Train born by a lady: then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, the other god-mother, and ladies. The Troop pass once about the ftage, and Garter speaks.


And ever happy, to the high and mighty.
Princefs of England, fair Elizabeth!

Gart. Heav'n, from thy endless goodness fend long life,

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Flourish. Enter King and Guard.

Cran. And to your royal Grace, and the good

My noble partners and my self thus pray;
All comfort, joy, in this moft gracious lady,
That heav'n e'er laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye!

King. Thank you, good lord Archbishop:
What is her name?

Cran. Elizabeth.
King. Stand up, lord.

With this kifs take my bleffing: God protect thee,
Into whofe hand I give thy life.

Cran. Amen.

King. My noble goffips, y'have been too prodigal,. I thank you heartily: fo fhall this lady, When he has fo much English.

Cran. Let me fpeak, Sir;

(For Heav'n now bids me) and the words I utter, Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth..

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This royal Infant, (heaven ftill move about her}
Though in her cradle, yet now promifes
Upon this land a thousand thousand bleffings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be
(But few now living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all Princes living with her,
And all that shall fucceed. Sheba was never -
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue,
Than this bleft foul shall be. All Princely graces,
That mould up fuch a mighty piece as this,
With all the virtues that attend the good,.

Shall ftill be doubled on her. Truth fhall nurse her:
Holy and heav'nly thoughts ftill counsel her:

"She fhall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her;


"Her foes shake, like a field of beaten corn, "And hang their heads with forrow. Good grows with her.

"In her days, ev'ry man fhall eat in safety,
"Under his own vine, what he plants and fing
"The merry fongs of peace to all his neighbours.
"God fhall be truly known, and those about her
"From her fhall read the perfect ways of honour,
"And claim by those their Greatness, not by blood..
"Nor fhall this peace fleep with her; but as when.
"The bird of wonder dies, the maiden Phoenix,
"Her afhes new create another heir,.

"As great in admiration as her self ;
"So fhall fhe leave her bleffedness to one,


(When heav'n fhall call her from this cloud of darknefs)

"Who from the facred afhes of her honour

"Shall far-like rife, as great in fame as fhe was,

"And fo ftand fix'd. Peace, Plenty, Love, Truth, Terrour,

"That were the fervants to this chofen infant,
"Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ;
"Where-ever the bright fun of heav'n shall shine,
"His honour and the greatness of his name.

66 Shall be, and make new nations. He fhall flourish, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches



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