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Enter the Gward,
Cran. For me?
Must I go like a traitor then?

Gard. Receive him,
And see him safe i'th' Tower.

Gran. Stay, good my lords,
I have a little yet to say. Look there, lords ;
By virtue of that Ring, I take my cause
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a most noble judge, the King my master.

Cham. This is the King's Ring.
Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit.
Suf. 'Tis his right Ring, by heav'n. I told ye all,
When we first put this dangʻrous stone a rowling,
'Twould fall upon our selves.

Nor. D' you think, my lords,
The King will suffer but the little finger
Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham. 'Tis now too certain.
How much more is his life in value with him ?
Would I were fairly out on't.

Crom. My mind gave me,
In seeking tales and informations
Against this man, whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,
Ye blew the fire that burns ye; now have at ye.

Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat.
Gard. Dread Sov'reign, how much are we bound to
In daily thanks, that gave us such a Prince; [heav'n
Not only good and wife, but most religious:
One, that in all obedience makes the Church
The chief aim of his honour; and to strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,
His royal self in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this


King. You're ever good at sudden commendations,
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such flattries now; and in my presence

They are too thin and base to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach: you play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me :
But whatsoe'er thou tak’ft me for, I'm sure,
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody.
Good man, fit down: now let me see the proudest

[To Cran:
He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee.
By all that's holy, he had better ftarve,
Than but once think, this place becomes thee not.

Sur. May't please your Grace --

King. No, Sir, it does not please me.
I thought, I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom, of my Council ; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deserve that title)
This honest man, wait like a lowsie foot-boy
At chamber-door, and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this? did my commission
Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye
Pow'r, as he was a counsellor to try him;
Not as a groom. There's some of

More out of malice than integrity,
Would try him to the utmost, had ye means ;
Which ye shall never have, while I do live.

Cham. My most dread Sovereign, may it like your Grace
To let my tongue excuse 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 sure, in me.

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
Of Norfolk, and the lady Marquess Dorset
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 heav'n
Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

King. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true heart:
The common voice, I fee, is verify'd
Of thee, which says thus: do my lord of Canterbury
But one shrewd 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 stronger, you more honour gain.


SCENE, the Palace-yard.
Noise and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.

Ou'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals; do you

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:
We may as well push against Pauls, as itir ’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 see the poor remainder) could distribute,
I made no fpare, Sit.

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.
Cbam. Mercy oʻme! 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
Great store 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 suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: y’are lazy knaves;
And here ye lye baiting of bumbards, when
Ye lould do service. Hark, the trumpets found ;
Th’ are come already from the Christening ;
Go break among the press, and find a way out
To let the troop pass fairly ; or I'll find
A Marfhalfea, Thall hold ye play these two months.

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.

[Exeunt. VOLV.



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