The arden shakespeare co.., p.260
The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works, page 260
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
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And think with wagging of your tongue to win me.
But whatsoe’er thou takest me for, I’m sure
Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.
[to Cranmer] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest –
He that dares most – but wag his finger at thee.
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By all that’s holy, he had better starve,
Than but once think his place becomes thee not.
SURREY May it please your grace –
KING No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thought I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom of my Council, but I find none.
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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
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Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Power as he was a Councillor 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,
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Which ye shall never have while I live.
CHANCELLOR 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
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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
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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.
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You must be godfather and answer for her.
CRANMER 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’d spare your spoons!
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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.
GARDINER With a true heart
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And brother’s love I do it.
CRANMER 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
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A shrewd turn, and he’s your friend forever.’
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. Exeunt.
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5.3 Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man.
PORTER You’ll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you
take the court for Parish Garden? Ye rude slaves, leave
your gaping.
ONE [within] Good master porter, I belong to th’ larder.
PORTER Belong to th’ gallows, and be hanged, ye rogue! Is
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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,
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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 hanged?
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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,
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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!
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ONE [within] Do you hear, master porter?
PORTER
I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.
[to his Man] Keep the door close, sirrah.
MAN What would you have me do?
PORTER What should you do, but knock ’em down by
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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
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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
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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
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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’th’ Strand, where she
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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, delivered such a shower of pebbles that I was fain
to draw mine honour in and let ’em win the work. The
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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
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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 Lord CHAMBERLAIN.
CHAMBERLAIN Mercy o’me, what a multitude are here!
They grow still, too. From all parts they are coming,
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As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,
These lazy knaves? You’ve 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,
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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
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By th’ heels, and suddenly, and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect. You’re lazy knaves,
And here ye lie, baiting of bombards, when
Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound:
They’re come already from the christening.
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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 months.
PORTER Make way there for the Princess!
MAN You, great fellow,
Stand close up, or I’ll make your head ache!
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PORTER You i’th’ chamblet, get up o’th’ rail –
I’ll peck you o’er the pales else. Exeunt.
5.4 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 [Kneels.]
And to your royal grace and the good Queen,
My noble partners and myself thus pray
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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.
[to the child] With this kiss, take my blessing. God protect thee,
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Into whose hand I give thy life.
CRANMER Amen.
KING My noble gossips, you’ve 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
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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,
Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be –
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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
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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 loved and feared. Her own shall bless her;
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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.
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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,
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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
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Shall star-like rise as great in fame as she was
And so stand fixed. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
