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 close, 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 conscience, 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 should 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 mortar-piece 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 mist 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 ftrand, where he was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to th' broomftaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when fuddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd fuch a fhower 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-Hil, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have fome of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance thefe 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? Your faithful friends o'th' fuburbs? we shall have We are but men; and what fo many may do, Cham. As I live, If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all A Marshalfea, fhall hold you play these two month. Man. You great fellow, ftand close up, or I'll make your head ake. Port. You i'th' camblet, get up o'th' rail, I'll peck you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt. SCENE SCENE changes to the Palace. Enter Trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's faff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great ftanding bowls for the chriftning 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 born by a lady: then follows the Marchionefs of Dorfet, the other god-mother, and ladies. The troop pass once about the flage, and Garter peaks. Gart. Heav'n, from thy endless goodness send long life, And ever happy, to the high and mighty Princess of England, fair Elizabeth! Flourish. Enter King and Guard. Cran. 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, King. Thank you, good lord Arch-bishop: Cran. Elizabeth. King. Stand up, lord. With this kifs take my bleffing: God protect thee, Cran. Amen. King. My noble goffips, y'have been too prodigal, Cran. Let me fpeak, Sir; (For Heav'n now bids me) and the words I utter, (But (But few or none living can behold that goodness) Shall ftill be doubled on her. Truth fhall nurse her: She fhall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own fhall blefs her; And hang their heads with forrow. Good grows with her. As great in admiration as herself; So fhall the leave her bleffedness to one, (When heav'n fhall call her from this cloud of darkness) Who from the facred afhes of her honour Shall ftar-like rife, as great in fame as fhe was, And fo ftand fix'd. Peace, Plenty, Love, Truth, Terrour, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; Shall be, and make new nations. He fhall flourish, King. Thou fpeakeft wonders. Cran. She fhall be, to the happiness of England, 'Would, 'Would, I had known no more! but she must die, (19) To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her. Thou'ft made me now a man; never, before To see what this child does, and praise my maker. [Exeunt. (19) Would I had known no more: but She muft die, She must, the Saints must have her; yet a Virgin, Amoft unspotted Lilly, &c.] Thus the Editors hitherto, in their Sagacity, have pointed this Paffage, and destroy'd the true Senfe of it. The first part of this Sentence is a Wish: The other should be a forrowful Continuation of the Bishop's Prophecy. But, fure, Cranmer was too wise and pious a Man, too well acquainted with the State of Mortality, to make it a part of his Lamentation that this good Princess muft one time or other go to Heaven. As I point it, the Poet makes a fine Compliment to his Royal Miftrefs's Memory, to lament thas the muft die without leaving an Heir of her Body behind her. (20) And you good Brethren,] But, the Aldermen never were call'd Brethren to the King. The Top of the Nobility are but Coufins and Counsellors. Dr. Thirlby, therefore, rightly advised; And your good Brethren i.e. the Lord Mayor's Brethren; which is properly their Style, 3 |