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 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 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’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, 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.

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

LORD 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? (To the Porter and his man) 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

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.

LORD 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. You’re lazy knaves,

And here ye lie baiting of bombards when

Ye should do service.

Flourish of trumpets within

Hark, the trumpets sound.

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 months.

⌈As they leave, the Porter and his man call within⌉

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

5.4 Enter trumpeters, sounding. Then enter two aldermen, the Lord Mayor of London, Garter King-of-Arms, Cranmer the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Duke of Norfolk with his marshal’s staff, the Duke of Suffolk, two noblemen bearing great standing bowls for the christening gifts; then enter four noblemen bearing a canopy, under which is the Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child Elizabeth richly habited in a mantle, whose train is 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 Henry 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 HENRY

Thank you, good lord Archbishop.

What is her name?

CRANMER

Elizabeth.

KING HENRY

Stand up, lord.

Cranmer rises

(To the child) With this kiss take my blessing—

He kisses the child

God protect thee,

Into whose hand I give thy life.

CRANMER

Amen.

KING HENRY (to Cranmer, old Duchess, and Marchioness) 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

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—

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 loved and feared. 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