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Enter the Guard.
Cran. For me?
Must I go like a traitor then?
And fee him fafe i' th' Tower.
Cran. Stay, good my Lords,
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,
Cham. 'Tis now too certain.
How much more is his life in value with him?
Crom. My mind gave me,
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
He that dares moft, but wag his finger at thee,
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;
Take him, and ufe him well; he's worthy of it.
Am, for his love and fervice, fo to him.
Cran. The greatest Monarch now alive may glory
King. Come, Come, my Lord, you'd fpare your spoons;
Two noble partners with
Gard. With a true heart
Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.
King. Good man, thofe joyful tears fhew thy true heart;
Of thee, which fays thus: do my Lord of Canterbury
SCEN E VII.
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
Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
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?
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