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The King will suffer but the little finger
Cham. "Tis now too certain.
Crom. My mind gave me,
Enter King, frowning on them ; takes his feat.
offender. King. You're ever good at sudden commendations, Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not To hear such flatt'ries 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’lt me for, I'm sure, Thou halt 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.
all that's holy, he had better slarve, Than but once think, this place becomes thee not.
Sur. May't please your Grace
King. No, Sir, it does not please me.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
King. Well, well, my lords, respect him:
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
Gard. With a true heart
Cran. And let heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. King. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true
heart : The common voice, I see, is verify'd Of thee, which says thus : do my lord of Canterbury But one Ihrewd 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. [Exeunt.
SCE N E, 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 ?
rude Naves, 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; 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 impossible
Port. How got they in, and be hang'd ?
the tide in ;
Port. You did nothing, Sir.
Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, ror 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 fe, 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 presently, good Mr. 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 More fields to muster in? or have we some ftrange 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 some forty truncheoneers draw to her luccour ; which were the hope of the ftrand, 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 Itill; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliverd fuch 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 endurr. 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.
Cham. Mercy o' me! what a multitude are here?
Port. Please your Honour,
Cham. As I live,
find a way out To let the troop
pass fairly; or I'll find A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months.
Port. Make way for the Princess.
Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll make your head ake.
Port. You i'th' camblet, get up o'th' rail, I'll peck you o'er the pales else.