King. Good man, thofe joyful tears fhew thy true

heart:

The common voice, I fee is verify'd

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 chriftian.
As I have made ye one, Lords, one remain;
So I

grow ftronger, you more honour gain. [Exeunt.

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.

Port you take the Court for Paris-Garden? ye YOU'

OU'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals; do

rude flaves, leave your gaping.

4

Within. Good Mr. Porter, I belong to th' larder. Port. Belong to the gallows and be hanged, ye rogue. Is this a place to roar in?-Fetch me a dozen crab tree ftaves, and ftrong ones; thefe are but fwitches to 'em. I'll fcratch your heads; you must be feeing chriftnings? 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 'em fleep

On May day morning; which will never be,
We may as well pufh against Paul's as ftir 'em.
Port. How got they in, and be hanged?
Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
As much as one found cudgel of four foot,

3 Paris Garden] The Beargarden of that time.

+ Thefe are but switches to 'em.] To what, or whom? we should point it thus,

Theft are but fwitches.-To'em.

i. e. have at you, as we now say. He fays this as he turns upon the mob. WARBURTON.

The prefent pointing feems to be right.

Ii3

You

You fee the poor remainder, could distribute,
I made no fpare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colcbrand, to mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'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 cow, God fave her.

Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter?

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

Man. What would you have me do?

Pert. What fhould you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Morefields to mufter in? or have we fome ftrange 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 confcience, this one chriftning will beget a thousand; here will be father, god father, and all together.

Man. The fpoons 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 fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nofe difcharged against me; he ftands there like a mortar-piece to blow us up. There was a haberdafher's wife of fmall wit near him, that ralled upon me 'till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling fuch a combuftion in the state.

Sir Guy, nor Colebrand.] Of Guy of Warwick every one has heard. Colbrand was the Danh giant whom Guy fubdued at Winchefter. Their combat is very elaborately, defcribed by Prayton in his Polyclbion.

5 Morefields 10 mufler in?]

The trainbands of the city were exercifed in Morefields.

*he fould be a brazier by bis face.] A brafer fignifies a man that manufactures brafs, and a mass of metal occafionally heated to convey warmth. Both these fenfes are here understood,

I mift 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 7 the hope of the ftrand, where fhe was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to th' broomstaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower of pebbles, loose shot, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the Work; the devil was amongst 'em, I think, furely.

8

Port. Thefe 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 Limehoufe, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have fome of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these 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 thefe porters;
These 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 pass back from th' christning?
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 ye all

the meteor] The fire-drake, the brafier.

1 the hope of the ftrand.] Hanmer reads, the forlorn hope.

8 the Tribulation of TowerHill, or the limbs of Limehoufe.]

I fufpect the Tribulation to have been a puritanical mecting houfe. The limbs of Limehouse I do not understand.

trunning banquet of two beadles,] A publick whipping.

By th' heels, and fuddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect. Y'are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when
Ye fhould do fervice. Hark, the trumpets found;
Th'are come already from the chriftning.

Go break among the prefs, and find a way out
To let the troop pafs fairly; or I'll find

A Marfbalfea, fhall hold you play these two months,
Port. Make way for the Princess.

Man. You great fellow, ftand clofe up, or I'll make your head ake.

Port. You i'th' camblet, get up o' th' rail; I'll pick you o'er the pales elfe.

SCENE VIII.

Changes to the Palace.

[Exeunt,

Enter Trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with bis Marshal's staff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great standing bowls for the christning gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Dutchess of Norfolk, god-mother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, &c. Train borne by a lady: then follows the Marchionefs of Dorfet, the other god-mother, and ladies. The troop pafs once about the ftage, and Garter Speaks.

Gart, Heav'n, from thy endlefs goodness fend long life,

And ever happy, to the high aud mighty
Princefs of England, fair Elizabeth!

9here ye lie baiting of bumbard, 4 bumbard is an ale-bar

rel; to bait bumbards is to tipple, to lie at the Spigot.

Flourish.

Flourish. Enter King and Guard.

Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal Grace, and the good Queen,

My noble partners and myself thus pray;
All comfort, joy, in this moft gracious lady,
That heav'n e'er laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye!

King. Thank you, good Lord Arch-bishop:
What is her name?

Cran. Elizabeth.

King. Stand up, Lord.

[The King kifles the child With this kifs take my bleffing. God protect thee,

Into whofe hand I give thy life.

Cran. Amen.

King. My noble goffips, ye have been too prodigal, I thank you heartily; fo fhall this lady,

When the has fo much English.

Cran. Let me fpeak, 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 ftill move about her!
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand bleffings,
Which time shall bring to ripenefs. She fhall be,
(But few or none living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all Princes living with her,
And all that shall fucceed. Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue,
Than this bleft foul fhould be. All Princely graces,
That mould up fuch a mighty piece as this,
With all the virtues that attend the good,

Shall ftill be doubled on her. Truth fhall nurse her:
Holy and heav'nly thoughts ftill counsel her;

She fhall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own fhall blefs

her;

Her foes fhake, like a field of beaten corn,

And