Изображения страниц

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

Cham. Thus far,
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'm sure in me,

King. Well, well, my Lords, resped him ;
Take him, and use him well; he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him, if a Prince
May be beholding to a Subje&, 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 Canterbury,
I have a Suit, which you must not deny me.
There is a fair young Maid that yet wants Baptism,
You must be Godfather, and answer for her.

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 Dutch-
ess of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquess of 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,

King. Good Man, those joyful Tears shew thy true Heart;
The common Voice I see is verified
Of thee, which says thus: Do my Lord of Canterbury
A Mrewd 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 stronger, you more Honour gain. [Exeunt.


SCENE III. 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.

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 scratch your Heads; you must be seeing Chriftningss Do you look for Ale and Cakes here, you rude Rascals?

Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible,
Unless we swept 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 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 sound Cudgel of four Foot,
You see the poor remainder, could distribute,
I made no spare, 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 spar'd any
That had a Head to hit, either young or old,
He or she, Cuckold, or Cuckold-maker;
Let me ne'er hope to see a Chine again,
And that I would not for a Cow, God save her.

Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter?
Port. I shall be with you presently, good Mr. Puppy.
Keep the Door close, Sirrah,

Man. What would you have me do?

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 the Door? On my Christian-Conscience, this one Christning 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 oʻmy Conscience twenty of the Dog-days now reign in's Nose; all that fand 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 stands there like a Mortar-piece to blow us up. There was Haberdasher's Wife of small Wit, near him, that rail'd upon me, 'till her pinck'd Porringer fell off her Head, for kindling such a combustion in the State. I mift the Meteor once, and hit thạc Woman, who cry'd out Clubs, when I might see from far, some forty Truncheons draw to her Succour, which were the hope o'ch' Strand, where the was quarter'd; they fell on, I made good my Place; at length they came to th’Broom-staff to me, I defy'd ’om still, when fuddenly a File of Boys behind 'em, loole shot, deliver'd such a shower of Pibbles, that I was fain to draw mine Honour in, and let 'em win the Work; the Devil was amongst 'em, I think surely.

Port. These 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 Lime-Houfe, 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


Enter 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 bere? where are these Porters?
These lazy Knaves? Ye've made a find Hand, Fellows?
There's a trim Rabble let in; are all these
Your faithful Friends o'th' Suburbs ?. We Thall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the Ladies,
When they pass back from the Christening?

Port. And't please your Honour,
We are but Men, and what so many may do,
Not being torn in pieces, we have done;
An Army cannot rule 'em.

[ocr errors]

Cham. As I live,
If the King blame me for’t, I'll lay ye all
By th’Heels, and suddenly; and on your Heads
Clap round Fines, for negle&: Y'are lazy Knaves,
And here ye lye baiting of Bombards, when
Ye should do Service. Hark, the Trumpets sound,
Th’are come already from the Christning;
Go break among the Press, and find a way out
To let the Troop pass fairly; or I'll find
A Marshalsea Thall hold ye play these two Months.

Port. Make way there, for the Princess.

Man. You great Fellow,
Stand close up, or I'll make your Head ake.

Port. You i'th'Chamblet, get up'o'th' Rail,
I'll peck you o'er the Pales elle.

[Exeunt. SCENE IJI. Enter Trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Major,

Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's Staff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen, bearing great standing Bowls for the Christning Gifts: Then four Noblemen bearing a Ca nopy, under which the Dutchess of Norfolk, God-mother, bearing the Child richly habited in a Mantle, &c. Train borr by a Lady: Then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, the other God-mother, and Ladies. The Troop pass once about the Stage, and Garter speaks.

Gart. Heaven,
From thy endless Goodness fend prosperous Life,
Long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty
Princess of England, Elizabeth.

Flourish. Enter King and Guard.
Cran. And to your Royal Grace, and the good Queen,
My Noble Partners, and my self thus pray,
All comfort, joy in this most gracious Lady,
Heaven ever laid up to make Parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye.

King. Thank you good Lord Archbishop:
What is her Name?
Cran. Elizabeth.

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

King. Stand up, Lord;
With this Kiss, take my Blessing: God prote& thee,
Into whose hand, I give thy Life.

Cran. Amen.

King. My noble Goslips, y'have been too Prodigal,
I thank ye heartily: So Thall this Lady,
When the has so much English.

Cran. Let me speak, Sir,
For Heav'n now bids me; and the words I utter,
Let none think Flattery; for they'll find 'em Truth.
This Royal Infant, Heav'n still move about her,
Though in her Cradle, yet now promises
Upon this Land, a thousand thousand Blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be,
(But few now living can behold that Goodness,),
A Pattern to all Princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed: Saba was never
More covetous of Wisdom, and fair Virtue,
Than this pure Soul shall be. All Princely Graces
That mould up such a mighty Piece as this is,
With all the Virtues that attend the Good,
Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall Nurse her,
Holy and Heavenly Thoughts still Counsel her:
She shall be lov'd and fear’d. Her own shall bless her;
Her Foes shake like a Field of beaten Corn,
And hang their Heads with Sorrow:
Good grows with her.
In her days every Man Thal eat in safety,
Under his own Vine what he plants; and sing
The merry Songs of Peace to all his Neighbours.
God shall be truly known, and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of Honour,
And by those claim their Greatness, not by Blood.
Nor shall this Peace sleep with her; But as when
The Bird of wonder dies, the Maiden Phænix,
Her Athes new create another Heir,
As great in admiration as her self;
So shall the leave her Blessedness to One,
(When Heav'n Shall call her from this cloud of darkness)
Who from the sacred Alhes of her Honour


[ocr errors]
« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »