King Henry The Eighth

1 Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man.
2 PORTER.
3 You’ll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you take the court for
4 Parish Garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.
5 ONE.
6 [_Within_.] Good master porter, I belong to th’ larder.
7 PORTER.
8 Belong to th’ gallows, and be hanged, ye rogue! Is this a place to roar
9 in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones. These are but
10 switches to ’em. I’ll scratch your heads. You must be seeing
11 christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?
12 PORTER’S MAN.
13 Pray, sir, be patient. ’Tis as much impossible—
14 Unless we sweep ’em from the door with cannons—
15 To scatter ’em as ’tis to make ’em sleep
16 On May-day morning, which will never be.
17 We may as well push against Paul’s as stir ’em.
18 PORTER.
19 How got they in, and be hanged?
20 PORTER’S MAN.
21 Alas, I know not. How gets the tide in?
22 As much as one sound cudgel of four foot—
23 You see the poor remainder—could distribute,
24 I made no spare, sir.
25 PORTER.
26 You did nothing, sir.
27 PORTER’S MAN.
28 I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
29 To mow ’em down before me; but if I spared any
30 That had a head to hit, either young or old,
31 He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
32 Let me ne’er hope to see a chine again—
33 And that I would not for a cow, God save her!
34 ONE.
35 [_Within_.] Do you hear, master porter?
36 PORTER.
37 I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.—
38 Keep the door close, sirrah.
39 PORTER’S MAN.
40 What would you have me do?
41 PORTER.
42 What should you do, but knock ’em down by th’ dozens? Is this
43 Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some strange Indian with the great
44 tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of
45 fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one
46 christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and
47 all together.
48 PORTER’S MAN.
49 The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the
50 door—he should be a brazier by his face, for, o’ my conscience, twenty
51 of the dog-days now reign in’s nose. All that stand about him are under
52 the line; they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three
53 times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me.
54 He stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a
55 haberdasher’s wife of small wit near him that railed upon me till her
56 pinked porringer fell off her head for kindling such a combustion in
57 the state. I missed the meteor once and hit that woman, who cried out
58 “Clubs!” when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her
59 succour, which were the hope o’ th’ Strand, where she was quartered.
60 They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to th’
61 broomstaff to me; I defied ’em still, when suddenly a file of boys
62 behind ’em, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles that I was
63 fain to draw mine honour in and let ’em win the work. The devil was
64 amongst ’em, I think, surely.
65 PORTER.
66 These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse and fight for bitten
67 apples, that no audience but the tribulation of Tower Hill or the limbs
68 of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of
69 ’em in _Limbo Patrum_, and there they are like to dance these three
70 days, besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.
71 Enter Lord Chamberlain.
72 CHAMBERLAIN.
73 Mercy o’ me, what a multitude are here!
74 They grow still too. From all parts they are coming,
75 As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,
76 These lazy knaves? You’ve made a fine hand, fellows!
77 There’s a trim rabble let in. Are all these
78 Your faithful friends o’ th’ suburbs? We shall have
79 Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
80 When they pass back from the christening.
81 PORTER.
82 An’t please your honour,
83 We are but men; and what so many may do,
84 Not being torn a-pieces, we have done.
85 An army cannot rule ’em.
86 CHAMBERLAIN.
87 As I live,
88 If the King blame me for’t, I’ll lay ye all
89 By th’ heels, and suddenly, and on your heads
90 Clap round fines for neglect. You’re lazy knaves,
91 And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
92 Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound!
93 They’re come already from the christening.
94 Go break among the press, and find a way out
95 To let the troops pass fairly, or I’ll find
96 A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.
97 PORTER.
98 Make way there for the Princess!
99 PORTER’S MAN.
100 You great fellow,
101 Stand close up, or I’ll make your head ache.
102 PORTER.
103 You i’ th’ camlet, get up o’ th’ rail!
104 I’ll peck you o’er the pales else.
105 [_Exeunt._]