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Chan. Let him come in.
Your grace may enter now.
[Cranmer enters and approaches
the council-table.
Chan. My good lord archbishop, I'm very

To sit here at this present, and behold
That chair stand empty: but we all are men, 10
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, by your teaching and your

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 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle, But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 'em,

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.

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.
Nay, my lord,
That cannot be: you are a counsellor,
And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. 50
Gar. My lord, because we have business of
more moment,

We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' pleasure,

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,60
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, 70 That's the plain truth: your painted gloss dis

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Remember your bold life too. Chan

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the Forbear, for shame, my lords.

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This is too much;

I have done.

And I.

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands

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? gr
All. We are.
of mercy,

Is there no other way

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How much more is his life in value with him?

Would I were fairly out on't!


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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 bound 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 strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,
His royal self in judgement comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
King. You were ever good at sudden com-


Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
They are too thin and bare to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win

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He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
By all that's holy, he had better starve
Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
Sur. May it please your grace,—
No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thought I had had men of some under-

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 ye 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.

Thus far, My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed

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, I 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 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?


King. Come, come, my lord, you'ld spare your spoons: you shall have two noble partners with you; the old Duchess of Norfolk, and Lady Marquess 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. 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 is 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.

SCENE IV. The palace yard. Noise and tumult within.

his Man.



Enter Porter and

Port. 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 the larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, 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:

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To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day morning; which will never be:
We may as well push against Powle's, as stir 'em.
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, 20
I made no spare, sir.
You did nothing, sir.

Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor

To mow 'em 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 ne'er 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. 30
Man. What would you have me do?
Port. What should you do, but knock 'em
down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to mus-
ter 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.

39 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 railed upon me till her pinked porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I missed 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' the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place: at length they came to the broomstaff to me; I defied 'em still: when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such a shower 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.

Port. 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. 70

Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are

here !

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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: ye are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets

They're 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 ye play these two

Port. Make way there for the princess.


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 peck you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. The palace.

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 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 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 Guard. 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!

King. Thank you, good lord archbishop:
What is her name?


Elizabeth. Stand up, lord. [The King kisses the child. With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! Into whose hand I give thy life. Amen.

Cran. King. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal:

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

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 thousand blessings, 20
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: 30 She shall be loved 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:
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, 41
Her ashes new create another heir,

As great in admiration as herself;

So shall she leave her blessedness to one,

To all the plains about him: our children's child


Shall see this, and bless heaven.

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
To the 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 any thing:
This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,
That when I am in heaven I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my

I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor, 70
And your good brethren, I am much beholding;
I have received much honour by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful.
Lead the way,


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'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,

When heaven shall call her from this cloud of We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis


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,

That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him: 50
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


They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear the city
Abused extremely, and to cry "That's witty!"
Which we have not done neither: that, I fear,
All the expected good we're 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 inen are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.


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IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of

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

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, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
And Antenorides, with massy staples
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr 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

Beginning 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 1. Troy. Before Priam's palace.
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 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 skilless as unpractised infancy.


Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.

Tro. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.


Have I not tarried?

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