Act V, Scene 3
The council chamber.
- Noise and tumult within.
- Enter Porter and his Man.
Porter1 - 2
- You’ll leave your noise anon, ye rascals; do you take the
- court for Parish Garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.
- Good Master Porter, I belong to th’ larder.
Porter4 - 8
- Belong to th’ gallows, and be hang’d, 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?
Porter’s Man9 - 13
- 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 Powle’s as stir ’em.
- How got they in, and be hang’d?
Porter’s Man15 - 18
- 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.
- You did nothing, sir.
Porter’s Man20 - 25
- I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
- To mow ’em down before me; but if I spar’d 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!
- Do you hear, Master Porter?
Porter27 - 28
- I shall be with you presently, good Master Puppy.—Keep the
- door close, sirrah.
- What would you have me do?
Porter30 - 35
- What should you do, but knock ’em down by th’ 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.
Porter’s Man36 - 54
- 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 discharg’d against
- me; he stands there like a mortar-piece to blow us. There
- was a haberdasher’s wife of small wit near him, that rail’d
- upon me till her pink’d porringer fell off her head, for
- kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss’d the meteor
- once, and hit that woman, who cried out “Clubs!” , when I
- might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her
- succor, which were the hope o’ th’ Strond, where she was
- quarter’d. They fell on, I made good my place; at length
- they came to th’ broom-staff to me, I defied ’em still, when
- suddenly a file of boys behind ’em, loose shot, deliver’d
- such a show’r of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honor
- in, and let ’em win the work. The devil was amongst ’em, I
- think, surely.
Porter55 - 60
- 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 Lime-house, 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.
Lord Chamberlain61 - 68
- 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? Y’ have 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.
Porter69 - 72
- And’t please your honor,
- We are but men; and what so many may do,
- Not being torn a-pieces, we have done.
- An army cannot rule ’em.
Lord Chamberlain73 - 82
- As I live,
- If the King blame me for’t, I’ll lay ye all
- By th’ heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
- Clap round fines for neglect. Y’ are lazy knaves,
- And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
- Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound;
- Th’ 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 ye play these two months.
- Make way there for the Princess.
Porter’s Man84 - 85
- You great fellow,
- Stand close up, or I’ll make your head ache.
Porter86 - 87
- You i’ th’ chamblet, get up o’ th’ rail,
- I’ll peck you o’er the pales else.