Imatges de pÓgina

Was it difcretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deferve that title)
This honeft man, wait like a lowfie foot-boy
At chamber-door, and one as great as you are?`
Why, what a fhame was this? did my commiffion
Bid ye fo far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Pow'r, as he was a counsellor to try him;
Not as a groom. There's fome of ye, I fee,
More out of malice than integrity,
Would try him to the utmoft, had ye means;
Which ye fhall never have, while I do live.

Cham. My most dread Sovereign, may it like your

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 ufe him well; he's worthy of it...
I will fay thus much for him, if a Prince
May be beholden to a subject, I

Am, for his love and fervice, fo to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him:

Be friends for fhame, my lords. My lord of Canterbury,
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 answer for her.

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

King. Come, come, my lord, you'd fpare your spoons :
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 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.

SCENE, the Palace-yard.

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.


'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 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 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 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 distribute,
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. I fhall be with you presently, 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 fome ftrange Indian with the great tool co 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 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 nose discharged 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 combuflion in the ftate. I mist 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 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, loofe 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-Hil, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have fome of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance


thefe 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' chriftning?
Port. Please your Honour,

We are but men; and what so 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
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 month.
Port. Make way for the Princess.

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.



SCENE changes to the Palace.

Enter Trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's faff, 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 Marchionefs of Dorset, the other god-mother, and ladies. The troop pafs once about the flage, and Garter speaks. Gart. Heav'n, from thy endless goodness fend long life, And ever happy, to the high and mighty Princess 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 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, (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


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