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 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,2 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.

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,3 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 pick4 you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-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 of Dorset, the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks.

With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
Into whose hands I give thy life.
Cran.

(1) Place of confinement.
(2) A dessert of whipping.
(3) Black leather vessels to hold beer.
(4) Pitch.
(5) At Greenwich.

Amen.

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
(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,
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,
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,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
[Nor 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,
(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of
Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour,
darkness,)
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, ter-

ror,

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 honour 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

Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth.

Shall see this, and bless Heaven.
K. Hen.
Thou speakest wonders.
Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England,
An aged princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.

Flourish. Enter King, and Train.

Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, and 'Would I had known no more! but she must die, the good queen,

She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass

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!

To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
K. Hen. O lord archbishop,

K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop;
What is her name?

Elizabeth.

Cran.
K. Hen.

Stand up, lord.-
[The King kisses the child.

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;

(6) This and the following seventeen lines were probably written by B. Jonson, after the accession of king James.

lords ;

I have receiv'd much honour by your presence; For such a one we show'd them: If they smile, And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way,|| And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while

All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap, Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye, ||If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap. 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.

The play of Henry the Eighth is one of those EPILOGUE.

which still keeps possession of the stage by the

splendor of its pageantry. The coronation, about "TIS ten to one, this play can never please forty years ago, drew the people together in multiAll that are here: Some come to take their ease, tudes for a great part of the winter. And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, not the only merit of this play. The meek sorrows, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, and virtuous distress, of Katharine, have furnished They'll say, 'tis naught: others, to hear the city some scenes, which may be justly numbered among Abus'd extremely, and to cry, that's witty! the greatest efforts of tragedy. But the genius of Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, Shakspeare comes in and goes out with Katharine. All the expected good we are like to hear Every other part may be easily conceived and easily For this play at this time, is only in

written. The merciful construction of good women;

JOHNSON.

Yet pomp is

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

PERSONS REPRESENTED. Priam, King of Troy.

|Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. Hector,

Alexander, servant to Cressida. Troilus,

Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris ; Servant to Paris, his sons.

Diomedes.
Deiphobus,
Helenus,
Æneas,

Helen, wife to Menelaus.
Antenor,
Trojan commanders.

Andromache, wife to Hector.
Calchas, á Trojan priest, taking part with the Cassandra, daughter to Priam; a prophetess.
Greeks.

Cressida, daughter to Calchas.
Pandarus, uncle to Cressida.
Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.
Agamemnon, the Grecian general.
Menelaus, his brother.
Achilles,

Scene, Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.
Ajax,
Ulysses,

Grecian commanders.
Nestor,
Diomedes,
Patroclus,

PROLOGUE.

ACT І. IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of|| SCENE 1.-Troy. Before Priam's palace. EnGreece

ter Troilus armed, and Pandarus.
The princes orgulous,' their high blood chaf'd,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,

Troilus.
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: Sixty and nine, that wore

CALL here my varlet, I'll unarm again :
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is made, That find such cruel battle here within?
To ransack Troy ; within whose strong immures Each Trojan, that is master of his heart,
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' quten,

Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none. With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel. Pan. Will this geero ne'er be mended ? To Tenedos they come ;

Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge

strength, Their warlike fraughtage :Now on Dardan plains Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant ; The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch But I am weaker than a woman's tear, Their brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city, Tamer than sleep, fonder? than ignorance; Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, Less valiant than the virgin in the night, And Antenorides, with massy staples,

And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy. And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this : for Sperr3 up the sons of Troy.

my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, the grinding. Sets all on hazard :- And hither am I come

Tro. Have I not tarried ? A prologue arm’d,—but not in confidence

Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the Of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited bolting. In like conditions as our argument, —.

Tro. Have I not tarried ? To tell you, fair beholders, that our play

Pan. Ay, the bolting ; but you must tarry the Leaps o'er the vaunt4 and firstlings of those broils, leavening. 'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away Tro. Still have I tarried. To what may be digested in a play.

Pan. Ay, to the leavening : but here's yet in the Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are; word-hereafter, the kneading, the making of the Now, good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking ; nay,

(1) Proud, disdainful. (2) Freight. (3) Shut. (4) Avaunt, what went before.

(5) A servant to a knight.
(7) Weaker.

(6) Habit

you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance || Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, to burn your lips.

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 Æneas.

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 rive2 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. 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 ploughmen! 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.

Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'Tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. Alarum. Ene. Hark! what good sport is out of town today!

Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were
may.-
But, to the sport abroad;-Are you bound thither?
ne. In all swift haste.

Tro.
Come, go we then together. [Exe.
SCENE II.-The same. A street. Enter Cres-
sida 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,

Tro. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labour for my travail; ill-Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light, thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone And to the field goes he; where every flower between and between, but small thanks for my la-Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw In Hector's wrath.

bour.
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.

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 better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield?

Tro. Because not there; This woman's answer sorts,3

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.

For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, Eneas, from the field to-day?

Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Æneas?

Jne.

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,4
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

Tro. Pandarus,

Pan. Not I.

Tro. Sweet Pandarus,-

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me; I will he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, leave all as I found it, and there an end. but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy [Exit Pandarus. An Alarum.without cause, and merry against the hair: Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, hath the joints of every thing: but every thing so rude sounds!

He

(1) Shrink.

(2) Split. (3) Suits.

(4) By himself.
(6) Mingled.

(5) Characters.
(7) Grain.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees.

Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself.
Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would, he

were,

Cres. Excuse me.

Pan. He is elder.

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. The other's not 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. 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 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.

Cres. So he is.

Pan. 'Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. || Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er.
Cres. He is not Hector.

Cres. With mill-stones.3

Pan. And Cassandra laughed.

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. 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' chin.

Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed too.

Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at his pretty answer.

Cres. What was his answer?

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

Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white. Čres. 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 husband? The forked one, quoth he; pluck it out, and give it him. But, there was

(1) Bow. (2) Thief. (3) A proverbial saying. such laughing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris

VOL. II.

2 I