The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 241

CHANCELLOR. 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- If there be faith in men-meant for his trial And fair purgation to the world, than malice, I'm sure, in me.

KING. 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 beholding to a subject, 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 you must not deny me: That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism; You must be G.o.dfather, and answer for her.

CRANMER. 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?

KING. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons. You shall have Two n.o.ble partners with you: the old d.u.c.h.ess of Norfolk And Lady Marquis Dorset. Will these please you?

Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace and love this man.

GARDINER. With a true heart And brother-love I do it.

CRANMER. And let heaven Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.

KING. 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's 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

ACT V. SCENE 4.

The palace yard

Noise and tumult within. Enter PORTER and his MAN

PORTER. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you take the court for Paris garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

[Within: Good master porter, I belong to th' larder.]

PORTER. Belong to th' gallows, and be hang'd, ye rogue! Is this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em. 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 'em from the door with cannons, To scatter 'em as 'tis to make 'em sleep On May-day morning; which will never be.

We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em.

PORTER. 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.

PORTER. You did nothing, sir.

MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any That had a head to hit, either young or old, He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again; And that I would not for a cow, G.o.d save her!

[ Within: Do you hear, master porter?]

PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.

Keep the door close, sirrah.

MAN. What would you have me do?

PORTER. What should you do, but knock 'em down by th'

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, G.o.dfather, and 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 rail'd 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 truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope o' th' Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place.

At length they came to th' broomstaff to me; I defied 'em still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, deliver'd such a show'r 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.

PORTER. 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.

Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN

CHAMBERLAIN. Mercy o' me, what a mult.i.tude 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? Y'have made a fine hand, fellows.

There's a trim rabble let in: are all these Your faithful friends o' th' suburbs? We shall have Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, When they pa.s.s back from the christening.

PORTER. 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 'em.

CHAMBERLAIN. As I live, If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye an By th' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads Clap round fines for neglect. Y'are lazy knaves; And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound; Th' are come already from the christening.

Go break among the press and find a way out To let the troops pa.s.s fairly, or I'll find A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.

PORTER. Make way there for the Princess.

MAN. You great fellow, Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.

PORTER. You i' th' camlet, get up o' th' rail; I'll peck you o'er the pales else. Exeunt

ACT V. SCENE 5.

The palace

Enter TRUMPETS, sounding; then two ALDERMEN, LORD MAYOR, GARTER, CRANMER, DUKE OF NORFOLK, with his marshal's staff, DUKE OF SUFFOLK, two n.o.blemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts; then four n.o.blemen bearing a canopy, under which the d.u.c.h.eSS OF NORFOLK, G.o.dmother, bearing the CHILD richly habited in a mantle, etc., train borne by a LADY; then follows the MARCHIONESS DORSET, the other G.o.dmother, and LADIES. The troop pa.s.s once about the stage, and GARTER speaks

GARTER. 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

CRANMER. [Kneeling] And to your royal Grace and the good Queen!

My n.o.ble 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!

KING. Thank you, good Lord Archbishop.

What is her name?

CRANMER. Elizabeth.

KING. Stand up, lord. [The KING kisses the child]

With this kiss take my blessing: G.o.d protect thee!

Into whose hand I give thy life.

CRANMER. Amen.

KING. My n.o.ble gossips, y'have been too prodigal; I thank ye heartily. So shall this lady, When she has so much English.

CRANMER. Let me speak, sir, For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth.

This royal infant-heaven still move about her!- Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a 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. Saba 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.

G.o.d 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 darkness- Who from the sacred ashes of her honour Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 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 Shall see this and bless heaven.

KING. Thou speakest wonders.

CRANMER. 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.

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 pa.s.s To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

KING. O Lord Archbishop, Thou hast made me now a man; never before This happy child did I get anything.

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 you, good brethren, I am much beholding; I have receiv'd much honour by your presence, And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords; 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

KING_HENRY_VIII|EPILOGUE THE 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, W'have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, They'll say 'tis nought; 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 w'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 'em. 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 'em clap.

THE END