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The Illustrated Works of Shakespeare
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Illustrated Works of Shakespeare, The (1990)(Animated Pixels)[!][CDTV-PC].iso
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shakes
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15
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05_03
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1991-04-10
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117 lines
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 Parish-garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your
gaping.
One Within Good master porter, I belong to th' larder.
Porter Belong to th' 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, 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.
We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em.
Porter How got they in, and be hanged?
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.
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,
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!
One Within Do you hear, master porter?
Porter I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.
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 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 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 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 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 succour, which were the hope
o'th'Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made
good my place; at length they came to th' broomstaff 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 '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. 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 LORD CHAMBERLAIN.
Chamberlain 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've made a fine hand, fellows!
There's a trim rabble let in. Are all these
Your faithful friends o'th'suburbs? We shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from the christening.
Porter And'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 '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're lazy knaves;
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
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'th'camlet, get up o'th'rail:
I'll peck you o'er the pales else.
[Exeunt.