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 He rides alone.—He's looking at his watch.— The Mayor and the sheriffs go to meet him.— Sir, you can see—tell me how he is dressed?— Black velvet.—Friend, your elbow's very sharp.— The Mayor speaks to him.—The carriage stops.— Now he's haranguing him.—He nods his head.— The Mayor hands him a petition which He passes to Lord Broghill.—Is the Mayor Still speaking?—Still!—But will he ne'er have done?— He's almost kneeling.—Holofernes' eunuch! He always talks, whoe'er it be who rules.— Now the Protector answers him. Hark! hark!— Ay, let us listen!—Woe betide the man! The wolf is preaching to the lambs!—At Dunbar Noll's beard was more dishevelled.—He alights.— Where goes he?—To the chapel, there to pray To God.—Rather, to hell!—See how he walks Surrounded by his Ironsides!—In vain Is that precaution! for his body-guards Are ill-content to guard a king.—Hush! hush!— Again we wait!—What think you of his aspect?— He's gloomy.—Cheerful.—Dull.—Majestic.—Aged.— Nay, he's fatigued.—The sun did discommode him.— Methinks he has the gout.—The master doth Offend my eyes, by his eight horses drawn. 'Tis carting dung in a triumphal car.— Now he returns. Ah! to Westminster Hall!— There is his sword-bearer, and train-bearer.— The rev'rend minister with his blue cloak.— Is it not Lockyer?—Yes.—The palace clerks, The sergeants and the pages and the varlets.— On horseback the Lord Mayor goes before