(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 lord-
ships,

That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
And freely urge against me.

Suf. Nay, my lord,

That cannot be; you are a counsellor,

And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. Gar. My lord, because we have business of more moment,

We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness'

pleasure,

And our consent, for better trial of you,
From hence you be committed to the Tower;
Where, being but a private man again,
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.
Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I
thank you,
[pass,
You are always my good friend; if your will
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,
You are so merciful: I see your end,
'Tis my undoing: Love, and meekness, lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition;
Win straying souls with modesty again,
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 mo-
dest.

covers,

ye all,

Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I tola [ing, When we first put this dangerous stone a roll'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?

Chum. '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 scut.

Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven

tle,

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.

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.

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 tak'st me for, I 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:
By 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 com-
mission

Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
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 [pos'd To let my tongue excuse all. What was purConcerning 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 bim, 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 Canterbury,

I have a suit which you must not deny me; This 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, [you? And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge Embrace, and love this man. [you,

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 show
thy true heart.

The common voice, I see, is verified [bury
Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canter-
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 111.-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?t ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.t

[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?

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? Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide As much as one sound cudgel of four foot [in? You see the poor remainder) could distribute, made no spare, Sir.

It was an ancient custom for sponsors to present spoons to their god-children. + The bear garden on the Bank-side. 1 Roaring.

Port. You did nothing, Sir. Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,* to mow them down before me: bat, 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 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.

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 firedrake 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 porringert 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 wia 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 dance these three days; besides the running Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to banquet of two beadles, that is to come.

Enter the Lord CHAMBERLAIN.

Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here! [coming, They grow still too, from all parts they are 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
Your faithful friends o'the suburbs? We shall
have
[ladies,
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the
When they pass back from the christening.

Port. An't please your honour
We are but men; and what so many may do,
Not being torn a pieces, we have done :
An army cannot rule them.

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

* Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish glant.
+ Pink'd cap.
The brazier.
A desert of whipping.

Place of confinement.

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 pick you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The Palace.t 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?

(But few now living can behold that goodness,) A pattern to all princes living with her, And all that 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, [her, Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: She shall be lov'd and fear'd: Her own shall bless her:

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, Black leather vessels to hold beer. + Pitch. • At Greenwich.

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[blood.

our,

And by those claim their greatness, not by [Nor shall this peace sleep with her: But as when

The bird 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
Shall see this, and bless heaven.
children

K. Hen. 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. 'Would I had known no more! but she must [gin,

die,

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.-
I thank ye all,-To you, my good lord mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much beholden;
I have receiv'd much honour by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way,

lords;

[ye,

Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank 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,
[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.

IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of
Greece

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. + Freight. 4 Avaunt, what went before.

* Proud, disdainful.

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, fondert 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 blench§ at sufferance than I do. ↑ Weaker.

+ Shut.

A servant to a knight.

+ Habit.

◊ Shrink.