And see him safe i' the Tower. Cran. For me? Receive him, Stay, good my lords; I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; By virtue of that ring, I take my cause Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it To a most noble judge, the king my master. Cham. This is the king's ring. Sur. "Tis no counterfeit. Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, "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? Cham. "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, Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye. In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not me; But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure, He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee: Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean; 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; Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory Two noble partners with you; the old Duchess of Norfolk And Lady Marquis Dorset: Will these please you? Once more, my lord of Winchester, 1 charge you, Embrace, and love this man. Gar. And brother-love, I do it. Cran. With a true heart, And let Heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart. The commen voice, I see, is verified A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever." 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? 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 a place to roar in ?-Fetch ine 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 impos sible (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons) Port. You did nothing, sir. Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, to mow them down before me: but, if I spare 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 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. 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 ine; 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 is 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 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 tnese 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 Clap round fines, for neglect: You are lazy 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 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. 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 the good queen, My noble partners, and myself, thus pray ;- K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop, 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. K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal : Amen. I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, Let me speak, sir, Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her, 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: God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honou And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one K. Hen. O lord archbishop, Thou hast made me now a man; never, before (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of And you, good brethren, I am much beholding; darkness), Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, terror. That were the servants to this chosen infant, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches Shall see this, and bless heaven. K. Hen. An aged princess; many days shall see her, To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. I have receiv'd much honour hy your presence, Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye, EPILOGUE. "Tis ten to one, this play can never please TIMON OF ATHENS DRAMATIS PERSONE. TIMSON, a noble Athenian. CAPHIS, servant to Timon's creditors. SCENE.-Athens, and the Woods adjoining. ACT I. SCENE 1.-Athens. A Hall in Timon's House. Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Let's see your piece. Pain. Poet. So'tis: This comes off well and excellent. Pain. Indifferent. others, at several doors. Poet. Good day, sir. Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. To an untirable and continuate goodness: Jew. I have a jewel here. Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the Lord Timon, It stains the glory in that happy verse Mer. 'Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel. To the great lord. 'Tis a good piece. Poet. Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. I'll say of it, Enter certain Senators, and pass over. Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man Pain. How shall I understand you? To Apemantus, that few things loves better Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinds of natures, Pain. Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on: All those which were his fellows but of late (Some better than his value), on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink the free air. Pain. Ay, marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of mood, Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants, A thousand moral paintings I can show, More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well, Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, attended; the His means most short, his creditors most strait: Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up: which failing to him, Periods his comfort. Tim. Noble Ventidius! Well; I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help, [him. Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt and free Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ransom: Enter LUCILIUS. Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this By night frequents my house. I am a man thy creature, That from my first have been inclined to thrift; And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd Than one which holds a trencher. Tim. Well: what further? Tim. Does she love him? Tim. [To LUCILIUS] Love you the maid? Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, Tim. How shall she be endow'd, If she be mated with an equal husband? Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, all. Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me To build his fortune I would strain a little, long; For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her. Old Ath. Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour; she is his. Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. That state or fortune fall into my keeping, [Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! [anon: Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Your lordship to accept. Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech Tim. The painting is almost the natural man; For since dishonour traffics with man's nature, We must needs dine together.-Sir, your jewel Jew. What, my lord? dispraise? Tim. A mere satiety of commendations, If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd It would unclew me quite. |