SCENE III.
The Palace Yard.
Noise and Tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man.
Port.
You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals:
Do you take the court for Paris-garden8 note
? ye rude
slaves, leave your gaping9 note
.
-- 484 --
[Within.]
Good master porter, I belong to the
larder.
Port.
Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you
rogue: Is this a place to roar in?—Fetch me a
dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are
but switches to them.—I'll scratch your heads:
You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for
ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?
Man.
Pray, sir, be patient1 note; 'tis as much impossible
(Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons,)
To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep
On May-day morning2 note
; which will never be:
We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them.
-- 485 --
Port.
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,
I made no spare, sir.
Port.
You did nothing, sir.
Man.
I am not Sampson, nor sir Guy, nor Colbrand3 note,
to mow them down before me: but if I
spared any, that had a head to hit, either young or
old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me
never hope to see a chine again; and that I would
not for a cow, God save her.
[Within.]
Do you hear, master Porter?
Port.
I shall be with you presently, good master
puppy.—Keep the door close, sirrah.
Man.
What would you have me do?
Port.
What should you do, but knock them
down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster
in4 note? or have we some strange Indian5 note
with the
great tool come to court, the women so besiege us?
-- 486 --
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 face6 note, 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-drake7 note
did I hit three times on
the head, and three times was his nose discharged
against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece,
-- 487 --
to blow us8 note
. There was a haberdasher's wife of
small wit9 note near him, that railed upon me till her
pink'd porringer fell off her head1 note
, for kindling
such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the
meteor2 note once, and hit that woman, who cried out,
clubs3 note
! when I might see from far some forty
truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the
-- 488 --
hope of the Strand4 note, where she was quartered.
They fell on; I made good my place; at length
they came to the broomstaff with me5 note, I defied
them still; when suddenly a file of boys behind
them, loose shot6 note, delivered such a shower of pebbles,
that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and
let them win the work7 note: The devil was amongst
them, I think, surely.
Port.
These are the youths that thunder at a
play-house, and fight for bitten apples8 note
; that no
-- 489 --
audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the
limbs of Limehouse9 note
, their dear brothers, are able
-- 490 --
to endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum1 note
,
and there they are like to dance these three days;
-- 491 --
besides the running banquet of two beadles2 note
, that
is to come.
Enter the Lord Chamberlain.
Cham.
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?—Ye have made a fine hand, fellows.
-- 492 --
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,
When they pass back from the christening.
Port.
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 them.
Cham.
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: You are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bumbards3 note
, when
Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound;
They are 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 you play these two months.
Port.
Make way there for the princess.
Man.
You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll
make your head ake.
Port.
You i' the camblet, get up o' the rail4 note; I'll
pick you o'er the pales else5 note
.
[Exeunt.
-- 493 --
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
