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

410

I had thought, I had men of some 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 honest man, wait like a lousy foot-boy
At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this? Did my commission
Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Power as he was a counsellor to try him,
Not as a groom: There's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
shall never have, while I live,

Which ye

Chan. Thus far,

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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 trial, And fair purgation to the world, than malice; I am sure, in me.

King. Well, well, my lords, respect him;

Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. 430 I will say thus much for him, If a prince

May be beholden to a subject, I

Am, for his love and service, so to him.

Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;

Be friends, for shame, my lords.-My lord of Can

terbury,

I have a suit which you must not deny me :

3

There

There is a fair young maid, that yet wants baptism; You must be godfather, and answer for her.

440

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory In such 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 dutchess of

Norfolk,

And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please you ?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 heaven

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

450

King. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true

heart.

The common voice, I see, is verify'd

Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canterbury
A shrewd turn, and he is 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 stronger, you more honour gain.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

The Palace Yard. Noise and Tumult within: Enter
Porter, and his Man.

Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: Do you take the court for Paris-Garden? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

461

Within. Good master porter, I belong to the larder. · Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hang'd, you 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 scratch your heads: You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?

Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossi

ble

471

(Unless we sweep 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 push against Paul's, as stir 'em.
Port. How got they in, and be hang'dè

Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide in ?
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot

(You see the poor remainder) could distribute,
I made no spare, sir.

Port. You did nothing, sir.

479

Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, to mow 'em down before me; but, if I spar'd

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 cow, God save her.

Within. Do you hear, master porter?

Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.-Keep the door close, sirrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

489

Port. What should you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! O' my christian conscience, this one christening 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 somewhat near the door, he should be a brasier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; 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 nose discharg'd against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that rail'd upon me 'till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor once, and hit that woman, whọ cry'd out, clubs! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the hope of the strand, where she was quarter'd. They

They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff with me, I defy'd 'em still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, deliver'd such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work: The devil was amongst 'em, I think, surely. 517

Port. These 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 Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is to come.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain.

Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, As if we kept a fair! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves ? Ye have made a fine hand, fellows.

There's a trim rabble let in: Are all these

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Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, When they pass back from the christening.

Port. Please your honour,

We are but men; and what so many may do,
Not being torn a-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