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By all that's holy, he had better starve,
Sur. May it please your grace, -
No, sir, it does not please me.
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 am sure, in me.
K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. 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
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
spoons 40; you shall have Two noble partners with you; the old duchess of
With a true heart,
And let heaven
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.
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.
[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 them. 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 im
possible (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons,) To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep On May-day morning; which will never be : We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them.
Port. How got they in, and be hang'd?
Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide in?
You did nothing, sir.
brand “, to mow them 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
have do? Port. What should you do, but knock them 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! On my christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.
Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier 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, who 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 fell on ; I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff with me, I defy'd them still; when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, deliver'd such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work: The devil was amongst them, I think, surely.
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 44, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of them 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 here! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves? - Ye have made a fine hand,
fellows. There's a trim rabble let in: Are all these 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.
An't 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 them. Cham.
As I live,