knaves;

And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when
Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets
sound;
They are come already from the christening:
Go, break among the press, and find a way 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 ache.

Port. You i'the camblet, get up o'the rail; I'll pickt 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 Stuff, 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 KING, 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 Into whose hands I give thy life. [thee! 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.

Lutter

Cran. Let me speak, Sir, For heaven now bids me; and the words I Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. [her!) This royal infant, (heaven still move about Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall

be

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 hon-
our,
[blood.
And by those claim their greatness, not by
[Nor* shall this peace sleep with her: But as
when

The oird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
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 children

Shall see this, and bless heaven.
K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders.]

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of Eng

land,

die,

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
[gin,
She must, the saints must have her; yet a vir-
A most unspotted lily shall she pass [her.
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn
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 pleas'd me,
That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my

Maker.

ease,

And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,
We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis
clear,
[city
They'll say, 'tis naught: others, to hear the
Abus'd extremely, and to cry, that's witty!
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 show'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. Jonson, after the accession of King James.

Greece

PROLOGUE.

IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of
The princes orgulous,* their high blood chaf'd,
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,
[mures
To ransack Troy: within whose strong im-
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 Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperrt 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 vaunts 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 arm'd, and PANDARUS. Tro. Call here my varlet, 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 geert 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 unpractis'd 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 blenché at sufferance than I do. + Habit. + Weaker. Shrink.

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: [ness, But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladIs 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 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

Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus, When I do tell thee, There my hopos 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 [voice; Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her 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 ploughinen! 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 The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.

[me

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 labour for my travel; illthought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

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 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.

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 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
I cannot fight upon this argument; [thus.
It is too starv'd 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 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 wild and wandering flood;
Ourself, the merchant; and this sailing Pan-
dar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Alurum. Enter ÆNEAS.

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

Tro. Because not there; This woman's answer sorts,*

and hurt

For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?
Ene. That Parisis returned home, and I
Tro. By whom, Æneas?
Æne. Troilus, by Menelaus.
Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar te
scorn;

Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. Æne. Hark! what good sport is out of town to-day!

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

Tro. Come, go we then together. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-The same.-A Street.
Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER.

Cres. Who were those went by?
Alex. Queen Hecuba, and Helen.
Cres. And whither go they?

Alex. 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 mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and struck his ar-

mourer;

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?

Alex. The noise goes, this: There is among the Greeks

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

Cres. Good; And what of him?

Alex. They say he is a very man per se,t 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 crouded humours, that his valour is crushedý into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, attaint, but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy * Suits. + By himself. + Characters, Mingled

He hath the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?

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 Ilium?

Cres. This morning, uncle. Pan. What were you talking of, when I came? Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she? Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up. Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early. Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.

Pan. Was he angry?

Cres. So he says here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause 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 the two.

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 knew 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 degrees.

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

he were,

Cres. So he is.

Not brown neither.

Cres. No, but brown.

Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not

brown.

Cres. To say the truth, true and not true.
Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough.
Pan. So he has.

Cres. Then, Troilus should have too much: if she praised him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief, Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.

Pan. I swear to you, I think, Helen loves him better than Paris.

Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed.

Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him the other day into a compassed* window, -and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin.

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to a total.

Pan. Why, he is very young: and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector.

Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter ?+

Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him; she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin,

Cres. Juno have mercy!-How came it cloven?

Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think, his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.

Cres. O, he smiles valiantly.

Par. Does he not?

Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. Pan. Why, go to then:-But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus,

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so.

Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i'the shell.

Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled his chin;-Indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess. Cres. Without the rack.

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.

Cres. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer. Pan. But, there was such laughing; Queen Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. Cres. With mill-stones.‡

Pan. And Cassandra laughed.

Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes;-Did her eyes run o'er too?

Pan. And Hector laughed.

Cres. At what was all this laughing?

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin.

Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed too.

Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at his pretty answer.

Cres. What was his answer?

Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty hars on your chin, and one of them is white.

Cres. This is her question.

2

† A proverbial saying.