The Works of William Shakespeare

My lord archbishop; | 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 discovers
To men that understand you, words and weakness
Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect
For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty,
To load a falling man.

D. Keep.
And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.
Chan. Let him come in.
D. Keep.
Your grace may enter now.
[Cranmer approaches the council-table.
Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry
To sit here at this present, and behold
That chair stand empty: But we all are men,
In our own natures frail; and capable

Of our flesh, few are angels: out of which frailty,
And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
The whole realm, oy your teaching, and your chap-
lains,

(For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions,
Divers, and dangerous; which are heresies,
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords: for those, that tame wild horses, Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur them,

Till they obey the manage. If we suffer
(Out of our easiness, and childish pity

To one man's honour) this contagious sickness,
Farewell all physic: And what follows then?
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours,
The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, And with no little study, that my teaching, And the strong course of my authority, Might go one way, and safely; and the end Was ever, to do well nor is there living (I speak it with a single heart,' my lords,) A man that more detests, more stirs against, Both in his private conscience, and his place, Defacers of a public peace, than I do. Pray Heaven, the king may never find a heart With less allegiance in it! Men, that make Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment,

Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships,
That, in this case of justice, my accusers,

Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
And freely urge against me.
Suf.

Nay, my lord,

That cannot be; you are a counsellor,

And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.

Gar. My lord, because we have business of more moment,

Gar.

Good master secretary,

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst
Of all this table, say so.

Crom.
Why, my lord?
Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer
Of this new sect? ye are not sound.
Crom.

Gar. Not sound, I say.
Crom.

Not sound?

"Would you were half so honest; Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. Gar. I shall remember this bold language. Crom. Do. Remember your bold life too. Chan.

This is too much;

I have done.

And I.

Forbear, for shame, my lords.
Gar.
Crom.
Chan. Then thus for you, my lord,-It stands
agreed,

I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;
There to remain till the king's further pleasure
Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords?
All. We are.
Cran.

Is there no other way of mercy,
But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?
Gar.

What other Would you expect? You are strangely trouble

Stay, good my lords,
I have a little vet to say. Look there, my lords;
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a most noble judge, the king my master.
Cham. This is the king's ring.

Sur.
Tis no counterfeit.
Suf. "Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all,

We will be short with you. "Tis his highness' plea-When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling,

sure,

And our consent, for better trial of you,
From hence you be committed to the Tower;
Where, being but a private man again,
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.

Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you,

You are always my good friend; if your will pass,
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 straving souls with modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Lay all the weight ve can upon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,

(1) In singleness of heart.' Acts ii. 46.

'Twould fall upon ourselves.

Nor. Do you think, my lords, The king will suffer but the little finger Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham. 'Tis now too certain, How much more is his life in value with him. 'Would I were fairly out on't.

Crom.

My mind gave me,
In seeking tales, and informations,
Against this man (whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,)

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye.

Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat.
Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we boun
to heaven

In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
Not only good and wise, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthe

Scene III.

That holy duty, out of dear respect,
dis royal self in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender!
K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden com-
mendations,

Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
They are too thin and base to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
Bit, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure,
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody.-
Good man, [To Cranmer.] sit down. Now let me
see the proudest

He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
By all that's holy, he had better starve,

Thin but once think his place becomes thee not.
Str. May it please your grace,-

K. Hen.

No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thought, I had men of some understanding
And wisdom, of my council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man (few of you deserve that title,)
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy

At chamber-door? and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
Bid ve so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Power, as he was a counsellor, to try him,
Not as a groom: There's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
Which ye shall never have, while I live.

Chan.

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 am sure, in me.

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
May be beholden to a subject, I

An, 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 Can-
terbury,

I have a suit which you must not deny me;
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.

Cran. 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?

K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your
spoons; you shall h、 ve

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

And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please you?
Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you,
Embrace, and love this man.

Gar.

And brother-love, I do it.
Cran.

With a true heart,

And let Heaven

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

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

[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, ye rude rascals?

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

sible

(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.
Port. 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.

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 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, sirrah.

Mam. 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 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 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

K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, true heart.

The common voice, I see, is verified

where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broom.

Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canter- staff with me, I defied them still; when suddenly

bury

(1) It was an ancient custom for sponsors to present spoons to their god-children.

The bear-garden on the Bank-side. (3) Roaring.

a file of hors behind them, loose shot, delivered
such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw
(4) Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish
giant.
(5) Pink'd cap.
(6) The brazier.

mine honour in, and let them win the work: The | With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! devil was amongst them, I think, surely. Into whose hands I give thy life.

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 I 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, 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, 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 pick you o'er the pales else.

[Exeunt.

Cran.

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

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

For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let me speak, sir,
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth.
This royal infant (Heaven still move about her!)
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
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
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces,
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue,
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
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
[Nor shall this peace sleep with her: But as when
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Her ashes new create another heir,
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,

So shall she leave her blessedness to one, As great in admiration as herself; (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of Enter trumpets, Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, darkness,) sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk, with his And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, termarshal's staff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen

SCENE IV.-The Palace.

ror,

bearing great standing-bowls, for the christen- That were the servants to this chosen infant, ing gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a can- Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; opy, under which the Duchess of Norfolk, god-Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, mother, bearing the Child, richly habited in a His honour and the greatness of his name mantle, &c. Trair rne by a Lady; then fol- Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish lows the Marchioness 6 Dorset, the other god- And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches mother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about To all the plains about him:-Our children's 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,
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye!
K. Hen. Thank
What is her name?

Cran.

K. Hen.

you, good lord archbishop;

Elizabeth.

children

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.
'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 pass

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

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
Stand up, lord.To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.
[The King kisses the child. I thank ye all,-To you, my good lord mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much beholden;

(1) Place of confinement.

(2) A dessert of whipping.

(3) Black leather vessels to hold beer. (4) Pitch.

(5) At Greenwich.

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

I have receiv'd much honour by your presence;
And ye shall find me thar.kful. 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
He has business at his house; for all shall stay,
This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt.

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,
They'll say, 'tis naught: others, to hear the citv
Abus'd extremely, and to cry,-that's willy.
Which we have not done neither: that, I fear,
All the expected good we 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 them: 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 them clap.

The play of Henry the Eighth is one of those which still keeps possession of the stage by the splendor 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.

Antenor,

Trojan commanders.

Thersites, a deformed and scurrillous argin. Alexander, servant to Cressida.

Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant la Diomedes.

Helen, wife to Menelaus.

Andromache, wife to Hector.

Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Cassandra, daughter to Priam; a prophetess.

Greeks.

Pandarus, uncle to Cressida.

Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam.

Cressida, daughter to Calchas.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.

Scene, Troy, and the Grecian camp before it.

PROLOGUE.

ACT I.

From isles of SCENE I.-Troy.

IN Troy, there lies the scene.

Greece

The princes orgulous,' their high blood chaf'd,
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; Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr3 up the sons of Troy.

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard:-Ánd 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 broils,
'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.

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

Before Priam's palace. En
ter Troilus armed, and Pandarus.
Troilus.

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

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The Works of William Shakespeare: Comprising His Dramatic and ..., Volumul 2