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(You see the poor remainder) could distribute Ì made no fpare, Sir.
Port. You did nothing, Sir.
Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Coles brand, to mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or Thé, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see 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 prefently, good Mr. Pap. py. Keep the door closc, firrah.
Man. What would you have me do?
Port. What should you do, but knock 'em down by 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 conscience 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 combustion in the state. I mist the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cry'd out Clubs, when I might see fome forty truncheons draw, to her • succour, which were the hope of the strand, where The 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 ftill; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd such a fhower of pibbles, loose shot, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work; the devil was amongft'em, I think surely.
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 befides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.
Enter Lord Chamberlain.
Cham. Mercy o'me: what a multitude are here?
Port. Please your honour,
Cham, As I live,
To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find
Port. Make way there for the Princess.
Port. You i'th' camblet, get up o'ch' rail, I'll peck you o'er the pales else.
your head ake.
Enter trumpet's 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 chriftning gifts; then four moblemen 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 Princess of England, fair Elizabeth.
Flourish. Enter King and Guard. Cran. And to your royal Grace, and the good Queen, My noble partners and my self 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 kiss take my blessing: God protect thee, Into whose hand I give thy life.
King. My noble gossips, y'have been too prodigal,
Cran. Let me speak, Sir,
Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be
King. Thou speakest wonders.
Cran. She shall be to the happiness of England, An aged Princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
King, o lord Arch-bishop,
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 ftay, This little one shall make it holy-day, (Exeunt.