Let some o'the guard be ready there. Cran. Enter Guard. Must I go like a traitor thither ? Gar. 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; 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, And fair purgation to the world, than malice- 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, My mind gave me, And brother-love, I do it, In seeking tales and informations Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye. In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; His royal self in judgment comes to hear ations, Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee: No, sir, it does not please me. At chamber door? and one as great as you are? With a true heart, Cran. The common voice, I see, is verified SCENE III.-The Palace Yard. Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. [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 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? Lpossibl Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much im- Port. You did nothing, sir. Man. I am not Sampson, 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 30 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. blow us. 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 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 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 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 these Your faithful friends o'the suburbs? We shall have Cham. As I live, I'll Port. You i'the camblet, get up o'the rail; I'll pick you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt, SCENE IV.-The Palace. 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 Ledies. 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? Elizabeth. Stand up, lord,- Cran. More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue, Enter trumpets, sounding; then Two Aldermen, Lord K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders. | He has business at his house; for all shall stay, Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England, This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt. 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 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 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. PERSONS REPRESENTED. PRIAM, King of Troy. HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, his sons. DEIPHOBUS, HELENUS, ENEAS, ANTENOR, Trojan commanders. PROLOGUE. In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks. The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida. MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam. AGAMEMNON, the Grecian general. MENELAUS, his brother. With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, ACT I. SCENE I-Troy. Before Priam's Palace. Enter TROILUS armed, aud PANDARUS. Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding. 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 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 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,) Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadnesɛ. 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,- Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; me, As true thou tell'st me, when I say-I love h But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, 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 labour for my travel; illthought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour. Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield? Tro. Because not there; this woman's answer sorts, For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Æneas, from the field to-day? Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. Tro. By whom, Æneas? Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menclaus' 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. Tro Come, go we then together. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A Street. Cres. And whither go they? He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer; Cres. A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; Good; Cres. 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 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. Enter PANDARUS. Cres. Who comes here? Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 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 is Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too. Cres. What, is he angry too? Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two. Cres. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison. Cres. Ay; if I ever saw him before, and knew him. Cres. Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector. Pan. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. 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 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. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed. Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him the 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 arithmetick 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. 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 in all Phrygia. Cres. O, he smiles valiantly. Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. Pan. Why, go to then ;-But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus, 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 love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you will 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. |