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 happy beard! but happier Prince, whose beard
Was so remark’d, as marked out our Prince,
Not bating us a hair.  Long may it grow,
And thick, and fair, that who lives under it,
May live as safe, as under Beggars Bush,
Of which this is the thing, that but the type.

Om. Excellent, excellent orator, forward good Higgen, Give him leave to spit:  the fine, well-spoken Higgen.

Hig. This is the beard, the bush, or bushy-beard,
Under whose gold and silver raign ’twas said
So many ages since, we all should smile
On impositions, taxes, grievances,
Knots in a State, and whips unto a Subject,
Lye lurking in this beard, but all kemb’d out: 
If now, the Beard be such, what is the Prince
That owes the Beard? a Father; no, a Grand-father;
Nay the great Grand-father of you his people. 
He will not force away your hens, your bacon,
When you have ventur’d hard for’t, nor take from you
The fattest of your puddings:  under him
Each man shall eat his own stolen eggs, and butter,
In his own shade, or sun-shine, and enjoy
His own dear Dell, Doxy, or Mort, at night
In his own straw, with his own shirt, or sheet,
That he hath filch’d that day, I, and possess
What he can purchase, back, or belly-cheats
To his own prop:  he will have no purveyers
For Pigs, and poultry.