(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. I have a suit which you must not deny me; In such an honour; How may I deserve it, Two noble partners with you; the old duchess of And lady marquiss Dorset: Will these please you? And brother-love, I do it. Cran. With a true heart, Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 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 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 meteor 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. 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 K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able 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 .arder. 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 (Unless we sweep them from the door with can- To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide in ? 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 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 m? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? 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, tha: is to come. Enter the Lord Chamberlain. Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here! Cham. As I live, And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when months. 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, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth! Flourish. Enter King and Train. Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, and My noble partners, and myself, thus pray ;- K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop, What is her name ? Cran. K. Hen. Elizabeth. Stand up, lord. [The King kisses the child. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! Into whose hands I give thy life. Cran. Amen. (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall see this, and bless heaven. K. Hen. K. Hen, My noble gossips, ye have been too pro-Would I had known no more! but she must die, digal: I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, Cran. Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. Thou hast made me now a man; never, before Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye, EPILOGUE. 'Tis ten to one, this play can never please And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows All that are here: Some come to take their ease, with her : In her days every man shall eat in safety As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: fa my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He the grinding. In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tar Greece The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf'd, And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are; ACT I. SCENE I.-Troy. Before Priam's Palace. Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; Tro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Tro. Have I not tarried? leavening. Tro. Still have I tarried. word hereafter, the kneading, the making of the Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, 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 As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain; 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,- me, As true thou tell'st me, when I say-I love her; |