Gar.

What other

mission

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?
Chan.
'Tis now too certain:
How much more is his life in value with him?
Would I were fairly out on't!
Crom

110

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 honor; 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.
King. You were ever good at sudden com-
mendations,

120

Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
They are too thin and bare 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, I'm sure Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody. [To Cranmer] Good man, sit down.

me see the proudest

Now let 130

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 pur-
posed

Concerning his imprisonment, was rather, 150

If there be faith in men, meant for his trial, And fair purgation to the world, than malice, I'm sure, in me.

King. 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 beholding 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 Canterbury,

160

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 honor: how may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you?

King. Come, come, my lord, you'ld spare your spoons: you shall have two noble partners with you; the old Duchess of Norfolk, and Lady Marquess Dorset: will these please you? Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge

you, Embrace and love this man. Gar.

With a true heart

170

And brother-love I do it.
Cran.
And let heaven
Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.
King, Good man, those joyful tears show
thy true heart:

The common voice, I see, is verified
Of thee, which says thus, 'Do my Lord of Can-
terbury

A shrewd turn, and he is your friend forever.'
Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
To have this young one made a Christian. 180
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
So I grow stronger, you more honor gain.

SCENE IV. The palace yard.

his Man.

Exeunt.

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 lousy footboy 139
At chamber-door? and one as great as you are?

Port. You'll leave your 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 hanged, ye rogue! is this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones: these are but switches to 'em. I'll scratch your heads:

To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day morning; which will never be:
We may as well push against Powle's, as stir 'em.
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 remainder-could distribute, 20
I made no spare, sir.

Port. You did nothing, sir.

Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor
Colbrand,

To mow 'em 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 ne'er hope to see a chine again;
And that I 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. 30
Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What would you do, but knock 'em 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? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together. 39

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 railed upon me till her pinked porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once, and hit that woman: who cried out 'Clubs!' when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her succor, which were the hope o' the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place: at length they came to the broomstaff to me: I defied 'em still: when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honor in, and let 'em win the work: the devil was amongst 'em, I think surely.

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, 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 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.

70

Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN. Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here!

have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from the christening.
Port.
An't please your honor,
We are but men; and what so many may do,
Not being torn a-pieces, we have done : 80
An army cannot rule 'em.
Cham.
As I live,

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: ye are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets
sound;

They're come already from the christening:
Go, break among the press, and find a way out
To let the troops pass fairly; or I'll find
A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two

months.

90

Port. Make way there for the princess.
Man.
You great fellow,

Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.
Port. You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail;
I'll peck you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. 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 manfle, &c., train borne by a Lady; then foilows the MARCHIONESS 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 KING and guard. 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!

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

Elizabeth.

ΤΟ

Cran. King. Stand up lord. [The King kisses the child. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! Into whose hand I give thy life. Amen. King. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal:

Cran.

I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady,
When she has so much English.

Cran
Let me speak, sir,
For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth.
This royal infant-heaven still move about her!-
Though in her cradle, yet now promises 19
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 all that shall succeed: Saba 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: 30 She shall be loved and feared: 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 neighbors:
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honor,
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 phoenix, 41
Her ashes new create another heir,
As great in admiration as herself;

To all the plains about him: our children's children

Shall see this, and bless heaven.

King.
Thou speakest wonders.
Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of Eng-
land,

An aged princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 59
Would I had known no more! but she must die,
She must, the saints must have her, yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
King. O lord archbishop,

Thou hast made me now a man! never, before
This happy child, did I get anything:
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 yeall. To you, my good lord mayor, 70
And your good brethren, I am much beholding;
I have received much honor 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 Has business at his house; for all shall stay: This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

terror,

That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him: 50
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honor and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches

clear,

They'll say 'tis nought: others, to hear the city
Abused extremely, and to cry That's witty!"
Which we have not done neither: that, I fear,
All the expected good we're like to hear
For this play at this time, is only in
The merciful construction of good women:
For such a one we show'd 'em; 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 'em clap.

20

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,

Beginning in the middle, starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.

Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are: 30 Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

SCENE I. Troy. Before Priam's palace.
Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS.
Tro. Call here my varlet; I'll umarm 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 gear 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 skilless as unpractised infancy.

ΙΟ

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 needs 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.

20

Pan. Ay, to the leavening: but here's 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.

Tre. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.

31

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 looked 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. 40 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 it, praise her: but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but

50

Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,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 ploughman: this thou tell'st

me,

As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her; 60
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 she is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labor for my travail; illthought on of her and ill-thought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks tor my labor.

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

Pan. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, 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-moor; 'tis all one to me. 80 Tro. Say I 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 i' 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.

91

[Exit Pandarus. An alarum, Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamors! 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:

100

It is too starved a subject for my sword.
But Pandarus,-O gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
And he's as techy 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 wild and wandering flood,
Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark.
Alarum. Enter ENEAS.

Ene. How now, prince Troilus! wherefore not afield?

Tro. Because not there: this woman's answer sorts,

For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?
Ene. That Paris is returned home and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Æneas?
Ene.
Troilus, by Menelaus.
Tre. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn;
Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum.
Ene. Hark, what good sport is out of town
to-day!

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.

A street.

SCENE II. The same.
Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER,
Cres. Who were those went by?
Alex.
Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cres. And whither go they?
Aiex.
Up to the eastern tower,
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 armorer,
And, like as there was 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?
Alex. The noise goes, this: there is among
the Greeks

A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
They call him Ajax.

ΤΟ

Cres. Good; and what of him? Alex. They say he is a very man per se, And stands alone.

Cres. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humors that his valor is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of,