Cran. For me? Enter the Guard. Muft I go like a traitor then? And fee him fafe i'th' Tower. I have a little yet to fay. Look there, lords; my cause 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 rowling, 'Twould fall upon our felves. Nor. D' you think, my lords, The King will fuffer but the little finger 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, 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. [heav'n 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 strengthen 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 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, Good man, fit down: now let me see the proudest King. No, Sir, it does not please me. I thought, I had had men of fome understanding Pow'r, as he was a counfellor to try him; More out of malice than integrity, ye, I fee, Would try him to the utmoft, had ye means; Which ye fhall 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 imprisonment, was rather, If there be faith in men, meant for his tryal, King. Well, well, my lords, refpect him : May be beholden to a fubject, I Am, for his love and fervice, so 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 You must be godfather, and answer 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 subject to you? King. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons: you shall have Two noble partners with you: the old Dutchefs Of Norfolk, and the lady Marquefs Dorfet Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you Gard. With a true heart And brother's love I do it. Cran. And let heav'n Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. King. Good man, thofe joyful tears shew thy true heart: The common voice, I fee, is verify'd Of thee, which fays thus: do my lord of Canterbury SCENE, the Palace-yard. [Exe. Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man. Port. Ou'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 seeing chriftnings? do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rafcals? 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 On May-day morning; which will never be: Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in? 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 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 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 ftand 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 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 combustion in the state. 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 strand, where fhe was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to th' broomftaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower of pibbles, loofe 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 playhouse, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the Tribulation of Tower-Hill, or the limbs of Limehoufe, 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? Your faithful friends o' th' fuburbs? we fhall have We are but men; and what fo many may do, Cham. As I live, If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all A Marfbalfea, Thall hold ye play these two months. 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 elfe. VOL. V. G [Exeunt. SCENE |