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 refpect,

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 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 proud eft
[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 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 discretion, Lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deserve that title)
This honeft 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 yourselves? I gave ye
Pow'r, as he was a counsellor; to try him;
Not as a groom. There's fome of ye, I see,
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 excuse 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

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 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 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 subject to you?

King. Come, come, my Lord, you'd fpare your spoons: you fhall have

Two noble partners with you: the old Dutchefs
Of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquifs Dorset-
Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you
Embrace and love this man.

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, those 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: 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. Ou'll leave your noife anon, ye rafcals; do you take the Court for Paris Garden? ye rude flaves, leave your gaping.

Y

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 fwitches to 'em :

I'll fcratch your head; 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 fleep

On May-day morning; which will never be:
We may as well puth 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 see the poor remainder) could distribute,
I made no fpare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Man. I am not Sampson, 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 some 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 chriftning will beget a thousand; 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 nofe difcharged 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 mist 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' broomftaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file. of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower of pibbles, loofe hot, 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 LimeHoufe, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have fome of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance 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 fill 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 these

Your faithful friends o' th' fuburbs? we shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the Ladies,
When they pafs back from th' chriftning?

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 bumbards, 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 pass fairly; or I'll find

A Marfbalfea, fhall hold ye play these two months.

Parta

Port. Make way there for the Princefs.

Man. You great fellow, ftand clofe 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. [Exeunt.

SCENE, the Palace.

Enter Trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's ftaff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great Standing bowls for the christening gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Dutchess of Norfolk, god-mother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, &c. Train borne by a Lady: then follows the Marchioness of Dorfet, the other god-mother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter fpeaks.

Gart.

H

"Eav'n, from thy endlefs goodnefs fend long life, And ever happy, to the high and mighty

Princess of England, fair Elizabeth !

Flourish. Enter King and Guards.

Cran. And to your royal Grace, and the good Queen, My noble partners and myself thus pray;

All comfort, joy, in this moft gracious Lady,
That heav'n e'er laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye!

King. Thank you, good Lord Arch-bishop:
What is her name?

Cran. Elizabeth.

King. Stand up, Lord.

With this kifs take my bleffing: God protect thee,
Into whofe hand I give thy life.

Cran. Amen.

King. My noble goffips, y' have been too prodigal, I thank you heartily: fo fhall this Lady,

When she has fo much English.

Cran. Let me fpeak, Sir;

(For heav'n now bids me) and the words I utter, Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth.