More out of malice than integrity, Chan. Thus far, My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd 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; Am. for his love and service, so to him. 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 cuckold-maker, 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 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 thou Be friends, for shame, my lords.-My lord of Canter-sand; here will be father, godfather, and all together. 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? 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. With a true heart, 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 her pink'd porringer' fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out, clubs! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succor, 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 draw mine honor in, and let them win the work : The devil was amongst them, I think, surely. Gar. SCENE III.-The Palace Yard. Noise and Tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: Do you take the court for Paris-garden ?2 ye rude slaves, leave your gaping." [Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder. Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue: Is this the 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 cake 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 remainder) could distribute, I made no spare, sir. Port. You did nothing, sir. 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. 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. fellows, There's a trim rabble let in: Are all these Port. Cham. As I live, By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads 4 Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish giant. Place of confinement. A dessert of whipping. Black leather vessels to hold beer. Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound; A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months. Mun. 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 pick' you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt. FOLK, SCENE IV.-The Palace." Enter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, DUKE OF NORwith 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 :- K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop; What is her name? K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal: I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, Cran. | More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue, | Who, from the sacred ashes of her honor, Shall see this, and bless heaven. K. Hen. Thou hast made me now a man; never, before EPILOGUE. 'Tis ten to one, this play can never please 1 Pitch 2 At Greenwich For this play at this time, is only in This and the following seventeen lines were probably written by B. Jonson, after the accession of king James. ANTENOR, Trojan Commanders. PATROCLUS, CALCHAS, a Trojan Priest, taking part with the THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. Greeks. PANDARUS, Uncle to Cressida. MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam. ALEXANDER, Servant to Cressida. Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to HELEN, Wife to Menelaus. CASSANDRA, Daughter to Priam, a Prophetess. Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. SCENE, Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it. PROLOGUE. In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of Greece | And Antenorides, with massy staples, The princes orgulous,' their high blood chafed, Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, Now, expectation, tickling skittish spirits, ACT I. SCENE I-Troy. Before Priam's Palace. Enter TROILUs, armed, and PANDARUS. Tro. Call here my varlet,' I'll unarm again: Why should I war without the walls of Troy, Proud, disdainful. 2 Freight. Servant. |