(You fee the poor remainder) could distribute I made no spare, 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 spar'd any that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to fee a chine again, and that I would not for a cow, God save her. Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter! Port. I shall be with you presently, good Mr. Pup py. Keep the door close, sirrah. Man. What would you have me do? Port. What should you do, but knock 'em downby the dozens? is this Morefields to muster in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? blefs me! what a, fry of fornication is at the door? on my christian conscience, this one christning will beget a thousand, here will be father, god-father, and all together. Man. The spoons will be the bigger, Sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brasier by his face, for o' my confcience twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; 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 stands there like a mortar-piece to blow us up. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that rail'd upon me 'till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combuftion in the state. I mist the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cry'd out Clubs, when I might fee fome forty truncheons draw to her fuccour, which were the hope of the strand, where she was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broom-staff with me, I defy'd 'em still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd such a shower of pibbles, loose shot, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work; the devil was amongst 'em, I think surely. Port Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation of Tower-hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come. Enter Lord Chamberlain. Cham. Mercy o' me: what a multitude are here? They grow still 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 Port. Please your honour, We are but men, and what fo many may do, Cham. As I live, If the King blame me for 't, I'll lay ye all Man. You great fellow, stand 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 VIII. 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 standing bowls for the christning 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 stage, and Garter speaks. Gart. Heav'n, from thy endless goodness send long life, And ever happy, to the high and mighty Flourish. Enter King and Guard. Cran. And to your royal Grace, and the good Queen, My noble partners and my felf thus pray; King. Thank you, good lord Arch-bishop: What is her name? Cran. Elizabeth. King. Stand up, lord. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee, Into whose hand I give thy life. Cran. Amen. King. My noble gossips, y'have been too prodigal, I thank ye heartily: so shall this lady, (For heav'n now bids me) and the words I utter, Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be And hang their heads with forrow. Good grows with her. In her days ev'ry man shall eat in safety King. Thou speakest wonders. Cran. She shall be to the happiness of England, An aged Princess; many days shall see her, And & ; } And yet no day without a deed to crown it. King. O lord Arch-bishop, Thou'st made me now a man; never, before This happy child, did I get any thing. This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me, That when I am in heav'n, I shall defire To see what this child does, and praise my maker. I thank ye all- - to you, my good Lord-mayor, And you good brethren, I am much beholden: I have receiv'd much honour by your prefence, And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords, Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye, She will be fick else. This day no man think H'as business at his house, for all shall stay, This little one shall make it holy-day, [Exeunt, |