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 my self 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 gossips, y'have been too prodigal,
I thank ye heartily: so shall 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 flatt'ry, 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. Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue,
Than this blest soul 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 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 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 Phœnix,
Her ashes new create another heir,
As great in admiration as her self;
So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
(When heav'n shall 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: children's 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,
She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lilly shall she pass
To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

King.
O lord Arch-bishop,
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 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 beholden:
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 sick 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.

EPILOGUE.

'Tis ten to one this play can never please
All that are here: some come to take their ease,
And sleep an act or two; but those we fear
We've frighted with our trumpets: so 'tis clear
They'll say it's naught. Others, to hear the city
Abus'd extreamly, and to cry that's witty;
Which we have not done neither; that I fear
All the expected good w'are like to hear
For this play at this time, is only in
The merciful construction of good women;
(For such a one we shew'd 'em) If they smile,
And say 'twill do; I know within a while
All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.

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