Of this new fect? ye are not found.

Crom. Not found?

Gard. Not found, I fay,

Grom. Would you were half fo honeft!

Mens' prayers then would seek you, not their fears,
Gard. I fhall remember this bold language.

Grom. Do.

Remember your bold life too.

Cham. This is too much; Forbear for fhame, my Lords.

Gard. I've done.

Grom. And I.

Cham. Then thus for you, my Lord; it ftands agreed, I take it, by all voices, that forthwith

You be convey'd to th' Tower a prifoner;

There to remain, till the King's further pleasure

Be known unto us.

All. We are.

Are you all agreed, Lords?

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy,

But I must needs to th' Tower, my Lords?

Gard. What other

Would you expect? you're strangely troublesome ;
Let fome o' th' guard be ready there.

Cran. For me?

Enter Guard.

Muft I go like a traitor then?

Gard. Receive him,

And fee him fafe i' th' Tower.
Gran. Stay, good my Lords,

I have a little yet to fay. Look there, Lords;
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a most noble judge, the King my master.
Cham. This is the King's ring.

Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit.

Suf. 'Tis his right ring, by Heav'n. I told ye all, When we first put this dang'rous ftone a-rowling, 'T would fall upon ourselves.

Nor. D' you think, my Lords,
The King will fuffer but the little finger
Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham. 'Tis now too certain.

How much more is his life in value with him? ̧
Would I were fairly out on't.

Grom. My mind gave me,
In feeking tales and informations
Against this man, whose honesty the devil
And his difciples only envy at,

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye!

Enter King, frowning on them; takes his feat.

Gard. Dread Sov'reign, how much are we bound to In daily thanks, that gave us fuch a prince; [Heav'n Not only good and wife, but moft religious?

One that in all obedience makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and to ftrengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal felf in judgment comes to hear
The caufe betwixt her and this great offender.
King. You're ever good at sudden commendations,
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear fuch flatt'ries now; and in my prefence
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 whatfo'er thou tak'st me for, I'm fure
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody.
Good man, fit down. Now let me fee the proudeft
[To Cran.
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 men of fome understanding
And wisdom of my council; but i find none.
Was it difcretion, Lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deserve that title),
This honeft man, wait like a lowly 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 yourielves? 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 utmoit, had ye means;
Which ye fhall never have while I do live.

Cham. My molt dread Sovereign, may it like your

Grace

To let my tongue excufe 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 fure in me.

King. Well, well, my Lords, respect him :
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 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 CanterI have a fuit which you must not deny me. [bury, There is a fair young maid, that yet wants baptism; You must be godfather, and answer for her.

Gran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory In fuch an honour; how may I deferve it, That am a poor and humble fubject to you?

King. Come, come, my Lord, you'd spare your
fpoons: you fhall have

Two noble partners with you: the old Duchefs
Of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquis Dorfet-
Once more, my Lord of Winchelter, I charge you
Embrace and love this man.

Gard. With a true heart

And brother's love t do it.

Gran. And let Heaven

Witnefs how dear I hold this confirmation.

King. Good man, thofe joyful tears fhews thy true

The common voice, I fee, is verify'd

[heart: 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 gaia. [Exeunt.

VOL. V.

G g

SCENE VII. The palace yard.

Noife and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man▪

Port. You'll leave your noife anon, ye rafcals; do you take the court for Paris Garden? ye rude flaves, 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 faves, and ftrong ones; thefe are but switches-To 'em. I'll fcratch your heads; you must be feeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rafcals?

Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible (Unless we swept them from the door with cannons). To fcatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'ein fleep

On May-day morning; which will never be.
We may as well pufh against Paul's, 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 found cudgel of four foot
(You fee the poor remainder) could diftribute,
I made no fpare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Man, I am not Samfon, 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 crow, God fave her. Within. Do you hear, Mr Porter?

Port. I fhall be with you presently, good Mr Puppy. Keep the door clofe, firrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What fhould you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Morefields to mufter in? or have we fome frange 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 con-fcience, this one christening will beget a thoufand; here: will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man. The ipoons 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 dog

days now reign in's nofe; all that stand 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 ine; he stands 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 combustion in the ftate. I mifs'd the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cry'd out, Clubs! when I might fee from far fome forty truncheoneers draw to her fuccour; which were the hope of the Strand, where fhe was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to th' broom-staff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower of pibbles, loofe thot, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work: The devil was amongst 'em, I think, furely.

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhoute, 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 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 ftill too; from all parts they are coming, As if we kept a fair. Where are these porters? Thefe 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 fhall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pafs back from th' christening?
Port. Please 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 you all
By th' heels, and fuddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: y'are lazy knaves: