Act Five, Scene III

by William Shakespeare

　　Noyse and Tumult within: Enter Porter and his man. Port. You'l leaue your noyse anon ye Rascals: doe you take the Court for Parish Garden: ye rude Slaues, leaue your gaping Within. Good M[aster]. Porter I belong to th' Larder Port. Belong to th' Gallowes, and be hang'd ye Rogue: Is this a place to roare in? Fetch me a dozen Crab-tree staues, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em: Ile scratch your heads; you must be seeing Christenings? Do you looke for Ale, and Cakes heere, you rude Raskalls? Man. Pray Sir be patient; 'tis as much impossible, Vnlesse wee sweepe 'em from the dore with Cannons, To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleepe On May-day Morning, which will neuer be: We may as well push against Powles as stirre 'em Por. How got they in, and be hang'd? Man. Alas I know not, how gets the Tide in? As much as one sound Cudgell of foure foote, (You see the poore remainder) could distribute, I made no spare Sir Port. You did nothing Sir Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand, To mow 'em downe before me: but if I spar'd any That had a head to hit, either young or old, He or shee, Cuckold or Cuckold-maker: Let me ne're hope to see a Chine againe, And that I would not for a Cow, God saue her Within. Do you heare M[aster]. Porter? Port. I shall be with you presently, good M[aster]. Puppy, Keepe the dore close Sirha Man. What would you haue me doe? Por. What should you doe, But knock 'em downe by th' dozens? Is this More fields to muster in? Or haue wee some strange Indian with the great Toole, come to Court, the women so besiege vs? Bless me, what a fry of Fornication is at dore? On my Christian Conscience this one Christening will beget a thousand, here will bee Father, God-father, and all together Man. The Spoones will be the bigger Sir: There is a fellow somewhat neere the doore, he should be a Brasier by his face, for o' my conscience twenty of the Dogdayes now reigne in's Nose; all that stand about him are vnder the Line, they need no other pennance: that FireDrake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his Nose discharged against mee; hee stands there like a Morter-piece to blow vs. There was a Habberdashers Wife of small wit, neere him, that rail'd vpon me, till her pinck'd porrenger fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the State. I mist the Meteor once, and hit that Woman, who cryed out Clubbes, when I might see from farre, some forty Truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope o'th' Strond where she was quartered; they fell on, I made good my place; at length they came to th' broome staffe to me, I defide 'em stil, when sodainly a File of Boyes behind 'em, loose shot, deliuer'd such a showre of Pibbles, that I was faine to draw mine Honour in, and let 'em win the Worke, the Diuell was amongst 'em I thinke surely Por. 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 Limbes of Limehouse, their deare Brothers are able to endure. I haue some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three dayes; besides the running Banquet of two Beadles, that is to come. Enter Lord Chamberlaine. Cham. Mercy o' me: what a Multitude are heere? They grow still too; from all Parts they are comming, As if we kept a Faire heere? Where are these Porters? These lazy knaues? Y'haue made a fine hand fellowes? Theres a trim rabble let in: are all these Your faithfull friends o'th' Suburbs? We shall haue Great store of roome no doubt, left for the Ladies, When they passe backe from the Christening? Por. And't please your Honour, We are but men; and what so many may doe, Not being torne a pieces, we haue done: An Army cannot rule 'em Cham. As I liue, If the King blame me for't; Ile lay ye all By th' heeles, and sodainly: and on your heads Clap round Fines for neglect: y'are lazy knaues, And heere ye lye baiting of Bombards, when Ye should doe Seruice. Harke the Trumpets sound, Th'are come already from the Christening, Go breake among the preasse, and finde away out To let the Troope passe fairely; or Ile finde A Marshallsey, shall hold ye play these two Monthes Por. Make way there, for the Princesse Man. You great fellow, Stand close vp, or Ile make your head ake Por. You i'th' Chamblet, get vp o'th' raile, Ile pecke you o're the pales else. Exeunt. Scena Quarta. Enter Trumpets sounding: Then two Aldermen, L[ord]. Maior, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolke with his Marshals Staffe, Duke of Suffolke, two Noblemen, bearing great standing Bowles for the Christening Guifts: Then foure Noblemen bearing a Canopy, vnder which the Dutchesse of Norfolke, Godmother, bearing the Childe richly habited in a Mantle, &c. Traine borne by a Lady: Then followes the Marchionesse Dorset, the other Godmother, and Ladies. The Troope passe once about the Stage, and Garter speakes. Gart. Heauen From thy endlesse goodnesse, send prosperous life, Long, and euer happie, to the high and Mighty Princesse of England Elizabeth. Flourish. Enter King and Guard. Cran. And to your Royall Grace, & the good Queen, My Noble Partners, and my selfe thus pray All comfort, ioy in this most gracious Lady, Heauen euer laid vp to make Parents happy, May hourely fall vpon ye Kin. Thanke you good Lord Archbishop: What is her Name? Cran. Elizabeth Kin. Stand vp Lord, With this Kisse, take my Blessing: God protect thee, Into whose hand, I giue thy Life Cran. Amen Kin. My Noble Gossips, y'haue beene too Prodigall; I thanke ye heartily: So shall this Lady, When she ha's so much English Cran. Let me speake Sir, For Heauen now bids me; and the words I vtter, Let none thinke Flattery; for they'l finde 'em Truth. This Royall Infant, Heauen still moue about her; Though in her Cradle; yet now promises Vpon this Land a thousand thousand Blessings, Which Time shall bring to ripenesse: She shall be, (But few now liuing can behold that goodnesse) A Patterne to all Princes liuing with her, And all that shall succeed: Saba was neuer More couetous of Wisedome, and faire Vertue Then this pure Soule shall be. All Princely Graces That mould vp such a mighty Piece as this is, With all the Vertues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall Nurse her, Holy and Heauenly thoughts still Counsell her: She shall be lou'd and fear'd. Her owne shall blesse her; Her Foes shake like a Field of beaten Corne, And hang their heads with sorrow: Good growes with her. In her dayes, Euery Man shall eate in safety, Vnder his owne Vine what he plants; and sing The merry Songs of Peace to all his Neighbours. God shall be truely knowne, and those about her, From her shall read the perfect way of Honour, And by those claime their greatnesse; not by Blood. Nor shall this peace sleepe with her: But as when The Bird of Wonder dyes, the Mayden Phoenix, Her Ashes new create another Heyre, As great in admiration as her selfe. So shall she leaue her Blessednesse to One, (When Heauen shal call her from this clowd of darknes) 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, Loue, Truth, Terror, That were the Seruants to this chosen Infant, Shall then be his, and like a Vine grow to him; Where euer the bright Sunne of Heauen shall shine, His Honour, and the greatnesse of his Name, Shall be, and make new Nations. He shall flourish, And like a Mountaine Cedar, reach his branches, To all the Plaines about him: Our Childrens Children Shall see this, and blesse Heauen Kin. Thou speakest wonders Cran. She shall be to the happinesse of England, An aged Princesse; many dayes shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to Crowne it. Would I had knowne no more: But she must dye, She must, the Saints must haue her; yet a Virgin, A most vnspotted Lilly shall she passe To th' ground, and all the World shall mourne her Kin. O Lord Archbishop Thou hast made me now a man, neuer before This happy Child, did I get any thing. This Oracle of comfort, ha's so pleas'd me, That when I am in Heauen, I shall desire To see what this Child does, and praise my Maker. I thanke ye all. To you my good Lord Maior, And you good Brethren, I am much beholding: I haue receiu'd much Honour by your presence, And ye shall find me thankfull. Lead the way Lords, Ye must all see the Queene, and she must thanke ye, She will be sicke els. This day, no man thinke 'Has businesse at his house; for all shall stay: This Little-One shall make it Holy-day. Exeunt.