Enter King, frowning on them: takes his Seat.
Gard. Dread fovereign, how much are we bound
to heaven

In daily thanks, that gave us fuch a prince;
Not only good and wife, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and, to ftrengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal felf in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
King. You were ever good at fudden commenda
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not [tions,
To hear fuch flatteries now, and in my prefence;
They are too thin and bafe to hide offences.

To me you cannot reach: You play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
But, whatfoever thou tak'ft me for, I am fure;
Thou haft a cruel nature and a bloody.--
Good man, fit down. Now let me fee the proud-
eft
[To CRANMER.'
He, that dares moft, but wag his finger at thee:
By all that's holy, he had better farve,
Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
Sur. May it please your grace—

King. No, fir, it does not please me.

I had thought, I had men of fome understanding
And wifdom, of my council; but I find none.
Was it difcretion, lords, to let this man,

This good man (few of you deserve that title),
This honeft man, wait like a loufy foot-boy
At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
Why, what a fhame was this? Did my commiffion
Bid you fo far forget yourfelves? I gave ye

Power

Power 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 utmost, had ye mean;
Which fhall never have, while I live.

ye

Chan. Thus far,

My most dread fovereign, may it like your grace
To let my tongue excufe all. What was purpos'd,
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather
(If there be faith in men) meant for his trial,
And fair purgation to the world, than malice;
I am fure, in me.

King. Well, well, my lords, respect 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 fubject, 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 baptifm; 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 spare your fpoons: you fhall have

Two noble partners with you; the old dutchefs of Norfolk,

And lady marquis Dorfet; Will thefe please you?-Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace and love this man.

Gard. With a true heart,

And

And brother's love, I do it.

Cran. And let heaven

Witnefs 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
A fhrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.—
Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
To have this young one made a Chriftian.
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
So I grow ftronger, you more honour gain.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Palace Yard.

Noife and Tumult within: Enter Porter, and his Man. Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: Do you take the court for Paris-Garden? ye rude flaves, leave your gaping.

Within. Good malter porter, I belong to the larder. Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hang'd, you rogue. Is this a place to roar in?-Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; thefe are but switches to 'em -I'll scratch your heads: You must be seeing chriftenings? do you look for alę and cakes here, you rude rascals?

Man. Pray, fir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible (Unless we fweep 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 pufh against Paul's, as stir 'em. Port. How got they in, and be hang'd?

Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide in?

As

As much as one found cudgel of four foot
(You fee the poor remainder) could distribute,
I made no spare, fir.

Port. You did nothing, fir.

Man. I am not Sampfon, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, 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, master porter?

Port. I fhall be with you prefently, good mafter puppy.-Keep the door close, firrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What should you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to mufter in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women fo befiege us? Blefs me, what a fry of fornication is at door! O' my chriftian confcience, this one chriftening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man. The fpoons will be the bigger, fir. There is a fellow fomewhat near the door, he fhould be a brafier by his face, for o' my confcience, twenty of the dog-day's now reign in's nofe; 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 nofe discharg'd against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of fmall wit near him, that rail'd upon me 'till her pink porringer fell off her head, for kindling fuch a combuftion in the state. I mifs'd the meteor

once,

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 fhe was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loofe fhot, deliver'd fuch a fhower of pebbles, 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 play-houfe, 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 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 the 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 have made a fine hand, fellows.

There's a trim rabble let in; Are all these

Your faithful friends o' the fuburbs? We fhall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pafs back from the christening.
Port. Pleafe your honour,

We are but men; and what so many may do,
Not being torn a-pieces, we have done :

An army cannot rule 'em.

Cham. As I live,