Not as a groom. There's fome of ye, I see,,
More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye means;
Which ye
fhall never have, while I do live.
Cham. My most dread Sovereign, may it like your
Grace

To let my tongue excufe all. What 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, refpect 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, fo to him..

Make me no more ado, but all embrace him:

Be friends for fhame, my lords. My lord of Canaterbury,

I have a fuit which you must not deny me,

There is a fair young maid, that yet wants baptism:
You must be godfather, and anfwer for her.

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

1

King. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your fpoons;
you shall have

Two noble partners with you: the old Dutchefs
Of Norfolk, and the lady Marquefs 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 heaven

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation,

King. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true, heart:

The common voice, I fee, is verify'd

Of thee, which fays thus: do my lord of Canterbury-
But one fhrewd turn, and he's your friend for ever.
Come, lords, we trifle time away: I long

To

L

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.

SCENE VII.

The Palace-yard.

[Exeunt

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man. Ou'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals; do

Fort. 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 staves, 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 rascals?

Man. Pray Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible (Unless we fwept 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 pufh against Paul's, as stir '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 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 These are but faitches to 'em.] To what, or whom? We should point it thus, Thefe are but faitches.To 'em.

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

mob...

Within.

Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter?

Port. I fhall be with you prefently, good Mr.

Puppy.

Keep the door close, 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 some strange 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 against me; he stands 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 combustion 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 he 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 mongft 'em, I think, furely.

5 Which were the hope of the strand,] 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 bope; and this is called emending.

Port.

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 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 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

t

SCENE VIII.

Changes to the Palace.

Enter Trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with bis Marshal's Raff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great fanding bowls for the chriftning gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Dutchefs 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.

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

And ever happy, to the high and mighty
Princefs 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 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.