his outcry?

_Hig._ Master,
A sort of poor souls met: Gods fools, good Master,
Have had some little variance amongst our selves
Who should be honestest of us, and which lives
Uprightest in his calling: Now, 'cause we thought
We ne're should 'gree on't our selves, because
Indeed 'tis hard to say: we all dissolv'd, to put it
To him that should come next, and that's your Master-ship,
Who, I hope, will 'termine it as your mind serves you,
Right, and no otherwise we ask it: which?
Which does your worship think is he? sweet Master
Look over us all, and tell us; we are seven of us,
Like to the seven wise Masters, or the Planets.

_Gos._ I should judge this the man with the grave beard,
And if he be not--

_Clau._ Bless you, good Master, bless you.

_Gos._ I would he were: there's something too amongst you
To keep you all honest. [_Exit._

_Snap._ King of Heaven go with you.

_Omn._ Now good reward him,
May he never want it, to comfort still the poor, in a good hour.

_Fer._ What is't? see: _Snap_ has got it.

_Snap._ A good crown, marry.

_Prig._ A crown of gold.

_Fer._ For our new King: good luck.

_Ginks._ To the common treasury with it; if't be gold,
Thither it must.

_Prig._ Spoke like a Patriot, _Ferret_--
King _Clause_, I bid God save thee first, first, _Clause_,
After this golden token of a crown;
Where's oratour _Higgen_ with his gratuling speech now
In all our names?

_Fer._ Here he is pumping for it.

_Gin._ H'has cough'd the second time, 'tis but once more
And then it comes.

_Fer._ So, out with all: expect now--

_Hig._ That thou art chosen, venerable _Clause_,
Our King and Soveraign; Monarch o'th'Maunders,
Thus we throw up our Nab-cheats, first for joy,
And then our filches; last, we clap our fambles,
Three subject signs, we do it without envy:
For who is he here did not wish thee chosen,
Now thou art chosen? ask 'em: all will say so,
Nay swear't: 'tis for the King, but let that pass.
When last in conference at the bouzing ken
This other day we sat about our dead Prince
Of famous memory: (rest go with his rags:)
And that I saw thee at the tables end,
Rise mov'd, and gravely leaning on one Crutch,
Lift the other like a Scepter at my head,
I then presag'd thou shortly wouldst be King,
And now thou art so: but what need presage
To us, that might have read it in thy beard
As well, as he that chose thee? by that beard
Thou wert found out, and mark'd for Soveraignty.
O happ