King Henry VIII

by William Shakespeare

Noise and tumult within. Enter PORTER and his MAN

PORTER. 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 th' larder.]
PORTER. Belong to th' gallows, and be hang'd, 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. 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,
Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons,
To scatter 'em as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day morning; which will never be.
We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em.
PORTER. 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.
PORTER. You did nothing, sir.
MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd 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?]
PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.
Keep the door close, sirrah.
MAN. What would you have me do?
PORTER. What should you do, but knock 'em down by th'
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 haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that
rail'd 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 truncheoners draw
to her succour, which were the hope o' th' Strand, where
she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place.
At length they came to th' broomstaff to me; I defied 'em
still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot,
deliver'd such a show'r 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.
PORTER. 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.

Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN

CHAMBERLAIN. 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? Y'have made a fine hand, fellows.
There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
Your faithful friends o' th' suburbs? We shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from the christening.
PORTER. 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 'em.
CHAMBERLAIN. As I live,
If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
By th' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect. Y'are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
Th' are come already from the christening.
Go break among the press and find a way out
To let the troops pass fairly, or I'll find
A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.
PORTER. Make way there for the Princess.
MAN. You great fellow,
Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.
PORTER. You i' th' camlet, get up o' th' rail;
I'll peck you o'er the pales else.
Exeunt

ACT V. SCENE 5.

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, etc., 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

GARTER. 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

CRANMER. [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?
CRANMER. Elizabeth.
KING. Stand up, lord. [The KING kisses the child]
With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
Into whose hand I give thy life.
CRANMER. Amen.
KING. My noble gossips, y'have been too prodigal;
I thank ye heartily. So shall this lady,
When she has so much English.
CRANMER. 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 blessings,
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;
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
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
Her ashes new create another heir
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,
And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him;
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
To all the plains about him; our children's children
Shall see this and bless heaven.
KING. Thou speakest wonders.
CRANMER. 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 th' 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 anything.
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me
That when I am in heaven I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.
I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor,
And you, good brethren, I am much beholding;
I have receiv'd much honour by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful. 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
Has business at his house; for all shall stay.
This little one shall make it holiday.
Exeunt