Chan. Thus farre My most dread Soueraigne, may it like your Grace, To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd Concerning his Imprisonment, was rather (If there be faith in men) meant for his Tryall, And faire purgation to the world then malice, I'm sure in me

Kin. Well, well my Lords respect him, Take him, and vse him well; hee's worthy of it. I will say thus much for him, if a Prince May be beholding to a Subiect; I Am for his loue and seruice, so to him. Make me no more adoe, but all embrace him; Be friends for shame my Lords: My Lord of Canterbury I haue a Suite which you must not deny mee. That is, a faire young Maid that yet wants Baptisme, You must be Godfather, and answere for her

Cran. The greatest Monarch now aliue may glory In such an honour: how may I deserue it, That am a poore and humble Subiect to you? Kin. Come, come my Lord, you'd spare your spoones; You shall haue two noble Partners with you: the old Duchesse of Norfolke, and Lady Marquesse Dorset? will these please you? Once more my Lord of Winchester, I charge you Embrace, and loue this man

Gard. With a true heart, And Brother; loue I doe it

Cran. And let Heauen Witnesse how deare, I hold this Confirmation

Kin. Good Man, those ioyfull teares shew thy true hearts, The common voyce I see is verified Of thee, which sayes thus: Doe my Lord of Canterbury A shrewd turne, and hee's your friend for euer: Come Lords, we trifle time away: I long To haue this young one made a Christian. As I haue made ye one Lords, one remaine: So I grow stronger, you more Honour gaine.


Scena Tertia.

Noyse and Tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.

Port. You'l leaue your noyse anon ye Rascals: doe you take the Court for Parish Garden: ye rude Slaues, leaue your gaping

Within. Good M[aster]. Porter I belong to th' Larder

Port. Belong to th' Gallowes, and be hang'd ye Rogue: Is this a place to roare in? Fetch me a dozen Crab-tree staues, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em: Ile scratch your heads; you must be seeing Christenings? Do you looke for Ale, and Cakes heere, you rude Raskalls? Man. Pray Sir be patient; 'tis as much impossible, Vnlesse wee sweepe 'em from the dore with Cannons, To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleepe On May-day Morning, which will neuer be: We may as well push against Powles as stirre 'em

Por. How got they in, and be hang'd? Man. Alas I know not, how gets the Tide in? As much as one sound Cudgell of foure foote, (You see the poore remainder) could distribute, I made no spare Sir

Port. You did nothing Sir

Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand, To mow 'em downe before me: but if I spar'd any That had a head to hit, either young or old, He or shee, Cuckold or Cuckold-maker: Let me ne're hope to see a Chine againe, And that I would not for a Cow, God saue her

Within. Do you heare M[aster]. Porter? Port. I shall be with you presently, good M[aster]. Puppy, Keepe the dore close Sirha

Man. What would you haue me doe? Por. What should you doe, But knock 'em downe by th' dozens? Is this More fields to muster in? Or haue wee some strange Indian with the great Toole, come to Court, the women so besiege vs? Bless me, what a fry of Fornication is at dore? On my Christian Conscience this one Christening will beget a thousand, here will bee Father, God-father, and all together

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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