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Was it difcretion, lords, to let this man,
Cham. My most dread Sovereign, may it like your
To let my tongue excufe all. What was purpos'd
King Well, well, my lords, refpect him:
Am, for his love and fervice, fo to him.
Be friends for fhame, my lords. My lord of Canterbury,
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
King. Come, come, my lord, you'd fpare your spoons :
Two noble partners with you: the old Dutchefs
Gard. With a true heart
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
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
Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
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?
We are but men; and what so many may do,
Cham. As I live,
If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
A Marfbalfea, hall hold you play these two month.
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?
With this kifs take my bleffing: God protect thee,
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,