Chapter: 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

    Man. The Spoones will be the bigger Sir: There is
    a fellow somewhat neere the doore, he should be a Brasier
    by his face, for o' my conscience twenty of the Dogdayes
    now reigne in's Nose; all that stand about him are
    vnder the Line, they need no other pennance: that FireDrake
    did I hit three times on the head, and three times
    was his Nose discharged against mee; hee stands there
    like a Morter-piece to blow vs. There was a Habberdashers
    Wife of small wit, neere him, that rail'd vpon me,
    till her pinck'd porrenger fell off her head, for kindling
    such a combustion in the State. I mist the Meteor once,
    and hit that Woman, who cryed out Clubbes, when I
    might see from farre, some forty Truncheoners draw to
    her succour, which were the hope o'th' Strond where she
    was quartered; they fell on, I made good my place; at
    length they came to th' broome staffe to me, I defide 'em
    stil, when sodainly a File of Boyes behind 'em, loose shot,
    deliuer'd such a showre of Pibbles, that I was faine to
    draw mine Honour in, and let 'em win the Worke, the
    Diuell was amongst 'em I thinke surely

    Por. These are the youths that thunder at a Playhouse,
    and fight for bitten Apples, that no Audience but the
    tribulation of Tower Hill, or the Limbes of Limehouse,
    their deare Brothers are able to endure. I haue some of
    'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance
    these three dayes; besides the running Banquet of two
    Beadles, that is to come.
    Enter Lord Chamberlaine.

    Cham. Mercy o' me: what a Multitude are heere?
    They grow still too; from all Parts they are comming,
    As if we kept a Faire heere? Where are these Porters?
    These lazy knaues? Y'haue made a fine hand fellowes?
    Theres a trim rabble let in: are all these
    Your faithfull friends o'th' Suburbs? We shall haue
    Great store of roome no doubt, left for the Ladies,
    When they passe backe from the Christening?
    Por. And't please your Honour,
    We are but men; and what so many may doe,
    Not being torne a pieces, we haue done:
    An Army cannot rule 'em

    Cham. As I liue,
    If the King blame me for't; Ile lay ye all
    By th' heeles, and sodainly: and on your heads
    Clap round Fines for neglect: y'are lazy knaues,
    And heere ye lye baiting of Bombards, when
    Ye should doe Seruice. Harke the Trumpets sound,
    Th'are come already from the Christening,
    Go breake among the preasse, and finde away out
    To let the Troope passe fairely; or Ile finde
    A Marshallsey, shall hold ye play these two Monthes

    Por. Make way there, for the Princesse

    Man. You great fellow,
    Stand close vp, or Ile make your head ake

    Por. You i'th' Chamblet, get vp o'th' raile,
    Ile pecke you o're the pales else.

    Exeunt.

 The council is in session with the Lord Chancellor presiding over it. Cranmer is summoned inside and informed that he has been changed with spreading heresies in the kingdom. Since these may prove dangerous Gardiner proposes swift and strong action to deal with the situation. Cranmer denies the accusations and requests to be brought face to face with his accusers. His request is denied, followed by a heated argument between Gardiner and Cromwell with the former accusing the latter of being in favor of the new sect espoused by Cranmer. The chancellor brings the meeting to order and it is decided that Cranmer be confined to the Tower. Cranmer pleads with them to reconsider but it is to no avail. Finally he brings out the Kings ring and asks to be judged by the King himself. The counselors recognize the ring as indeed being the kings and regret bringing Cranmer to trial, for now they fear the Kings displeasure. The King enters and Gardiner tries to placate the angry monarch but without success. He expresses his displeasure at their harsh treatment of one of their fellow counselors. He then praises Cranmer and commend them all to befriend him. When this is done, the King request Cranmer to baptize his daughter and to be one of her god parents.

