And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her:

In her days every man shall 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 phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir

As great in admiration as herself,

So shall she leave her blessedness to oneWhen heaven shall call her from this cloud

of darkness

Who from the sacred ashes of her honour Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she

was,

And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,

That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to

him :

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,

His honour and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish,

And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches

To all the plains about him. Our children's

children

Shall see this, and bless heaven.

King.

Thou speakest wonders. Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of

England,

An aged princess; many days shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to crown it. Would I had known no more! but she must

die;

She must; the saints must have her; yet a virgin,

A most unspotted lily shall she pass

To the ground, and all the world shall mourn

her.

King. O lord archbishop,

Thou hast made me now a man never,

before

This happy child, did I get any thing.
This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,
That when I am in heaven I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my
Maker.

I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much behold-

ing;

I have received much honour by your pres

ence,

And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords:

Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye;

She will be sick else. This day, no man think Has business at his house; for all shall stay: This little one shall make it holiday.

[exeunt.

THE EPILOGUE.

"Tis ten to one this play can never please All that are here: some come to take their

ease,

And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,

They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear the city

Abused extremely, and to cry 'That's

witty !'

Which we have not done neither; that,

fear,

All the expected good we 're like to hear
For this play at this time, is only in
The merciful construction of good women;
For such a one we show'd 'em : if they smile,
And say 'twill do, I know, within a while
All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.