(God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice,) | Yet freshly pitied in our memories.
To quench mine honour they would shame to
make me

:

Wait else at door; a fellow counsellor,
Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures
Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.

Enter at a window above, the King and Burrs.
Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight,—
K. Hen. What's that, Butts?

Butts. I think, your highness saw this many a day.
K. Hen. Body o' me, where is it?

Butts. There, my lord!

The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury,
Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants,
Pages, and footboys.

K. Hen. Ha! 'Tis he, indeed:

Is this the honour, they do one another?

'Tis well, there's one above them yet. I had thought,
They had parted so much honesty among them,
(At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer
A man of his place, and so near our favour,
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures,
And at the door, too, like a post with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery:

Let them alone, and draw the curtain close!
We shall hear more anon. -

The Council-chamber.

[Exeunt.

Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of SUFFOLK, Earl of SURREY, Lord Chamberlain, GARDINER and CROMWELL. The Chancellor places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand; a seat being left void above him, as for the Archbishop of CANTERBURY. The rest seat themselves in order on each side. CROMWELL at the lower end, as se

cretary.

Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary: Why are we met in council?

Crom. Please your honours,

The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury.
Gar. Has he had knowledge of it?

Crom. Yes.

Nor. Who waits there?

D. Keep. Without, my noble lords?

Gar. Yes.

D. Keep. My lord archbishop;

I

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have labour'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,
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 Hittle 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,

And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
Chan. Let him come in!

D. Keep. Your grace may enter now.

[Cranmer approaches the council-table.
Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry
To sit here at this present, and behold
That chair stand empty: but we all are men,
In our own natures frail, and capable

Of our flesh, few are angels: out of which frailty,
And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chaplains,
(For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions,
Divers, and dangerous, which are heresies,
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicions.

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too,
My noble lords: for those, that tame wild horses,
Pace them not in their hands, to make them gentle,
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur
them,

Till they obey the manage. If we suffer
(Out of our easiness, and childish pity
To one man's honour) 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 neighbours,
The upper Germany, can dearly witness,

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 honour mercy; you may, worst
Of all this table, say so.

Crom. Why, my lord?

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer
Of this new sect? ye are not sound.
Crom. Not sound?

Gar. Not sound, I say.

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

Must I go like a traitor thither?
Gar. Receive him,

And see him safe i'the Tower!

Cran. 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,

In seeking tales, and informations,
Against this man, (whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,)

K. 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 Canter-
bury,

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 self in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

I have a suit, which you must not deny me;
That is, a fair young maid, that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
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 your spoons;
you shall have

Two noble partners with you: the old dutchess 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.
Cran. And let heaven

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

The common voice, I see, is verified
Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord 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 IV. The palace yard.

Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man.
Port. You'll leave your noise anoh, ye rascals!

K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commen-Do you take the court for Paris-garden? ye rude 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 that's holy, he had better starve,
Than but once think his 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 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 like 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

slaves, leave your gaping!

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

larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hang'd, 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?

Man. 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.
Port. 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,
I made no spare, sir.

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, save her.

God

master

[Within.] Do you hear, master Porter? Port. I shall be with you presently, good puppy.Keep the door close, sirrah! Man. What would you have me do? Fort. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or

a

a

and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks.

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 Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send conscience, this one christening will beget a thou-prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high sand; here will be father, godfather, and all together. and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth!

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 fain 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 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 kuaves? — 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.

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
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 ake.

Port. You i'the camblet, get up o'the rail; I'll pick
you o'er the pales else.
[Exeunt.

Flourish. Enter King and Train. Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, 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. Thank you, good lord archbishop!
What is her name?
Cran. Elizabeth.

K. Hen. Stand up, lord!

and

[The King kisses the Child.
With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
Into whose hands I give thy life.
Cran. Amen.

K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too pro-
digal :
I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady,
When she has so much English.
Cran. Let me speak, sir,

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
(But few now living can behold that goodness,)
A pattern to all princes, living with her,
And all, that shall succeed: Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue,

For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter

Thau this pure soul shall be: and 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,

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 honour,
Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
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,

(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,)

Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, That were the servants to this chosen infant, And so stand fix'd: peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; The palace. Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, Enter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen. His honour and the greatness of his name Lord Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, Duke of NORFOLK, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches Shall be, and make new nations. He shall flourish, with his marshal's staff, Duke of SUFFOLK, two

SCENE IV. ·

:-our children's children

Shall see this, and bless heaven.

Noblemen bearing great standing bowls for the To all the plains about him :christening gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Dutchess of NORFOLK, K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders. godmother, bearing the Child, richly habited in a Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England, mantle, etc. Train borne by a Lady: then follows An aged princess; many days shall see her, the Marchioness of DORSET, the other godmother, And get no day without a deed to crown it.

He has business at his house; for all shall stay.
This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt.

'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 show'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 their ladies bid them clap.

ACHILLES,
AJAX,

ULYSSES,

NESTOR,

DIOMEDES,

PATROCLUS,

THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.
ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida.

CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Servant to Troilus: Servant to Paris; Servant to

HELEN, wife to Menelaus.
ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector.

CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam: a prophetess.
CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.

SCENE,- Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.

Of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited
In like conditions as our argument,
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
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.
Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are;
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

Pun. Ay, the grinding; but you most tarry the Pan. Not I. bolting.

Tro. Have I not tarried?

Tro. Sweet Pandarus, -
Pan. Pray you,

speak no more to me; I will leave Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the lea- all as I found it, and there an end. vening.

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 compari-
son 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. 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 cheeks, 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.

Pun. 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.

[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;

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 AENEAS.

Aene. 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, Aeneas, from the field to-day?
Aene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Aeneas?
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 to-day!
Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were may-.
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?
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, 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.

Cres. Good; and what of him?
Alex. They say he is a very man per se,
And stands alone.

Cres. So do all man; unless they are drunk, sick,
or have no legs.

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. Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-a-their particular additions; he is as valiant, as the lion, mor; 'tis all one to me. churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man,