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or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again ; and that I would not for a cow, God save her.

Within. Do you hear, Mr. Porter?

Port. I fall be with you presently, good Mr. Puppy. Keep the door close, firrah.

Man. What would you have me do ?

Port. What should you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens ? is this Morefields to mufter in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to Court, the women so besiege us ? bless me! what a fry of fornication is at the door? on my christian conscience, this one christning will beget a thousand; here will be father, god-father, and all together.

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, Sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brasier by his face ; for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; 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 nose discharged against me; he lands there like a mortar-piece to blow us up. There was a haberdasher's wife of Imall wit near him, that rail'd upon me 'till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combuflion in the state. I mift the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cry'd out, Clubs ! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succour; which were the hope of the strand, where she was quarter'd. They fell on í I made good my place; at length they came to th' broomstaff with me, I defy'd 'em ftill; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em deliver'd such a shower of pibbles, loose shot, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the Work; the devil was amongst 'em, I think, surely.

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse; 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 some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance


these three days ; besides 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 ;
These lazy knaves ? ye've made a fine hand, fellows s

's a trim rabble let in; are all these
Your faithful friends o'th' suburbs ? we shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from th' chriftning?

Port. Please your Honour,
We are but men; and what so 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
By th' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: y'are lazy knaves ;
And here ye lye baiting of bumbards, when
Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets found j
Th' are come already from the christening;
Go break among the press, and find a way out
To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find
A Marshalsea, Thall hold you play these two month.

Port. Make way for the Princess.

Man. You great fellow, stand 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 changes to the Palace. Enter Trumpets founding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor,

Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's fiaf, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great Panding 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 Dorset, the other god-mother, and ladies. The troop pass once about the flage, and Garter speaks.

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 most 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.
With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee,
Into whose hand I give thy life.

Cran. Amen.

King. My noble goffips, y’have been too prodigal,
I thank you heartily: so fhall this lady,
When the has so much English.

Cran. Let me speak, 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, (heaven still move about her).
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness. She fhall be


(But few or none living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all Princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed. Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue,
Than this bleft foul shall be. All Princely graces,
That mould up such a mighty piece as this,
With all the virtues that attend the good,
Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her:
Holy and heav'nly thoughts still counsel her:
She shall be lov’d and fear'd. Her own shall bless her ;
Her foes shake, like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her,
In her days, ev'ry man shall eat in safety,
Under his own vine, what he plants; and fing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.
God shall be truly known, and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And claim by those their Greatness, not by blood.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her ; but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden Phoenix,
Her ashes new create another heir,
As great in admiration as herself;
So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
(When heav'n fhall call her from this cloud of darkness)
Who from the sacred ashes of her honour
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix'd. Peace, Plenty, Love, Truth, Terrour,
That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ;
Where-ever the bright sun of heav'n shall shine,
His honour and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations. He shall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches

To all the plains about him : childrens' children
Shall see this, and bless heav'n.

King. Thou speakest wonders.

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England,
An aged Princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.



'Would, I had known no more! but she must die, (19)
She must, the Saints must have her yet a Virgin ;
A moft unspotted lilly the shall pass
To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

King. O lord Arch-bilhop,
Thou'st made me now a man; never, before
This happy child, did I get any thing.
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me,
That when I am in heav'n, I shall defire
To see what this child does, and praise my maker.
I thank ye all.comTo you, my good Lord Mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much beholden : (20)
I have receiv'd much honour by your presence,
And Mall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords ;
Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye,
She will be fick else. This day no man think,
H’as business at his house, for all shall stay ;
This little one shall make it holy day. [Exeunt.

(19) Would I had known no more: but she must die, She muft, the Saints must have her; yet a Virgin, A most unspotted Lilly, &c.] Thus the Editors hitherto, in the Sagacity, have pointed this Passage, and destroy'd the true Sense of it. The first part of this Sentence is a With: The other should be a sorrowful Continuation of the Binop's Prophecy. But, sure, 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 must one time ou other go to Heaven. As I point it, the Poet makes a fine Compliment to his Royal Mifress's Memory, to lament that The die without leaving an Heir of her Body behind her.

(20) And you good Brethren,] But, the Aldermen never were call'd Rrethren to the King. The Top of the Nobility are but Coulins and Counsellors. Dr. Thirlby, therefore, rightly advised ;

And your good Brethreni. c. the Lord Mayor's Brethren; which is properly their Styles

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