Crom. My Mind gave me,

In feeking Tales and Informations

Against this Man, whofe Honefty the Devil
And his Difciples only envy at,

Ye blew the Fire that burns ye; now have at ye.
Enter King frowning on them, takes his Seat.
Gard. Dread Sovereign,

How much are we bound to Heav'n,

In daily Thanks, that gave us fuch a Prince;
Not only Good and Wife, but moft Religious:
One that in all Obedience, makes the Church
The chief aim of his Honour, and to ftrengthen
That holy Duty of our dear Refpect,

His Royal Self in Judgment comes to hear
The Caufe betwixt her and this

great Offender.
King. You were ever good at fudden Commendations,
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear fuch Flattery now, and in my prefence,
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 whatfoe'er thou tak'ft me for, I'm fure

Thou haft a cruel Nature, and a bloody.

Good Man, fit down: now let me fee the proudeft [To Cran.
He that dares moft, 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 it pleafe your Grace,

King, No, Sir, it does not pleafe 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 deferve the Title,)
This honeft Man, wait like a low fie Foot-boy
At Chamber Door, and one, as great as you are?
Why, what a thame was this? Did my Commiffion
Bid ye fo far forget your felves? I gave ye
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

mean;

Would try him to the utmost, had ye
Which ye fhall never have, while I do live.

Cham. Thus far,

My moft dread Sovereign, 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'm fure in me.

King. Well, well, my Lords, refpect 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 Subject, I

Am, for his Love and Service, fồ to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;

Be Friends for fhame, 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 Baptifm,
You must be Godfather, and anfwer for her.

Cran. The greatest Monarch now alive may glory
In fuch an Honour; how may I deferve it,
That am a poor and humble Subject to you?

King. Come, come, my Lord, you'd fpare your Spoons : You fhall have two noble Partners with you: the old Dutchefs of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquefs of Dorset ?

Will the fe please you?

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

Witnefs, how dear I hold this Confirmation.

King. Good Man, thofe joyful Tears fhew thy true Heart; The common Voice. I fee is verified

Of thee, which fays thus: Do my Lord of Canterbury
A fhrewd turn, and he's 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

Noife and Tumult within: Enter Porter and his Man.

Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye Rafcals; do you take the Court for Paris Garden? ye rude Slaves, 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 Staves, and strong ones; thefe are but Switches to 'em: I'll fcratch your Heads; you must be feeing Chriftnings? 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 fcatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em fleep

On May-day Morning, which will never be:
We may as well push against Pauls, as ftir '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 fee the poor remainder, could diftribute,
I made no fpare, Sir.

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 she, Cuckold, or Cuckold-maker,

Let me ne'er 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 prefently, good Mr. Puppy.
Keep the Door clofe, Sirrah.

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, come 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 thoufand, here will be Father, God-father, and all together.

Man.

Man. The Spoons 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 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 discharged againft me; he ftands there like a Mortar-piece to blow us up. There was Haberdasher's Wife of fmall Wit, near him, that rail'd upon me, 'till her pinck'd Porringer fell off her Head, for kindling fuch a combuftion in the State. Imift the Meteor once, and hit that Woman, who cry'd out Clubs, when I might fee from far, fome forty Truncheons draw to her Succour, which were the hope o'th' Strand, where he was quarter'd; they fell on, I made good my Place; at length they came to th' Broom-ftaff to me, I defy'd 'em ftill, when fuddenly a File of Boys behind 'em, loofe fhot, deliver'd fuch a fhower of Pibbles, 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 Play-house, and fight for bitten Apples, that no Audience but the Tribu lation of Tower-Hill, or the Limbs of Lime-Houfe, their dear. Brothers, are able to endure. I have fome 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?
They grow ftill too; from all Parts they are coming,
As if we kept a Fair here? where are thefe Porters?
Thefe lazy Knaves? Ye've made a fine Hand, Fellows?
There's a trim Rabble let in; are all these

Your faithful Friends o'th' Suburbs? We shall have
Great ftore of room, no doubt, left for the Ladies,
When they pass back from the Chriftning?
Port. And't pleafe your Honour,

We are but Men, and what fo many may do,
Not being torn in pieces, we have done:
An Army cannot rule 'n

1

Cham.

Cham. As I live,

1

If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
By th' Heels, and fuddenly; and on your Heads
Clap round Fines, for neglect: Y'are lazy Knaves,
And here ye lye baiting of Bombards, when
Ye fhould do Service. Hark, the Trumpets found,
Th'are come already from the Chriftning;
Go break among the Prefs, and find a way out
To let the Troop pafs fairly; or I'll find
A Marfbalfea fhall hold ye play thefe two Months.
Port. Make way there, for the Princess.
Man. You great Fellow,

Stand' close up, or I'll make your Head ake.
Port. You i'th' Chamblet, get up o'th' Rail,
I'll peck you o'er the Pales elfe.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

Enter Trumpets 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 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 Marchioness of Doifet, the other God-mother,and Ladies. The Troop pass once about the Stage, and Garter fpeaks.

Gart. Heaven,

From thy endless Goodness fend profperous Life,
Long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty
Princess of England, Elizabeth.

Flourish. Enter King and Guard.

Cran. And to your Royal Grace, and the good Queen, My Noble Partners, and my felf thus pray, All comfort, joy in this moft gracious Lady, Heav'n ever laid up to make Parents happy, Máy hourly fall upon ye.

King. Thank you good Lord Archbishop:

What is her Name?

Cran. Elizabeth.