Henry VIII by William Shakespeare
Act 5 - Scene 4
The palace yard.
Porter : You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: do you
[p]take the court for
Paris-garden? ye rude slaves,
[p]leave your
gaping.
[p][Within]
[p]Good master porter, I belong to the larder.
Porter : Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, ye rogue! is
[p]this a place to
roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree
[p]staves, and strong ones: these
are but switches to
[p]'em. I'll scratch your heads: you must be
seeing
[p]christenings? do you look for ale and cakes here,
[p]you
rude rascals?
Man : Pray, sir, be patient: 'tis as much impossible--
[p]Unless we sweep
'em from the door with cannons--
[p]To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make
'em sleep
[p]On May-day morning; which will never be:
[p]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?
[p]As much as one sound cudgel
of four foot--
[p]You see the poor remainder--could distribute,
[p]I
made no spare, sir.
Porter : You did nothing, sir.
Man : I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
[p]To mow 'em down before
me: but if I spared any
[p]That had a head to hit, either young or
old,
[p]He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
[p]Let me ne'er hope to
see a chine again
[p]And that I would not for a cow, God save
her!
[p][Within]
[p]Do you hear, master porter?
Porter : I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.
[p]Keep the door
close, sirrah.
Man : What would you have me do?
Porter : What should you do, but knock 'em down by the
[p]dozens? Is this
Moorfields to muster in? or have
[p]we some strange Indian with the
great tool come to
[p]court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what
a
[p]fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian
[p]conscience,
this one christening will beget a
[p]thousand; here will be father,
godfather, and all together.
Man : The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a
[p]fellow somewhat near
the door, he should be a
[p]brazier by his face, for, o' my
conscience, twenty
[p]of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that
stand
[p]about him are under the line, they need no other
[p]penance:
that fire-drake did I hit three times on
[p]the head, and three times
was his nose discharged
[p]against me; he stands there, like a
mortar-piece, to
[p]blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of
small
[p]wit near him, that railed upon me till her
pinked
[p]porringer fell off her head, for kindling such
a
[p]combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once,
[p]and hit
that woman; who cried out 'Clubs!' when I
[p]might see from far some
forty truncheoners draw to
[p]her succor, which were the hope o' the
Strand, where
[p]she was quartered. They fell on; I made good
my
[p]place: at length they came to the broom-staff to
[p]me; I defied
'em still: when suddenly a file of
[p]boys behind 'em, loose shot,
delivered such a shower
[p]of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine
honour in,
[p]and let 'em win the work: the devil was amongst
[p]'em,
I think, surely.
Porter : These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse,
[p]and fight for
bitten apples; that no audience, but
[p]the tribulation of Tower-hill,
or the limbs of
[p]Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to
endure.
[p]I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they
[p]are
like to dance these three days; besides the
[p]running banquet of two
beadles that is to come.
Lord Chamberlain : Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here!
[p]They grow still too; from
all parts they are coming,
[p]As if we kept a fair here! Where are
these porters,
[p]These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand,
fellows:
[p]There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
[p]Your
faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have
[p]Great store of room,
no doubt, left for the ladies,
[p]When they pass back from the
christening.
Porter : An't please
[p]your honour,
[p]We are but men; and what so many may
do,
[p]Not being torn a-pieces, we have done:
[p]An army cannot rule
'em.
Lord Chamberlain : As I live,
[p]If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
[p]By the
heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
[p]Clap round fines for
neglect: ye are lazy knaves;
[p]And here ye lie baiting of bombards,
when
[p]Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
[p]They're
come already from the christening:
[p]Go, break among the press, and
find a way out
[p]To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find
[p]A
Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.
Porter : Make way there for the princess.
Man : You great fellow,
[p]Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.
Porter : You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail;
[p]I'll peck you o'er the pales
else.
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Next: Act 5 - Scene 5
