TPTT The Famous History of the Life of Henry the Eighth: ACT V
Introduction
THE PROLOGUE
ACT I
ACT II
ACT III
ACT IV
ACT V
SCENE I. London. A gallery in the palace.
SCENE II. Before the council-chamber. Pursuivants, Pages, &c. attending.
SCENE III. The Council-Chamber.
SCENE IV. The palace yard.
SCENE V. The palace.
EPILOGUE
About the Play
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SCENE IV. The palace yard.
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 the larder.
Porter
5     Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, 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,
10    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:
15    We may as well push against Powle'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,
20    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 spared any
      That had a head to hit, either young or old,
25    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.
30    Keep the door close, sirrah.
Man
      What would you have me do?
Porter
      What should you do, but knock 'em down by the
      dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have
      we some strange Indian with the great tool come to
35    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
40    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
45    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
50    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 succor, which were the hope o' the Strand, where
      she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my
55    place: at length they came to the broom-staff 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
60    '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.
65    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 Chamberlain
Chamberlain
      Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here!
      They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,
70    As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,
      These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand, fellows:
      There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
      Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have
      Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
75    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:
80    An army cannot rule 'em.
Chamberlain
      As I live,
      If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
      By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
      Clap round fines for neglect: ye are lazy knaves;
85    And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
      Ye should do service. 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
90    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' the camlet, get up o' the rail;
95    I'll peck you o'er the pales else.
Exeunt
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