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The King will fuffer 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 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 feat.

Gard. Dread Sov'reign, how much are we bound to heav'n

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 caufe betwixt her and this great offender.

King. You're ever good at fudden commendations,
Bishop of Winchefter. But know, I come not
To hear fuch flatt'ries 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'it me for, I'm fure,
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody.

Good man, fit down: now let me fee the proudest

[To Cran. He, that dares moft, but wag his finger at thee. By all that's holy, he had better flarve,

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 fome understanding
And wildom, of my Council: but I find none.

Was

Was it difcretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man (few of you deserve that title)
This honeft man, wait like a lowfie foot-boy
At chamber door, and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this? did my commission
Bid ye fo far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Pow'r, 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 utmoft, 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 excufe 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 fure, in me.

King. Well, well, my lords, refpect him:
Take him, and use 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 baptism;
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 fpoons: you fhall have

Two noble partners with you: the old Dutchefs

Of Norfolk, and the lady Marquefs Dorfet

Once more, my lord of Winchefter, I charge you

Embrace and love this man.

Gard. With a true heart And brother's love I do it.

Cran

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

your

Of thee, which fays thus: do my lord of Canterbury
But one fhrewd turn, and he's 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 ftronger, you more honour gain.

SCENE, the Palace-yard.

[Exeunt.

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.

Port.

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"Ou'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals; do you take the Court for Paris Garden? ye rude flaves, 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 ftaves, and ftrong ones; these are but switches to 'em : I'll fcratch your heads; you must be feeing chriftnings? you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rafcals? Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible (Unless we fwept them from the door with cannons) To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em fleep

do

On May day morning; which will never be:
We may as well pufh against Paul's, 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, ror 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 fhe, cuckold

of

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or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see 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 presently, good Mr. Puppy. Keep the door close, firrah.

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? bless me! what a fry of fornication is at the door? on my christian confcience, 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 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 against me; he stands there like a mortar piece to blow us up. There was a haberdasher's wife of fmall wit near him, that rail'd upon me 'till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling fuch a combuftion in the ftate. I mist the meteor 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 he was quarter'd. They fell on; [ made good my place; at length they came to th' broomstaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower of pibbles, loose fhot, 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 playhoufe; 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

thefe 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. Where are these 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' fuburbs? we shall have
Great ftore of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pafs back from th' christning?
Port. Please your Honour,

We are but men; and what fo 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 fhould do fervice. Hark, the trumpets found;
Th' are come already from the christening;
Go break among the prefs, and find a way out
To let the troop pafs fairly; or I'll find

A Marfbalfea, fhall hold you play these two months.
Port. Make way for the Princess.

Man. You great fellow, ftand 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

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