« PreviousContinue »
Enter the Gward,
Gard. Receive him,
Gran. Stay, good my lords,
Cham. This is the King's Ring.
Nor. D' you think, my lords,
Cham. 'Tis now too certain.
Crom. My mind gave me,
Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat.
They are too thin and base to hide offences.
Sur. May't please your Grace --
King. No, Sir, it does not please me.
Cham. My most dread Sovereign, may it like your Grace
King. Well, well, my lords, respect him : Take him, and use him well; he's worthy of it. I will say thus much for him, if a Prince May be beholden to a subject, I Am, for his love and fervice, so to him. Make me no more ado, but all embrace him : Be friends for shame, my lords. My lord of Canterbury, I have a suit which you must not deny me. There is a fair young maid, that yet wants baptism;
ye, I see,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory In such an honour ; how may I deserve it, That am a poor and humble subject to you? King. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons :
you shall have Two noble
you:'the old Dutchess
Gard. With a true heart
Cran. And let heav'n
King. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true heart:
SCENE, the Palace-yard.
take the Court for Paris Garden ? ye rude Naves, leave your gaping.
Witbin. 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 staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to’em: I'll scratch your heads; you must be seeing christnings? do you
look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals ?
Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible (Unless we swept them from the door with cannons) To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day morning, which will never be:
Port. How got they in, and be hang’d?
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 spar'd any that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, leč nie 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 presently, good Mr. Puppy. Keep the door close, firrah. Map. What would
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? bless me! what a fry of fornication is at the door? on my christian conscience, this one chriftning 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 from far fome forty trun. cheoneers draw to her succour; 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 th' broomstaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill ; 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. 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.
Port. Please your Honour,
Cham. As I live,
Port. Make way there for the Princess.
Man. You great fellow, ftand close ap, or lll make your head ake.
Port. You i'ch' camblet, get up o'th'rail, I'll peck you o'er the pales elfe.