Puslapio vaizdai
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SCENE III. Noise and Tumult within: Enter Porter and his Man. Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye Rascals; do you take the Court for Paris Garden? ye rude Slaves, 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 Staves, and strong ones; these are but Switches to 'em : I'll scratch your Heads; you must be seeing Chriftnings? Do you look for Ale and Cakes here, you rude Rascals ?

Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impoffible,
Unless we swept them from the Door with Cannons,
To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day Morning, which will never be:
We may as well push against Pauls, as stir ’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 see the poor remainder, could distribute,
I made no (pare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand,
To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any
That had a Head to hit, either young or old,
He or she, Cuckold, or Cuckold-maker;
Let me ne'er 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 shall be with you presently, good Mr. Puppy.
Keep the Door close, Sirrah,

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What should you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to Muster 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 Chrift, ning will beget a thousand, here will be Father, God-father, and all together,

Man,

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Man. The Spoons will be the bigger, Sir; there is a Fel. low somewhat near the Door, he should be a Brafier by his Face, for 'o' my Conscience twenty of the Dog-days now reign in's Nose; all that fand about him are under the Line, they need no other Penance; that Fire-Drake did I hic three times on the Head, and three times was his Nose discharged against me; he stands there like a Mortar-piece to blow us up. There was Haberdasher's Wife of small Wit, near him, that rail'd upon me, 'till her pinck'd Porringer fell off her Head, for kindling such a combustion 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 Truncheons draw to her Succour, which were the hope o’th' Strand, where the was quarter’d; they fell on, I made good my Place; at length they came to th' Broom-staff to me, I defyd 'em ftill, when suddenly a File of Boys behind 'em, loole Thot, deliver'd such a shower of Pibbles, 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 Play-house, and fight for bitten Apples, that no Audience but the Tribulation of Tower- Hill, or the Limbs of Lime. Houfe, 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.

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Enter Lord Chamberlain.
Cham. Mercy o'me; what a Multitude are here?
They grow still too; from all Parts they are coming,
As if we kept a Fair here? where are ihese Porters?
These lazy Knaves? Ye've made a find Hand, Fellows?
There'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 the Christning?

Port. And't 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,

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 negle&: Yare lazy Knaves,
And here ye lye baiting of Bombards, when
Ye should do Service. Hark, the Trumpets sound,
Th’are come already from the Christning;
Go break among the Press, and find a way out
To let the Troop pass fairly; or I'll find
A Marsalfea shall hold ye play these two Months.

Port. Make way there, for the Princess.

Man. You great Fellow,
Stand close up, or I'll make your Head ake.

Port. You i'th' Chamblet, get up'o'ch' Rail,
I'll peck you o'er the Pales elle.

[Exeunt. SCENE JI. Enter Trumpets founding ; then two Aldermen, Lord Mazar,

Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's Staff,
Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen, bearing great standing Bowls
for the Christning Gifts: Then four Noblemen bearing a Cao
nopy, 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 Marchioness of Dorset, the other
God-mother, and Ladies. The Troop pass once about the Stage,
and Garter Speaks.

Gart. Heaven,
From thy endless Goodness fend prosperous Life,
Long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty
Princess of England, Elizabeth.

Flourish. Enter King and Guard.
Cran. And to your Royal Grace, and the good Queen,
My Noble Partners, and my self thus pray,
All comfort, joy in this most gracious Lady,
Heaven ever laid up to make Parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye.

King. Thank you good Lord Archbishop;
What is her Name?
Cran. Elizabeth

1

King. Stand up, Lord; With this Kiss

, take my Blessing: God prote&t thee, Into whose hand, I give thy Life.

Cran. Amen.

King. My noble Gossips, y’have been too Prodigal,
I thank ye heartily: So Thall this Lady,
When she 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, Heav'n 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 shall be,
(But few now living can behold that Goodness,)
A Pattern to all Princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed: Saba was never
More covetous of Wisdom, and fair Virtue,
Than this pure Soul shall be. All Princely Graces
That mould up such a mighty Piece as this is,
With all the Virtues that attend the Good,
Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall Nurse her,
Holy and Heavenly 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 every Man Thal eat in safety,
Under his own Vine what he plants; and sing
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 by those claim their Greatness, not by Blood.
Nor shall this Peace sleep with her; But as when
The Bird of wonder dies, the Maiden Phænix,
Her Alhes new create another Heir,
As great in admiration as her self;
So ih all the leave her Blessedness to One,
(When Heav'n shall call her from this cloud of darkness,)
Whɔ from the sacred Alhes of her Honour

Shall

Shall Scar-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fixd. 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 fhalt shine,
His Honour, and the greatness of his Name,
Shall be, and makė new Nations. He shall Aourish,
And like a Mountain Cedar, reach his Branches,
To all the Plains about him: Our Children's Children
Shall see this, and bless Heav'n.

King. Thou fpeakest Wonders.

Cran. She shall be to the Happiness of England,
An aged Princess; many days thall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had known no more: But she must die,
She must, the Saints must have her; yet a Virgin,
A most unspotted Lilly thall she pass
To th' Ground, and all the World shall mourn her.

King. O Lord Archbishop,
Thou hast 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 desire
To see what this Child does, and praise my Maker.
I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor,
And you good Brethren, I am much beholding:
I have receiv'd much Honour by your presence,
And

ye

shall 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
Has business at his House, for all shall stay:
This little One Thall make it Holy-day.

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