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Crom. My mind gave me, In seeking tales, and informations, Against this man, (whose honesty the devil And his disciples only envy at,) Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye.
Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat.
Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven 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 honour; and, to strengthen That holy duty, out of dear respect, His royal ..o. judgment comes to hear, The cause betwixt her and this great offender. K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commendations, 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 that's holy, he had better starve, #. but once think his place becomes thee not. Sur, May it please your grace,— K. Hen. o, sir, it does not please me. I had thought, I had had men of some understanding 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 i. a lousy footboy At chamber-door! and one as great as you are? Why, what a shame was this? Did my commission 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. Thus far, My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd Concerning his imprisonment, was rather W. there be faith in men,) meant for his trial, nd fair purgation to the world, than malice; I am sure, in me. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. I will say thus much for him, If a prince May be beholden to a subject, I Am, for his love and service, so to him. Make me no more ado, but all embrace him ; Be friends, for shame, my lords.-My lord of Canterbury, I have a suit, which yon must not deny me; That is, a fair young maid, that yet wants baptism, You must be godfather, and answer for her. Cran. o: greatest monarch now alive may or 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 our spoons; you shall have Two noble partners with you; the old Duchess of Norfolk, And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please you? Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace, and love this man. Gar. With a true heart, And brother-love, I do it. route And let heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.
K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true heart. The common voice, I see, is verified Of thee, which says thus, Do mylord of Canterbury 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. 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? ye rude slaves, leave č. 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 1—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. Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much inpossible (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. Port. How got they in, and be hang'd? Man. Alas, ; know not; How gets the tide in? As much as one sound cudgel of four foot }}. see the poor remainder) could distribute, made no spare, sir. Port. You did nothing, sir. Man. I am not Samson, 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 P"o. o. the door close, sirrah. an. What would you have me do? Port. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in 2 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, godsather, .# 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. 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 sain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work: The devil was among 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 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 honour, We are but men; and what so many may do, , Not being torn a pieces, we have done: An army cannot rule them. As I live, If the king blame me for't, I’ll lay ye all By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads § 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 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.
o few now living can behold that goodness,)
'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 Abus'd extremely, and to cry, that's witty! Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, All the expected good we are like to hear For this play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good women; . For such a one we shew'd them: 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 *g * bid them clap.
PROLOGUE. , there lies the scene. reece 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 forward to: Phrygia: and their vow is made, To ransack Troy; within those 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: Now on Dardan plains The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitc Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, And Antenorides, with massy staples, And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, Sperr up the sons of Troy. Now expectation, tickling skittish *pirits, 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 F. Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils 'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away To what may be digested in a play.
From isles of
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, 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 geer 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 part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry **ś ro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Tro. Have I not tarried? [leavening. Pan. Ay; the bolting; but you must tarry the 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 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 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, When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd, Reply not in how many fathoms deep They lie indrench'd. 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 cheeks, her gait, her voice; #. 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! *. 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. . Lether 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. [with me? Tro. What, art, thou, angry, Pandarus? what, 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 ... . 'tis all one to me. 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 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 clamours! peace, rude sounds ! Fools on both sides' Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot o: upon this argument; It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. But Pandarus–0 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,
AEne. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield? [sorts, Tro. Because not there; This woman's answer For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, AEneas, from the field to-day? AEne. That Paris is return'd home, and hurt. Tro. By whom, AEneast AEne. Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. (Alarum.) AEne. Hark! what good sport is out of town today! may.— Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were But, to the sport abroad;—Are you bound thither? AEne. In all swift haste. Tro. Come, go we then together. [Exeunt.
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? lex. 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. 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. res. 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 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 *H In an an attaint, but he carries some stain of it: He is melancholy without cause, and merry *::::: the hair: He o the joints of every thing; but everything 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 Pandards. Pan, Good morrow, cousin Cressid: What do you talk of 1–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, ereye 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 7 Cres. So he o: 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 then take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that Cres. What, is he angry too? [too. Pan. Who, Troilus to 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 ever I saw him before, and knew him. Pan. Wài. I say, Troilus is Troilus. Cres. Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector. [degrees. Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself. Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would, he were, Cres. So he is. [. Pan. — "Condition, I had gone bare-foot to Cres. He is not Hector. 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. Excuse me. Pan. He is elder. Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. Pan. The other's no come to't; you shall tell me another tale, when the 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. Pan. Nor his beauty. Cres. "Twould not become him, his own’s better. Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen herself swore the 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. Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris. Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough. Pan. So he has. 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 slaming apraise for a good complexion. I had as lies, 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 a compass'd 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, list as much as his brother Hector. Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lister? Pan. Bnt, 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. Pan. Does he not? 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 y on 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 mill-stones. Pan. And Cassandra laughed. Cres. But there was a 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? Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus's chin. Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed too. §. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at his pretty answer. Cres. What was his answer? Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white. Cres. This is her question. Pan. That's true; make no question of that. One and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one white: That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. Jupiter! quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris my husbaud? The forked one, quoth he, pluck it out, and give it him. But, there was such laughing' and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laugh'd, that it pass'd, Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by. think or’t. Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; Cres. So I do. Pan. I'll be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep you. an 'twere a man born in April. Cres. And I’ll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle against May. (A retreat sounded.) Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field: Shall we stand up here, and see them, as they pass towards Ilium ! good niece, do; sweet niece Cressida. Cres. At your pleasure. Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place; here we may see most bravely: I’ll tell you them all by their names, as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest.
AENEAs passes over the Stage. Cres. Speak not so loud. Pan. That's AFneas; Is not that a brave man" he's one of the slowers of Troy, I can tell you; But mark Troilus; you shall see anon. Cres. Who's that
ANtENor passes over.
Pan. That's Antenor; he has a shrewd wit, I can tell you ; and he's a man good enough: he's one o' the soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, and a proper man of person:—When comes Troilus' --I'll shew you Troilus anon; if he see me, you shall see him nod at me.
Cres. Will be give you the nod”