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An't please your honour,
We are but men; and what so many may do,
An army cannot rule them.
As I live,
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months.
Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.
Port. You i'the camlet, get up o'the rail; I'll pick 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 Marshall'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. 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,
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray :—
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,
What is her name?
Thank you, good lord archbishop :
Stand up, lord.—
With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal :
Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her,
She shall be lov'd, and fear'd: Her own shall bless her; Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
[her: And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows with 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.
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,
Thou speakest wonders.]
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
Thou hast made me now a man; never, before
That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.—
'Tis ten to one, this play can never please
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.
The second scene of the fourth act is above any other of Shakspeare's tragedies, and perhaps above any scene of any other poet; tender and pathetic, without gods, or furies, or poisons, or precipices; without the help of romantic circumstances, without improbable sallies of poetical lamentation, and without any throes of tumultuous misery. JOHNSON.
C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.