I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
You be convey'd to th' Tower a prifoner;

There to remain, till the King's further pleasure
Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, Lords?

All. We are.

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy,

But I must needs to th' Tower, my Lords?
Gard. What other

Would you expect? you're ftrangely troublefome:
Let fome o' th' guard be ready there..

Cran. For me?

Muft I

Enter the Guard.

go like a traitor then?

Gard. Receive him,

And fee him fafe i' th' Tower.

Cran. Stay, good my Lords,

I have a little yet to fay. Look there, Lords
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a moft 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 dang'rous ftone a rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourfelves.

Nor. D' you think, my Lords,.

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.

Grom. 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 In daily thanks, that gave us fuch a Prince; [heav'n

R

Not:

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, out of dear respect,

His royal felf in judgment comes to hear
'The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

King. You're ever good at fadden 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'ft me for, I'm fure,

Thou haft a cruel nature, and a bloody.

Good man, fit down: now let me fee the proudest
[To Cranmer.
He, that dares moft, but wag his finger at thee.
By all that's holy, he had better starve,
Than but once think, this place becomes thee not,
Sur. May't pleafe your Grace

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

I thought, I had had men of fome understanding
And wifdem, of my council; but I find none.
Was it difcretion, Lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deferve that title)
This hone 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 ye fo far forget yourfelves? I gave ye
Pow'r, as he was a counfellor 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 hall never have, while I do live.

Cham. My moft dread Sovereign, may it like your Grace To let my tongue excufe all. What was purpos'd Concerning his imprifonment, 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 :

Tako

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've te
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 god-father, and anfwer 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 fubject to you?

King. Come, come, my Lord, you'd spare your spoonse you fhall have

Two noble partners with you: the old Dutchess
Of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquefs Dorfet-
Once more, my Lord of Winchester, 1 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 verify'd

Of thee, which fays thus: do my Lord of Canterbury But one fhrewd turn, and he's your friend for ever. Come, Lords, we trifle time away

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, the Palace-yard..

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man. : 'Ou'll leave your noise anon, ye rafcals; do you

You'

Alaves, leave your gaping.

1

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 faves, and strong ones; these are bat fwitches 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 fwept 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 pufh against Pauls, as stir '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 distribute,
I made no fpare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Man. I am not Sampfon, 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 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, Mr. Porter?

Port. I fhall be with you prefently, 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 Morefields to mufter in? or have we fome frange 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. The fpoons will be the bigger, Sir. There is a fellow fomewhat near the door, he fhould be a brafier by his face; for, o' my confcience, twenty of the dogdays now reign, in's nofe; all that ftand about him are.. under the line, they need no other penance; that firedrake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me; he ftands there like a mortar-piece to blow us up. There was a haberdafher'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 mift the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cry'd out,

clubs !

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; I made good my place; at length they came to th broom-ftaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower 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, furely.

Port. Thefe are the youths that thunder at a play-. house, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation of Tower-Hill, or the limbs of Limeboufe, 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. Where are thefe porters;
These lazy knaves? ye've made a fine hand, fellows;
There's a trim rabble let in, are all thefe

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. 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 'em.

Cham. As I live,

If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all

By the heels, and fuddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: y' are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bum bards, when
Ye fhould do fervice. 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.

Part.