But yet I cannot help you.

Cran. Why?

Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
The whole realm, by your teaching, and your
chaplains,

(For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions,
Divers, and dangerous; which are heresies,
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords: for those, that tame wild horses, Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur them,

If we suffer

Till they obey the manage.
(Out of our easiness, and childish pity
To one man's honour) this contagious sickness,
Farewell, all physic: and what follows them ?

for.

Wait else at door; a fellow counsellor, Among boys, grooms, and lacqueys.

pleasures

But their Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. Enter, at a Window above, the KING and BUTTS. Butts. I'll shew your grace the strangest sight,— K. Hen. What's that, Butts?

Butts. I think, your highness saw this many a day.

K. Hen. Body o' me, where is it?
Butts. There, my lord:

The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury;
Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants,
Pages, and footboys.

K. Hen. Ha! 'tis he, indeed :

Is this the honour they do one another? Tis well, there's one above them yet. I had thought,

Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours, The upper Germany, can dearly witness,

Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, And with no little study, that my teaching, And the strong course of my authority, Might go one way, and safely; and the end Was ever, to do well: nor is there living (I speak it with a single heart, my lords,) A man, that more detests, more stirs against, Both in his private conscience, and his place, Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 'Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart With less allegiance in it! Men, that make Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment, Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, That, in this case of justice, my accusers, Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, And freely urge against me.

you,

sures,

And at the door too, like a post with packets.
By holy Mary, Batts, there's knavery:
Let them alone, and draw the curtain close;
We shall hear more anon'-

The Council-Chamber.

Enter the Lord CHANCELLOR, the Duke of SUFFOLK, Earl of SURREY, Lord CHAMBERLAIN, GARDINER, and CROMWELL. The Chancellor places himself at the upper End of the Table on the left Hand, a Seat being left roid above him, as for the Archbishop of CANTERBURY. The rest seat themselves in Order on each Side. CROMWELL at the lower End, as Secretary.

Chan. Speak to the business, master Secretary: Why are me met in council ?

Crom. Please your honours,

The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. Gar. Has he had knowledge of it.

Crom. Yes.

D. Keep. My lord archbishop;

And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. Chan. Let him come in.

D. Keep. Your grace may enter now.

[Cranmer approaches the Council-Table. Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry To sit here at this present, and behold That chair stand empty: but we all are men, In our own nature frail: and capable Of our flesh, few are angels; out of which frailty, And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,

'Tis my undoing: love, and meekness, lord, Beconie a churchman better than ambition;

Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience,
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary,
That's the plain truth; your painted gloss dis-
To men that understand you, words and weakness.
Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect
For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty,
To load a falling man.

covers,

Gar. Good master Secretary,

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst
Of all this table, say so.

Crom. Why, my lord?

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer Of this new sect? Ye are not sound. Crom. Not sound?

Gar. Not sound, I say.

Crom. 'Would you were half so honest!

Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.
Gar. I shall remember this bold language.
Crom. Do.

Remember your bold life too.

Chan. This is too much; Forbear, for shame, my lords. Gar. I have done.

Suf. Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves.

Nor. Do you think, my lords,

The king will suffer but the little finger

Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham. 'Tis now too certain :

How much more is his life in value with him? 'Would I were fairly out on't.

Crom. My mind gave me,

In seeking tales, and informations,
Against this man, (whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,)

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye.

Enter KING, frowning on them; takes his Seat. Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven

In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
Not only good and wise, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,
His royal self in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden coin-
mendations,

Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
They are too thin and base to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
But, whatsoe'er thou takest me for, am sure,
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody.-
Good man, [To Cranmer.] sit down. Now let me
see the proudest

He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
And all that's holy, he had better starve,
Than but once think his place becomes thee not.
Sur. May it please your grace,-

K. Hen. No, Sir, it does not please me.

I had thought, I had had men of some understanding

And wisdom, of my council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deserve that title,)
This honest man, wait like a lowsy footboy

At chamber door ↑ and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this? Did my commission
Bid ye so far for get yourselves? I gave yo
Power as he was a counsellor to try him,
Not as a groom; there's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
Which ye shall never have, while I live.
Chan. Thus far,

My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed,
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather
(If there be faith in men,) meant for his trial,
And fair purgation to the world, than malice;
I am sure, in me.

K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him;
Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him, If a prince
May be beholden to a subject, I
Am, for his love and service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;"

Be friends, for shame, my lords.—My lord of Can
Berbury,

I have a suit which you must not deny me;
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour; How may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you?
K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your
spoons; you shall have

Two noble partners with you; the old duchess of
Norfolk,

And lady marquis Dorset; will these please you! Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace, and love this man.

Gar. With a true heart, And brother-love, I do it. Cran. And let heaven

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true heart.

The common voice, I see, is verified,

Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canterbury
A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.—
Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
To have this young one made a christian.
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Palace Yard. Noise and Tumult within: Enter PORTER and his MAN.

Port. You'll leave you noise anon, ye rascals: do you take the court for Paris-garden↑↑ ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the

larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hang'd, you rogue: is this a place to roar in ?-Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to them :-I'll scratch your heads: you must be seeing christenings! Do you look for sie and cakes here, you rude rascals?

Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons) To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep On May-day morning; which will never be: We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them. Port. How got they in, and be hang'd? Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in! As much as one sound cudgel of four foot (You see the poor remainde1) could distribute, I made no spare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Mun. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Cob brand, to mow them down before me: but, if I spared any, that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again; and that Í would not for a cow, God save her.

[Within.] Do you hear, master Porter! Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy. Keep the door close, sirrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens! Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Biess me, what a try of fornication is at door! On my christian conscience, this one christening wil beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, Sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance: that fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me; he stands there like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that rail'd upon me till ber pink'd porringer|| fell off her head, for kindling sech a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor¶

• It was an ancient custom for sponsors to present spoons to their god-children.

The bear-garden on the Bank-side.
Roaring.

Guy of Warwick, nor

giant.

Pink'd cap.

Colbrand the Danish ¶ The brazier.

once, and hit that woman, who cried out, clubs • ! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, where she was quarter'd. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff with me, I defied them still; when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, deliver'd such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work: the devil was amongst them, I think, surely. Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play-house, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure, I have some of them in Limbo Patrum+, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is

to come.

If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines, for neglect: you are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bombards ý, when
Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound;
They are come already from the christening:
Go, break among the press, and find away out
To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find

A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months.

Port. Make way there for the princess. Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll make your head ake.

Port. You i' the camblet, get up o' the rail; I'll pick you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The Palace ¶.

Enter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, GARTER, CRANMER, Duke of NORFOLK, with his Marshal's Staff, Duke of SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts, then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the Child richly habited in a mantle, &c.-Train borne by a Lady: then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, the other godmother, and Ladies.-The Troop pass once about the stage, and GARTER speaks.

Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth!

Flourish.-Enter KINO and Train.

Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, and the good queen,

My noble partners, and myself, thus pray ;-
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye!

K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop:
What is her name?

Cran. Elizabeth.

K. Hen. Stand up, lord.

[The King kisses the Child. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! Into whose hands I give thy life. Cran. Amen.

K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal :

I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady,

When she has so much English.

Cran. Let me speak, Sir,

truth.

For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them
This royal infant, (heaven still move about her !).
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be
(But few now living can behold that goodness,)
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And that all shall succeed: Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue,
Than this pure soul shall be: All princely graces,
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,
With all the virtues that attend the good,
Shall still be doubled on her: Truth shall nurse
her,
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:
She shall be loved, and fear'd: her own shall
bless her;

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows
with her:

In her days, every man shall eat in safety
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
[Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phenix,
Her ashes new create another heir

As great in admiration as herself;

So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of
darkness,)

Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour,
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth,
terror,

That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honour and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
To all the plains about him :-Our children's chil-
dren

Shall see this, and bless heaven.

K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders.]

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England,
An aged princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
'Would I had known no more! But she must die,
She must, the saints must have ber; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
K. Hen. O lord archbishop,

Thou hast made me now a man; never, before
This happy child, did I get any thing:
This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,
That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.-
I thank you all,-To you, my good lord mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much beholden;
I have received much honour by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way,

lords ;

Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye,
She will be sick else. This day, no man think
He has business at his house; for all shall stay,
This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

'Tis ten to one, this play can never please All that are here: Some come to take their ease, And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, They'll say, 'tis naught: others, to hear the city Abused extremely, and to cry,-that's witly! Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, All the expected good we are like to hear For this play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good women; For such a one we shew'd them; if they smile, And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap, If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap.

This and the following seventeen lines were probably written by B. Johnson, after the acces sion of king James.

IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous *, their high blood chafed,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia: and their vow is made,
To ransack Troy; within whose strong immures
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come;

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage +: now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antencrides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfulling bolts,
Sperr up the sons of Troy.

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard:-And hither am I come
A prologue arm'd,-but not in confidence
Of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited
In like conditions as our argument,-
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are;
Now, good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

ACT I.

SCENE I-Troy.-Before Priam's Palace.
Enter TROILUS armed, ond PANDARUS.
Tro. Call here my variet, I'll unarm again:
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within?
Each Trojan, that is master of his heart,
Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.
Pan. Will this geer ¶ ne'er be mended?
Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their
strength,

Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance;
Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skill-less as unpractised infancy.

'Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding.

Tro. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.

Tro. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.

Tro. Still have I tarried.

Pan. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word-hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit;

And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,So, traitor!--when she comes!--When is she

thence?

Pan. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.

Tro. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain; Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, I have (as when the sun doth light a storm), Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to), there were no more comparison between the women,-But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term praise her, But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but

Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandaros,-
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love: thou answer'st, She is fair;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand,
In whose comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughmen! This thou tell'st me,
As true thou tell'st me, when I say-I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Tro. Thou dost not speak so much,
Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as
+ Split.

• Shrink.

Tro. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labour for my travail; thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my la

bour.

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? What,

with me?

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to ine, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-a-noor; 'tis all one to me.

Tro. Say 1, she is not fair? Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the

matter.

Tro. Pandarus,

Pan. Not I.

Tro. Sweet Pandarus,—

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there an end.

[Exit Pandarus.-An Alarum. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!

Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument:

It is too starved a subject for my sword.

But Pandarus-0 gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo,
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where she resides,
Let it be call'd the wide and wandering flood;
Ourself, the merchant; and this sailing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
Alarum. Enter ENEAS.

Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the battle, and struck him down; the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

Enter PANDARUS.

Cres. Who comes here?

Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cres. Hector's a gallant man.

Alex. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? What's that?
Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: What do you talk of?-Good morrow, Alexander.-How do you, cousin? When were you at hum?

Cres. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came? Was Hector arm'd, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?

Cres. Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.
Pan. Even so; Hector was stirring early.
Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pun. Was he angry?

Cres. So he says here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the canse too; he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that: and there is Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cres. What, is he angry too?

Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of

Cres. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison. Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?

Cres. Ay; if ever I saw him before, and kuew him.

Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. Cres. Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some de

Ene. Hark! What good sport is out of town today!

Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were may.But, to the sport abroad;-Are you bound thither? Ene. In all swift haste.

Tro. Come, go we then together.

[Exeunt.

Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience

Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was moved:
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer:
And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light,
And to the field goes he; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.

Cres. What was his cause of anger?

Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself. Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would he

Cres. Twould not become him, his own's better. Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Heien her self swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown

Cres. Then, Troilus should have too much if she praised him above, his complexion is higher * Grain.

Characters.

+ Mingled