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Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may
In such an honour: how may I deserve it,
And Lady Marquess Dorset: will these please you?
Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge
Embrace and love this man.
The common voice, I see, is verified
A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.'
siege 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 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 With a true heart 170 haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed upon me till her pinked porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out 'Clubs!' when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope o' the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff to me; I defied 'em still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work. The devil was amongst 'em, I think, surely.
Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, 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 'em 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.
SCENE IV. The Palace Yard.
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 larder.
Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, ye rogue! Is this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones: these are but switches to 'em. 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 'em from the door with cannons,
Port. How got they in, and be hang'd?
You did nothing, sir.
To mow 'em down before me; but if I spared any
SCENE V.-The Palace.
Enter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, the Lord Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, the Duke of NORFOLK, with his marshal's staff, the Duke of SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great standingbowls 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, etc., 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 the KING and Train.
Cran. Kneeling. And to your royal grace, and
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray:
Thank you, good lord archbishop: What is her name?
Stand up, lord. The KING kisses the Child. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
Into whose hand I give thy life.
God shall be truly known; and those about her
Thou speakest wonders. Cran. She shall be, tothe happiness of England, 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 die, She must, the saints must have her, yet a virgin; A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall moura her.
Thou hast made me now a man: never, before
I thank ye heartily: so shall this lady
When she has so much English.
K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me,
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,
In her days every man shall eat in safety
Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour,
That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall see this and bless heaven.
Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye;
'Tis ten to one this play can never please
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
PRIAM, King of Troy.
MARGARELON, a bastard Son of Priam.
CALCHAS, a Trojan Priest, taking part with the
DRAMATIS PERSON Æ.
PANDARUS, Uncle to Cressida. AGAMEMNON, the Grecian General. MENELAUS, his Brother.
In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits
THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. ALEXANDER, Servant to Cressida.
Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to Diomedes.
HELEN, Wife to Menelaus.
ANDROMACHE, Wife to Hector.
CASSANDRA, Daughter to Priam, a Prophetess. CRESSIDA, Daughter to Calchas.
SCENE I.-Troy. Before PRIAM's Palace.
Tro. Call here my varlet, I'll unarm again :
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,
Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs 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
Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,
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,
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,- 50
Handlest in thy discourse, O! that her hand,
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
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,
Ene. How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not a-field?
Tro. Because not there: this woman's answer
For womanish it is to be from thence.
Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. Alarum. Ene. Hark! what good sport is out of town to-day.
Tro. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'
But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither?
Come, go we then together.
SCENE II.-The Same. A Street.
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 i' the matter.
Good; and what of him?
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
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
as the lion, churlish as the bear, 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 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.
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. True, he was so; I know the cause too : he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that and there's Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.
tell me another tale when th' other's come to 't. Hector shall not have his wit this year.
Cres. He shall not need it if he have his own.
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 40 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. So he is.
Pan. Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India.
Pan. Nor his beauty.
Cres. "Twould not become him; his own's better.
Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen herself swore th' other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, for so 'tis I must confess, not brown neither,
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 her body. No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.
Cres. No, but brown.
Pan. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cres. Excuse me.
Pan. He is elder.
Cres. Pardon me, pardon me.
Pan. Th' other's not come to 't; you shall
Cres. Then she's a merry Greek indeed.
Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th' other day into the 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. What is he angry too?
Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man in all Phrygia. of the two.
Cres. O Jupiter! there's no comparison.
Pan. What! not between Troilus and 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
Do you know a man if you see him?
Cres. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew that Helen loves Troilus,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. O he smiles valiantly.
Pan. Does he not?
Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.
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 lovean 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. And Cassandra laughed.
Cres. But there was 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?