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Till they obey the manage. If we suffer
(Out of our easiness and childish piu

To one man's honor) this contagious sickness,
Farewell, all physic; And what follows then?
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint

Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbors,
The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have labor'd,
And with no little study, that my teaching,
And the strong course of my authority,
Might go one way, and safely; and the end
Was ever, to do well; nor is there living,
(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 lordships, 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,
You are always my good friend; if your will pass,
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 modest.
Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary,
That s the plain truth; your painted gloss discovers,
To men that understand you, words and weakness.
Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favor, 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 honor mercy; you may, worst Of all this table, say so.

Why, my lord?

Crom.
Gar. Do not I know you for a favorer
Cf this new sect: Ye are not sound.
Crom.
Gar. Not sound,' say.
Crom.

Not sound?
'Would you were half so honest!
Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.
Gar. I shall remember this bold language.
Crom.

Remember your bold life too.
Chan.

Forbear, for shame, my lords.

Gar. Crom.

Do.

This is too much;

I have done.

And I. Chun. Then thus for you, my lord,-It stands agreed,

I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;
There to remain, till the king's further pleasure
Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords?
All. We are.
Cran.
Is there no other way of mercy,
But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?
Gar.
What other

Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome!
Let some o' the guard be ready there

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In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
Not only good and wise, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honor; and, to strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal self in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender!
K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commen.
dations,

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's that's holy, he had better starve,

Than but once think this 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 understarding

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 lousy footboy
At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this? Did my commis-

sion

Thus far

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.
My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace,
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
Concerning 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.

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terbury,

I have a suit which you must not deny me;
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants haptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory.
In such an honor; How may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you"
K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spar: your
spoons; you shall have'

It was an ancient custom for sponsor to present spoons to their god-children.

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draw mine honor 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 tight for bitten apples; that ne 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, tha

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy is to come. true heart.

The common voice, I see, is verified

Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canter-
bury

A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.-
Come, lords, we tritle 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 honor gain.

[Exeunt.

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 ?2 ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.3

[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the

larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue: Is this the 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 Cake here, you rude rascals?

Mun. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible

(Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons)

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.
Por. 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,
made no spare, sir.

Port.

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

Mun. What would you have me do?

Port. What should you do but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moortields 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 wilt beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Mun. 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 bead, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor nce, and hit that woman, who cried out, clubs! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succor, 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 sundenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to The bear garden on the Bank-side. ■ Roaring.

4 Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish giant. Pink'd cap The brazier.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain.

Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here' They grows still too, from all parts they are com ing,

As if we kept a fair here! Where are these por ters,

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
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from the christening.
Port.
An't please your honor,
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
Clap round fines, for neglect: You are lazy knaves,
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
And here ye lie baiting of bumbards,9 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.2 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 :-.
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye!
K. Hen.
What is her name?
Cran.

K. Hen.

Thank you, good lord archbishop; Elizabeth.

Amen.

Stand up, lord.[The KING kisses the Chuld. 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 : I thank ye heartily, so shall this lady, When she has so much English. Cran. Let me speak sir, For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they'll find them 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 Place of confinement. A dessert of whipping Black leather vessels to hold beer 1 Pitch. At Greenwich

(But few now living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that shall suceed: 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,

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,

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 honor 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
children

Shall see this, and bless heaven.
K. Hen.
Thou speakest wonders.
Crun. She shall be, to the happ..ess of England,
An aged princess; many days shall see her,

And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows And yet no day without a deed to crown it.

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 neighbors.
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honor,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
[Nors 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,

'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 mourn her.
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;
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way,
lords;

(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of I have received much honor by your presence,

darkness,)

Who, from the sacred ashes of her honor,
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
This and the following seventeen lines were probably
written by B. Jonson, after the accession of king James.

Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank yo
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

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ANTENOR,

his Sons.

Trojan Commanders.

ACHILLES,
AJAX,
ULYSSES,
NESTOR,
DIOMEDES,
PATROCLUS,

CALCHAS, a Trojan Priest, taking part with the THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Grec

Greeks.

PANDARUS, Uncle to Cressida.

ALEXANDER, Servant to Cressida.

MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam.

HELEN, Wife to Menelaus.
ANDROMACHE, Wife to Hector.

CASSANDRA, Daughter to Priam, a Prophetess.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants

Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to CRESSIDA, Daughter to Calchas.

Diomedes.

SCENE, Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.

PROLOGUE.

In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of | Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan.
Greece

The princes orgulous.! their high blood chafed,
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,
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;

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage:2 Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,

And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Speer 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 I lay
Leaps o'er the vaunt? and firstlings of those brous
'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

ACT I.

SCENE I.-Troy. Before Priam's Palace.

Enter TROILUS, armed, and PANDARUS.
Tro. Call here my varlet,3 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 skill-less 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,
Proud, disdainful. 2 Freight. ■ Servar. • Habit.
Weaker.

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So, traitor! when she comes!-When is she thence?

Frn. Well, she look`d yesternight fairer than ever I saw ner 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 of my father should perceive me, 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's Cassandra's wit; but

Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,-
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie urown'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 voice;
Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand,
In whose comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure
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.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much,

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Tro. Good Pandarus! how now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labor for my travel; illthought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between,but small thanks for my labor. Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus! what, with me?

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

Tro. Say I, she is not fair?

Pan. I do not care whether you do er 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 no make nor more in the

matter.

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 clamors! 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 sorts,!

Co womanish it is to be from thence.
Wat news, Æneas, from the field to-day?

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Cres. And whither go they?

Alex. Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, To see the battle. Hector, whose patience Is, as a virtue, tix'd, to-day was mov'd: He chid Andromache, and struck his armorer; 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.

Cres.

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

A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
They call him Ajax.

Cres.
Good; and of him?
Alex. They say he is a very man per se,2
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;3 he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humors, that his valor 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.

Enter PANDARUS.

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 morow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of!-Good morrow, Alexander.- How de 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. E'en so: Hector was stirring early.

Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger. Pan. Was he angry?

Cres. So he says, here.

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