THE COUNCIL CHAMBER. 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 secretary. Chan. Speak to the business, inaster secre- D. Keep. Without, my noble lords? Yes. (For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions, Till they obey the inanage. If we suffer Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, Suf. Envy, and crooked malice nourishment, Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, [pass, You are always my good friend; if your will I 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 little 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 dis[ness. To men that understand you, words and weakCrom. My lord of Winchester, you are a covers, Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, Cran. Must I go like a traitor thither? And see him safe i' the Tower. By virtue of that ring, I take my cause Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not sence; They are too thin and base to hide offences. But whatso'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure, let me see the proudest And wisdom, of my council; but I find none. This good man, (few of you deserve that This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy Why, what a shame was this? Did my com Thus far, My most dread sovereign, may it like your 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 I have a suit which you must not deny me; ! You must be godfather, and answer for her. glory In such an honour; How may I deserve it, And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please And brother-love, I do it. [you, And let heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. The common voice, I see, is verified SCENE III. The Palace Yard. Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. 'Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye ras. cals: Do you take the court for Paris-garden+i ye rude slaves, leave your gaping. It was an ancient custom for sponsors to present spoons to their god-children. • Rearing. [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?-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 [cannons,) (Unless we sweep them from the door with 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? [in? Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide 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, 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 cuckoldmaker, 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 puppy.-Keep the door close, sirrah. Man. What would you have me do? Port. What should you do, but knock them 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. 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 baberdasher'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 amongst them, I think, surely.." Por. 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 Patrums, 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 And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound; They are come already from the christening: Port. Make way there for the princess. Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or Il make your head ake. Port. You i' the camblet, get up o' the rail; I'll pick ** you o'er the pale's else. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Palace tt. 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 ca nopy, 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. 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 Train. Cran. [Kneeling]. And to your royal grace, and the good queen, Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish giant. The brazier. Place of confinement. Black leather vessels to hold beer, **Pitch. + Pink'd cap. A desert of whipping. At Greenwich. My noble partners, and myself, thus pray: Stand up, lord. The King kisses the Child. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect Into whose hands I give thy life. [thee, Cran. Amen. K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal: 1 thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, Cran. Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,' In her days, every man shall eat in safety, The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, That were the servants to this chosen infant, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches Thou speakest wonders. England, An aged princess; many days shall see her, [gin, She must, the saints must have her; yet a vir- I thank ye all,-To you, my good lord mayor, sence, ye, And ye shall find me thankful. Lead 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, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear All the expected good we are like to hear And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while, They'll say, 'tis nought: others, to hear the city Abused extremely, and to cry,-that's witty! Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, The play of HENRY the EIGHTH is one of those which still keeps possession of the stage, by the splendour of its pageantry. The coronation, about forty years ago, drew the people together in multitudes for a great part of the winter. Yet pomp is not the only merit of this play. The meek sorrows and virtuous distress of Katharine have furnished some scenes, which may be justly numbered among the greatest efforts of tragedy. But the genius of Shakspeare comes in and goes out with Katharine. Every other part may be easily conceived and easily written.-JOHNSON. This and the following seventeen, lines were probably written by P accession of K. James. nson, after the In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed, The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks ao piten Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 'Giuning in the middle; starting thence away ACT 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, [valiant ; Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness But I am weaker than a woman's tear, I. Tamer than sleep, fonder ** than ignorance; Less valiant than the virgin in the night, And skill-less as unpractised infancy. Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this! for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no fur ther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding. Tro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Tro. Have I not tarried?' Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. Tro. Still have I tarried. |