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Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may

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

And Lady Marquess Dorset: will these please you?

Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge

Embrace and love this man.
And brother-love, I do it.
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
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.

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.

180 Exeunt.

SCENE IV. 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? 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,
To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day morning; which will never be.
We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em.

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, 20
I made no spare, sir.


You did nothing, sir.
Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor

To mow 'em 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 ne'er 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 'em
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 be.


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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
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?


Stand up, lord. The KING kisses the Child. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!

Into whose hand I give thy life.


K. Hen.


Let me speak, sir,
For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth.
This royal infant, heaven still move about her!
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be,
But few now living can behold that goodness,
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed: Saba 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,
Shall still be doubled on her; truth shall nurse


God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 40
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

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.
K. Hen, O lord archbishop!

Thou hast made me now a man: never, before
This happy child, did I get any thing.



prodigal :

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,
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 beholding;
I have receiv'd much honour by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way,

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,
And hang their heads with sorrow; good 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.


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,

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.

K. Hen.



Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye;
She will be sick else. This day, no man think
Has business at his house; for all shall stay:
This little one shall make it holiday. Excunt.



'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
They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear the city a
Abus'd extremely, and to cry That's witty!'
Which we have not done neither: that, I fear,
All the expected good we're 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 'em: 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 'em clap.


PRIAM, King of Troy.




MARGARELON, a bastard Son of Priam.


Trojan Commanders.

CALCHAS, a Trojan Priest, taking part with the

his Sons.






PANDARUS, Uncle to Cressida. AGAMEMNON, the Grecian General. MENELAUS, his Brother.


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 row is made
To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come,

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.
SCENE.-Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.


And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their war-like fraughtage: now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Grecks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with massy staples
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr 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 vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
Beginning 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.

·Grecian Commanders.




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.
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 gear 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, fonder 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: 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
you may chance to burn your lips.

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit ;


And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,
So, traitor! 'when she comes!' When is she


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,
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;
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.


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
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad
In Cressid's love: thou answer'st, she is fair;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her

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Handlest in thy discourse, O! that her hand,
In whose comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach; to whose soft

The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou
tell'st me,


As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

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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!


Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
But Pandarus-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 ENEAS.

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.
What news, Eneas, from the field to-day?
Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Æneas?


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?
Ene. In all swift haste.

Come, go we then together.

SCENE II.-The Same. A Street.
Cres. Who were those went by?
Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cres. And whither go they?
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 mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;
And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose he was harness'd light,
And to the field goes he; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.


What was his cause of anger?
Alex. The noise goes, this: there is among
the Greeks

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?
Alex. They say he is a very man per se,
And stands alone.

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;
They call him Ajax.

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.

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Enter 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. Even so: Hector was stirring early.
Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?
Cres. So he says here.

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.
Pan. Nor his qualities.
Cres. No matter.

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.
Cres. He is not Hector.


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. To say the truth, true and not true.
Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough.
Pan. So he has.

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.
Pan. Why, go to then. But to prove to you

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. But there was such laughing: Queen
Hecuba laughed that her eyes ran o'er.
Cres. With millstones.


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?

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