nons To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep You did nothing, sir. To mow 'em down before me: but if I spared any 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 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. 39 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 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. 70 Enter 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 Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, 80 If the king blame me for 't, I'll lay ye all They're come already from the christening: Port. Make way there for the princess. 90 You great fellow, Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache. Port. You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail; I'll peck you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt. SCENE V. 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 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 Guard. Cran. [Kneeling] And to your royal grace, and the good queen, My noble partners, and myself, thus pray: King. Thank you, good lord archbishop: 10 Elizabeth. Stand up, lord. [The King kisses the child. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! Into whose hand I give thy life. Amen. Cran. King. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal : I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, Cran. Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: 30 She shall be loved 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, As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 59 An aged princess; many days shall see her, To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. Thou hast made me now a man! never, before I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor, 70 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. [Exeunt. EPILOGUE. '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, When heaven shall call her from this cloud of We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis darkness, Who from the sacred ashes of her honour clear, They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear the city ΙΟ IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed, To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Their warlike fraughtage: now on Dardan plains The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch 20 Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, Beginning in the middle, starting thence away Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are: Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 30 ACT I. 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? 31 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. 40 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 50 Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,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 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; 60 Pan. I speak no more than truth. 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 travail; 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? Pan. Because she's 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? 80 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. 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. 91 [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; 100 It is too starved a subject for my sword. Ene. How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield? Tro. Because not there: this woman's an swer sorts, For womanish it is to be from thence. 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. Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER. Cres. Who were those went by? Alex. Queen Hecuba and Helen. Cres. And whither go they? Alex. Up to the eastern tower, A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; Cres. ΤΟ 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, do Cres. Who comes here? Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. Enter PANDarus. Cres. Hector's a gallant man. you, 40 Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of? Good morrow, Alexander. How 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? 50 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. Cres. What, is he angry too? 61 Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two. Cres. O Jupiter! there's no comparison. Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him? Cres. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him. Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. 70 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 him Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. Pan. Nor his beauty. Cres. 'Twould not become him; his own's better. Pan. You have no judgement, niece: Helen herself swore th' other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour-for so 'tis, I must confess,-not brown neither, Cres. No, but brown. Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 109 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 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. Is he so young a man and so old a Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. 139 Pan. Why, go to, then: but to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus, Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you '11 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 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,151 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 mill-stones. Pan. And Cassandra laughed. Cres. But there was more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes: did her eyes run o'er too? 161 |