Lest men discover us.

_Hig._ Yes; and cry sometimes,
To move compassion: Sir, there is a table,
That doth command all these things, and enjoyns 'em,
Be perfect in their crutches, their feign'd plaisters,
And their torn pass-ports, with the ways to stammer,
And to be dumb, and deaf, and blind, and lame,
There, all the halting paces are set down,
I'th' learned language.

_Clau._ Thither I refer them,
Those, you at leisure shall interpret to them.
We love no heaps of laws, where few will serve.

_Om._ O gracious Prince, 'save, 'save the good King _Clause_.

_Hig._ A Song to crown him.

_Fer._ Set a Centinel out first.

_Snap._ The word?

_Hig._ A Cove comes, and fumbumbis to it.-- _Strike._

_The SONG.

Cast our Caps and cares away: this is Beggars Holy-day,
At the Crowning of our King, thus we ever dance and sing.
In the world look out and see: where's so happy a Prince as he?