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Enter the Guard.

Cran. For me?

Must I go like a traitor then?
Gard. Receive him,

And fee him fafe i' th' Tower.

Cran. 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 moft noble judge, the King my mafter.
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, 'Twould fall upon our felves.

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.

Crom. My mind gave me,
In feeking tales and informations
Against this man, whofe 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 heav'n In daily thanks, that gave us fuch a Prince; Not only good and wife, but most religious? One that in all obedience makes the Church The chief aim of his honour, and to strengthen That holy duty of our dear refpect,

His royal felf in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
King. You're ever good at fudden commendations,
Bishop of Winchefter. 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 whatfoe'er thou tak'ft me for, I'm fure
Thou haft a cruel nature, and a bloody.
Good man, fit down: now let me fee the proudeft
[To Cranmer.

He that dares moft, but wag his finger at thee,
By all that's holy, he had better ftarve,
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 lowfie foot-boy
At chamber-door, and one as great as you are?
Why, what a fhame was this? did my commiffion
Bid you fo far forget your felves? I gave ye
Pow'r, as he was a councellor, to try him,
Not as a groom. There's fome of ye, I fee,
More out of malice than integrity,
Would try him to the utmoft, had ye means;
Which ye fhall never have, while I do live.

Cham. My moft 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 tryal, And fair purgation to the world, than malice; I'm fure in me.

King. Well, well, my Lords, refpect him;


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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 fubject, I

Am, for his love and fervice, fo to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
Be friends for fhame, my Lords. My Lord of Canterbury,
I have a fuit which you must not deny me.
There is a fair young maid that yet wants baptifm,
You must be godfather, and anfwer for her."

Cran. 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 fpare your spoons;
you fhall have

Two noble partners with
you: the old Dutchefs
Of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquefs Dorfet.
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 heav'n

Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.

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.




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 ftaves, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em: I'll fcratch your heads; you must be seeing chriftnings? do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rafcals?

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 fleep
On May-day morning, which will never be:
We may as well push against Paul's, as ftir '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 Sampfon, 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 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?


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Port. 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 chriftian 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 ftand 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 ftands there like a mortarpiece to blow us up. There was a haberdasher'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 combuftion in the state. I mift the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cry'd out, Clubs! when I might fee fome forty truncheons draw to her fuccour, which were 'the forlorn hope of the Strand, where the 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 hower of pibbles, loofe fhot, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work; the devil was amongst 'em, I think furely.


Port. Thefe are the youths that thunder at a playhoufe, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation of Tower-bill or the limbs of Lime-boufe, 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 bedels that is to come.

I the hope




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