Enter a third Gentleman.
God save you, sir. Where have you been broiling?
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
Among the crowds i’ th’ Abbey, where a finger
Could not be wedged in more. I am stifled
With the mere rankness of their joy.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
You saw
The ceremony?
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
That I did.
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
How was it?
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
Well worth the seeing.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
Good sir, speak it to us.
THIRD GENTLEMAN.
As well as I am able. The rich stream
Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen
To a prepared place in the choir, fell off
A distance from her, while her Grace sat down
To rest a while, some half an hour or so,
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
The beauty of her person to the people.
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
That ever lay by man, which when the people
Had the full view of, such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
As loud and to as many tunes. Hats, cloaks,
Doublets, I think, flew up, and had their faces
Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
I never saw before. Great-bellied women
That had not half a week to go, like rams
In the old time of war, would shake the press
And make ’em reel before ’em. No man living
Could say “This is my wife” there, all were woven
So strangely in one piece.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
But what followed?