[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder. Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, 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 ale and cakes here, you rude rascals? audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, o 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. Enter the Lord Chamberlain. Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves!-Ye have made a fine hand, There's a trim rabble let in: Are all these Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible [cannons,) (Unless we sweep them from the door with 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? [in? Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide As much as one sound cudgel of four foot (You see the poor remainder) could distribute, I made no spare, sir. Port. You did nothing, sir. Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Colbrand, 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 cuckoldmaker, let me never 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. Man. What would you have me do? Port. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to They are come already from the christening: muster in? or have we some strange Indian Go, break among the press, and find a way out with the great tool come to court, the women To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of forni-A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two cation is at door! On my christian conscience, this one christening will 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 railed upon me till her pink'd porringer + fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteort 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 quartered. 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, delivered 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. Por. These are the youths that thunder at a lay-house, and fight for bitten apples; that no As I live, And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when wonths. 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 pale's 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, the high and mighty princess of England, Eli zabeth. Flourish. Enter King, and Train. Cran. [Kneeling]. And to your royal grace and the good queen, Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish giant. + Pink'd cap. My noble partners, and myself, thus pray :- I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, Cran. Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, In her days, every man shall eat in safety, EPILOGUE. Tis ten to one, this play can never please All that are here: Some come to take their ease, And steep an act or two; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear All the expected good we are like to hear And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while, 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, The play of HENRY the EIGHTH is one of those which still keeps possession of the stage, by the splendour of its pageantry. The coronation, about forty years ago, drew the people together in multitudes for a great part of the winter. Yet pomp is not the only merit of this play. The meek sorrows and virtuous distress of Katharine have furnished some scenes, which may be justly numbered among the greatest efforts of tragedy. But the genius of Shakspeare comes in and goes out with Katharine. Every other part may be easily conceived and easily written.-JOHNSON. This and the following seventeen lines were probably written by Ben Jonson, after th accession of K. James. In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed, The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away ACT Enter TROILUS armed, 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 geer ¶ ne'er be mended? Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, [valiant ; Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness But I am weaker than a woman's tear, I. Less valiant than the virgin in the night, Tamer than sleep, fonder ** than ignorance; 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 for ther. He that will have a cake ont 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. Pun. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet n 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 sufferauce than I do. Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else. Tro. 1 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 couched in seeming glad Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. Pan. Au her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more comparison between the woinen-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. 1 will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drowned, Reply not in how many fathoms deep The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense As true thou tell'st me, when I say-I love Pan. I speak no more than truth. [me Let ber be as she is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for ber; an she be not, she has the mends in her own bands. Tro. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus ? len 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! [fair, Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be When with your blood you daily paint her I cannot fight upon this argument; [thus. It is too starved a subject for my sword. But Paudarus-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 Pandar, Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. Alarum. Enter NEAS. Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield? [swer sorts I, Tro. Because not there; This woman's anFor womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Eneas, from the field to-day? Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. Tro. By whom, Æneas? Ene. Troilus, by Menelans. Tro. 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! [may.Tro. Better at home, if would I might were But to the sport abroad;-Are you bound Ene. In all swift haste. Tro. [thither? 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 Heien. 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 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, Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, And to the field goes he; where every flower she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin | Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Hel-In Hector's wrath. Pan. I have had my labour for my travel; ill thought 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? + Suits. A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; 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, chulish as the hear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours, that his valour is crushed 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, but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: He hath the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briarens, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, ali eyes and no sight. Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry? Alex. They say he yesterday coped Hector n the battle, and struck him down; the dis dain 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 Pan.-' -'Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. Cres. He is not Hector. Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself.Would 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above; Time must 'friend or end: Well, Troilus, well, I would my heart were in ber body !-No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus. Cres. No, but brown. Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. Pan. She praised his complexion above Paris. Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough. 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 lifter¶? Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves |