| [Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, NORFOLK with his marshal's staff, SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening-gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, &c., train borne by a Lady; then follows the Marchioness Dorset, the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks] |
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| 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 VIII 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 VIII | Thank you, good lord archbishop: What is her name? |
| CRANMER | Elizabeth. |
| KING HENRY VIII | Stand up, lord. |
| [KING HENRY VIII kisses the child] | |
| With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! Into whose hand I give thy life. |
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| CRANMER | Amen. |
| KING HENRY VIII | My noble gossips, ye have 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 fear'd: 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 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours: God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir, As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness, Who from the sacred ashes of her honour Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd: peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him: Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honour and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches To all the plains about him: our children's children Shall see this, and bless heaven. |
| KING HENRY VIII | Thou speakest wonders. |
| CRANMER | She shall be, to the happiness of England, An aged princess; many days shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to crown it. Would I had known no more! but she must die, She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. |
| KING HENRY VIII | O lord archbishop, Thou hast made me now a man! never, before This happy child, did I get any thing: This oracle of comfort has so pleased me, That when I am in heaven I shall desire To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor, And your good brethren, I am much beholding; I have received much honour by your presence, And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords: Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye, She will be sick else. This day, no man think Has business at his house; for all shall stay: This little one shall make it holiday. |
| [Exeunt] | |
| EPILOGUE | |
| 'Tis ten to one this play can never please All that are here: some come to take their ease, And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear the city Abused extremely, and to cry 'That's witty!' Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, All the expected good we're like to hear For this play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good women; For such a one we show'd 'em: if they smile, And say 'twill do, I know, within a while All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap, If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap. |