SCENE changes to the Palace.

Enter Trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's ftaff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great fanding 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 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 fend 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 myself 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 Arch-bishop: 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 she has so much English.

Cran. Let me speak, Sir;

(For Heav'n now bids me) and the words I utter,
Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth.
This royal Infant, (heaven ftill move about her)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand bleffings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be

(But

(But few or none living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all Princes living with her,
And all that fhall fucceed. Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue,
Than this bleft foul fhall 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 fhall bless her;
Her foes fhake, 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 fafety,
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 ashes new create another heir,
As great in admiration as herself;

So fhall fhe leave her bleffedness to one,

(When heav'n fhall call her from this cloud of darkness) Who from the facred ashes of her honour

Shall star like rise, as great in fame as she was,

And fo stand 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 fhall shine,
His honour and the greatness of his name

Shall be, and make new nations. He fhall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
To all the plains about him: childrens' children
Shall fee this, and blefs heav'n.

King. Thou fpeakest wonders.

Cran. She fhall be, to the happiness of England,
An aged Princefs; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.

'Would,

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

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

Thou't 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 shall 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 presence,
And ye fhall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords:
Ye must all fee the Queen, and she must thank ye,
She will be fick elfe. This day no man think,
H'as business at his house, for all shall stay;
This little one shall make it holy-day.

[Exeunt.

(19) Would I had known no more: but She must die, She muft, the Saints must have her; yet a Virgin, A most unfpotted Lilly, &c.] Thus the Editors hitherto, in their Sagacity, have pointed this Paffage, and destroy'd the true Senfe of it. The first part of this Sentence is a Wish: The other fhould 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 Princefs must one time or other go to Heaven. As I point it, the Poet makes a fine Compliment to his Royal Mistress's Memory, to lament that the muft die without leaving an Heir of her Body behind her.

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

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

The Bishop's lous a Man make it p ft one time t makes a to lament

y behind be

EPILOGUE.

'T

IS ten to one, this Plag can never please
All that are here: Some come to take their cafe,
And fleep an act 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 wom'n;
(For fuch a one we fhew'd 'em) If they fmile,
And fay, 'twill do; I know within a while
All the beft men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
If they hold, when their ladies bid'em clap.

The End of the Fifth Volume.