King. Good man, thofe joyful tears fhew 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 have this young one made a christian.

As I have made ye one, Lords, one remain:

So I grow ftronger, you more honour gain. [Exeunt.

SCENE, the Palace-yard.

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.

•You'

Port. 'Ou'll leave your noise anon, ye rafcals; 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;, these are but fwitches to 'em : I'll feratch 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 fwept them from the door with cannons) To scatter '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 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. Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter.

Port.

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 Moorfields to muster 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 chriftian 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 fhonld be a brafier by his face; for, o' my confcience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nofe; 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 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. Imist 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; which were the hope of the ftrand, where she was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower of pebbles, loose fhot, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work; the devil was amongst 'em, I think, furely.

Port. Thefe 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 Limeboufe, 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

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 thefe,

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' chriftning?
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 lie 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 pass fairly; or I'll find

A Marfbalfea, hall hold you play these two months.
Port. Make way 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

SCENE changes to the Palace.

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
ftanding bowls for the chriftning gifts; then four Noble-
men bearing a canopy, under which the Dutchess of
Norfolk, god-mother, bearing the child richly habited in
a mantle, &c. Train borne by a lady: then follows the
Marchionefs of Dorfet, the other god-mother, and ladies.
The troop pass once about the ftage, and Garter fpeaks.
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 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 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 the 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.
This royal Infant, (heav'n ftill move about her)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thoufand thoufand bleffings,
Which time shall bring to ripenefs. She fhall 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 nurfe her:
Holy and heav'nly thoughts ftill counsel her:

She fhall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own fhall 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 thofe about her
From her fhall read the perfect ways of honour,
And claim by those their Greatnefs, 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 herself;

So fhall the leave her bleffedness to one,

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

Shall ftar-like rife, as great in fame as fhe was,

And so ftand fix'd. Peace, Plenty, Love, Truth, Terror,
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 greatnefs 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 bless heav'n.

King. Thou fpeakeft wonders.

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

'Would,