Two noble partners with you; the old duchess of
Nortoik,

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 let heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

And brother-love, I do it.
Cran.

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; 1 long
To have this young one made a Christian.
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
So I grow stronger, you more honor gain.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Palace Yard. Noise and Tumult within. Enter Porter and his

Man.

12

Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: Do you take the court for Paris-garden ?2 ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.3

[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue: Is this the 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 Cake here, you rude rascals!

Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossibic

(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.
Por. 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,
made no spare, sir.

Port.

You did nothing, sir. Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor ColDrand, to mow them down before me: but, if I spared any, that had a head to it, 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 puppy. Keep the door close, sirrali.

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 tire-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 tell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor nce, and hit that woman, who cried out, clubs! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succor, 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 sundenly a tile of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to The bear garden on the Bank-side. Roaring. Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish giant." Pink'd cap. The brazier.

Enter the Lord Ch⚫mberlain.

Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here' They grows still too, from all parts they are com ing,

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 honor,
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 he 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 tor 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'l pick you o'er the pales else.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The Palace.2 Enter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, DUKE OF N 4FOLK, with his Marshal's Stoff. De&E OF S. FFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great star tog Bowls for the Christening Gils; then Noblemen, bearing a Canopy, under think the DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, Godmother, bearing the Child richly habited in a Mantle, &c., Tr borne by a Lady, then follows the MARCHENESS OF DORSET, the other Godmother, Ladies.

The Troop pass once about the S and Garter speaks.

Gurt. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, ser 4, prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the f and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth.

Flourish. Enter KING and Train. Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, and 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.— [The KING kisses the Cnd With this kiss take my blessing: God protect Lice Into whose hands I give thy life.

Cran.

Amen.

K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been
prodigal :

I thank ye heartily, so shall this lady,
When she has so much English.
Cran.

Let me spear sik
For heaven now bids me; and the words i utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them trub.
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
Place of confinement.
A dessert of whipping
Black leather vessels to hold beer.
Pitch.
• At Greenwich.

ACHILLES,
AJAX,

ULYSSES,
NESTOR,
DIOMEDES,
PATROCLUS,

Grecian Commanders

Greeks.

PANDARUS, Uncle to Cressida.

ALEXANDER, Servant to Cressida.

MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam.

HELEN, Wife to Menelaus. ANDROMACHE, Wife to Hector.

CASSANDRA, Daughter to Priam, a Prophetess.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants

Diomedes.

Greece

The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed,
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 forth toward Phrygia: and their vow is made,
To ransack Troy; within whose 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:2 Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,

And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Speer up the sons of Troy.

Now, expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
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 play
Leaps o'er the vaunt? and firstlings of those brows
'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

SCENE I-Troy. Before Priam's Palace.

Enter TROILUS, armed, and PANDARUS.
Tro. Call here my varlet,3 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 gear 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 my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, Proud, disdainful. 2 Freight. * Servant. Habit. • Weaker.

So, traitor! when she comes!-When is she thence?

Fen. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw ner 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 of my father should perceive me, I have (as when the sun doth light a storm) Buried 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 companson 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's 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 ain mad
In Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, She is fair;
Four'st in the open ulcer of my heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handiest in thy discourse, 0, that her hand,
la 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.

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 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 labor for my travel; illthought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between,butsmall thanks for my labor. Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus! what, with me!

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's Lot so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, sae would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on SunGay. But what care II care not, an she were a black-a-moor; '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 bool 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 no make nor 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 clamors! 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!
Jeannot 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;
Carself, the merchant: and this sailing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
Alarum. Enter ENEAS.

Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not a-field?

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

Co womanish it is to be from thence.

Wanews, Æneas, from the field to-day?

Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. Tro. By whom, Æneas? Æne. Troilus, by Menelaus Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'Tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' born. Alarum Ene. Hark! what good sport is out of town to day!

Tro. Better at home, if would I might, wère

may.

But, to the sport abroad-Are you bound thither1
Ene. In all swift haste.
Tro.

Come, go we then together
[Exeunt

SCENE II-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 armorer;
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 of him?
Alex. They say he is a very man per se,2
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 humors, that his valor is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair hath the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and

no sight.

He

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 Pandarus.

Pan. Good morow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of!--Good morrow, Alexander.- How de 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, ere ye 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?

Cres. So he says, here.

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 them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that

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 nim.

Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.

Cres. Then you say as I say; for I am sure he is Lot Hector.

Pun. 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

Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cres. To say the truth, and not true.

Pun. She praised his complexion above Paris.
Cres. Why, Paris hath color 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 color enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as her 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, lift as much as his brother Hector.

Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter?? Pan. But, 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 1 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.

Pon. 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. With mill-stones.8

Pan. And Cassandra laughed.

Cres. But there was a more temperate fire unde: the pot of her eyes;-Did her eyes run o'er too! Pan. And Hector laughed.

Cres. At what was all this laughing!

Pan. Merry, 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. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifly hair 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 suña. Jupiter! quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris my husband? The forked one, quoth he; pluck i out, and give it him. But there was such laur ing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chaled, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed.?

Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by.

Pun. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on't.

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: Shail we stand up here, and see them, as they pass toward 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 al by their names, as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest.

ENEAS passes over the Stage. Cres. Speak not so loud.

Pan. That's Encas; Is not that a brave man! he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you: But mark Troilus; you shall see anon. Cres. Who's that?

ANTENOR passes over.

Fan. 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 Tro lus?-I'll show you Troilus anon; if he see me, you shall see him nod at me.

Cres. Will he give you the nod?!
Pan. You shall see.

Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more.

HECTOR passes over.

Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that. There's a fellow!-Go thy way, Hector,-There's a brave man, niece.-0 brave Hector!-Look, how he looks! there's a countenance: Ist not a brave man?

Cres. O, a brave man!

Pan. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good.Look you what hacks are on his helmet! look you yonder, do you see? look you there! There's no jesting: there's laying on; take't off who will, as they say: there be hacks!

Cres. Be those with swords?

PARIS passes over.

Pan. Swords? any thing, he cares not: an the devil come to him, it's all one: By god's lid it does one's heart good:-Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: look ye yonder, niece; 1st not a ka lant man, too, is't not?-Why, this is brave now. -Who said, he came hurt home to-day? he's tool hurt: why this will do Helen's heart good now. Ha! would I could see Troilus now you stail see Troilus anon.

Cres. Who's that?

HELENUS passes over.

Pan. That's Helenus,-I marvel, where Troilus A proverbial saying. • Went beyond bounds, A term in the game at cards called noddy