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Pray Heav'n, the King may never find a heart
With lefs allegiance in it! men that make
Envy and crooked malice nourishment,
Dare bite the beft. I do befeech your Lordships,
That, in this cafe of justice, my accufers,

Be what they will, may ftand forth face to face,
And freely urge againit me.

Suf Nay, my Lord,

That cannot be; you are a counsellor,

And by that virtue no man dare accuse you.

Gard. My Lord, because we've büfinefs of more moment,

We will be short wi' you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure,
And our confent, for better trial of yoù,

From hence you be committed to the Tower;
Where being but a private man again,

You fhall know many dare accufe you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.

Cran. Ay, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you,
You're always my good friend; if your will pafs,
I fhall both find your Lordship judge and juror,
You are fo merciful. I fee your end,

'Tis my undoing. Love and meeknefs, Lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition:
Win ftraying fouls with modefty again,
Caft none away. That I fhall clear myself,
(Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience),
I make as little doubt, as you do confcience
In doing daily wrongs. I could fay more,
But rev'rence to your calling makes me modeft.

Gard. My Lord, my Lord, you are a fectary,
That's the plain truth; your painted glofs discovers,
To men that understand you, words and weakness.
Crom. My Lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour too fharp; men fo noble,
However faulty, yet fhould find respect

For what they have been.

To load a falling man.

'Tis a cruelty

Gard Good Mr. Secretary,

I cry your Honour mercy; you may, worft

Of all this table fay fo.

Crom. Why, my Lord?

Gard. Do not I know

you

for a favourer

Of this new fect! ye are not found.

Crom. Not found?

Gard. Not found, I fay.

Crom. Would you were half so honest!

Men's pray'rs then would feek you, not their fears. Gard. I fhall remember this bold language.

Crom. Do.

Remember your bold life too.

Cham. This is too much; Forbear for fhame, my Lords.

Gard. I've done.

Crom. And I.

Cham. Then thus for you my Lord: it ftands agreed, I take it by all voices, that forthwith

You be convey'd to th' Tower a prisoner;
There to remain, till the King's further pleafure
Be known unto us. Are ye 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 strangely troublefome :
Let fome o' th' guard be ready there.

Cran. For me?

Enter Guard.

Muft I go like a traitor then?
Gard. Receive him,

And fee him fafe i' th' Tower.
Gran. 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 most noble judge, the King my matter.
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 stone a-rowling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves.

Nor. D'you think, my Lords,

The King will fuffer but the little finger

Of this man to be vex'd?

Vot V.

G g

Chani.

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 honesty the devil
And his difciples only envy at,

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye!

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[Heav'n

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; 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 Winchester. But know, I come not To hear fuch flatteries 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 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 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't please your Grace

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

I thought I had had men of fome understanding
And wisdom, 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 lowfy 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's,

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 fhall never have while I do live.

Cham. My most dread Sovereign, make it like your

Grace

To let my tongue excufe all.

What was purpos❜
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 fervice, fo to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him :

Be friends for fhame, my Lords. My Lord of Canter-
I have a fuit which you must not deny me.
[aury,
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 deserve it,
That am a poor and humble fubject to you?

King Come, come, my Lord, you'd fpare your fpoons you fhall have

Two noble partners with you; the old Duchefs
Of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquis Dorfet-
Once more, my Lord of Wincheiter, I charge you
Embrace and love this man.

Gard With a true heart

And brother's love I do it.

Cran. And let Heaven

Witnefs how dear I hold this confirmation.

King Good man, thofe joyful tears fhew thy true

The common voice, I fee, is verify'd

[heart: Of thee, which fays thus: Do my Lord of Canterbury But one shrewd turn, and he's your friend for ever." Come, ords, 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 itronger, you more honour ain

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Exeunt SCENE

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SCENE VII. The palace-yard.

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 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 staves, and strong ones; these are but switches. -To 'em. I'll fcratch your heads: you must be feeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rafcals?

Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible (Unless we fweep them from the door with cannons) To fcatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep

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 Samfon, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand, to mow 'em down before me; but if I fpared any that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again; and that I would not for a crow, God fave her. Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter?

Port. I fhall be with you prefently, good Mr. Puppy. Keep the door clofe, firrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What fhould you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields 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 Christian confcience, this one christening will beget a thoufand; here will be father, godfather, 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

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