To urge my imperfections in excuse,
Were all as stale as custom: no, my lord,
My service is my kings; good reason why,--
Since life or death hangs on our sovereign's eye.

LORD MAYOR.
His majesty hath honored much the city
In this his princely choice.

MORE.
My lord and brethren,
Though I depart for court my love shall rest
With you, as heretofore, a faithful guest.
I now must sleep in court, sound sleeps forbear;
The chamberlain to state is public care:
Yet, in this rising of my private blood,
My studious thoughts shall tend the city's good.

[Enter Crofts.]

SHREWSBURY.
How now, Crofts! what news?

CROFTS.
My lord, his highness sends express command
That a record be entered of this riot,
And that the chief and capital offenders
Be thereon straight arraigned, for himself intends
To sit in person on the rest tomorrow
At Westminster.