This is too much;

Forbear, for shame, my lords. Gar.

I have done.

D. Keep. Without, my noble lords? Gar.

D. Keep.

My lord archbishop; And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. Chan. Let him come in. D. Keep.

Your grace may enter now. [Cranmer approaches the Council-table. Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry To sit here at this present, and behold That chair stand empty: But we all are men, In our own natures frail; and capable

Of our flesh, few are angels: out of which frailty,
And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling

The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chaplains
(For so we are inform'd), with new opinions,
Divers, and dangerous; which are heresies,
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too,
My noble lords for those, that tame wild horses,
Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle;
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur
Till they obey the manage. If we suffer

(Out of our easiness, and childish pity

[them,

To one man's honour) this contagious sickness,
Farewell all physic: And what follows then?
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint

Of the whole state as, of late days, our neighbours,
The upper Germany, can dearly witness,

Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,
And with no little study, that my teaching,
And the strong course of my authority,
Might go one way, and safely; and the end
Was ever, to do well: nor is there living
(I speak it with a single heart, my lords),
A man, that more detests, more stirs against,
Both in his private conscience, and his place,
Defacers of a public peace, than I do.

Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart
With less allegiance in it! Men that make
Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment,

Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships,
That, in this case of justice, my accusers,

Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
And freely urge against me.

Suf.

Nay, my lord,
That cannot be; you are a counsellor,
And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.

Gar. My lord, because we have business of more

[sure

moment, We will be short with you. "Tis his highness' pleaAnd our consent, for better trial of you, From hence you be committed to the Tower; Where, being but a private man again, You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, More than, I fear, you are provided for.

Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, You are always my good friend; if your will pass, I shall both find your our lordship judge and juror, You are so merciful: I see your end,

'Tis my undoing: Love, and meekness, lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition;
Win straying souls with modesty again,

Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
Gar. My lord, my lord; you are a sectary,
That's the plain truth; your painted gloss discovers,
To men that understand you, words and weakness.
Crom.

My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect
For what they have been 'tis a cruelty,

To load a falling man.

Gar.

Good master secretary,

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst
Of all this table, say so.
Crom.

Why, my lord?

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer

Of this new sect? ye are not sound.

Crom.

Gar. Not sound, I say.

Crom.

Not sound?

'Would you were half so honest;

Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord,-It stands I take it, by all voices, that forthwith [agreed, You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner: There to remain, till the king's further pleasure Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords? All. We are. Cran.

Is there no other way of merey,

But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?

Gar.

What other Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome! Let some o'the guard be ready there.

In seeking tales, and informations,
Against this man (whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at),

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye.

Enter King, frowning on them; takes his Seat. Gar. Dread sovereign, bow much are we bound to In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; [heaven Not only good and wise, but most religious: One that, in all obedience, makes the church The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal self in judgment comes to hear

The cause betwixt her and this great offender!

K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commen

dations,

Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
They are too thin and base to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure,
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody.-

Good man, [To Cranmer] sit down. Now let me see the prondest

He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
By all all that's holy, he had better starve,
Than but once think his place becomes thee not.

Surry. May it please your grace,-
K. Hen.

No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thought, I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom, of my council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,

This good man (few of you deserve that title),
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
At chamber-door? and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
Bid ye so far forget yourselves I gave ye
Power, as he was a counsellor, to try him,
Not as a groom: There's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ve mean;
Which ye shall never have, while I live.

Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him, If a prince
May be beholden to a subject, I
Am, for his love and service, so to him.

Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
Be friends, for shame, my lords. My lord of Canter-
I have a suit which you must not deny me; [bury,
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour; How may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you?

spoons; you shall have

K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your [Norfolk, Two noble partners with you; the old duchess of And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please you? Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace, and love this man. Gar.

With a true heart,

And brother-love, I do it.
Cran.
And let heaven
Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true The common voice, I see, is verified

[heart.

Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canterbury A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long

To have this young one made a Christian.

As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;

So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. [Exeunt.

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 garden? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue: 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 patient; '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 morning; which will never be: We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them. 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 Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Colbrand, 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 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.

a

Man. The spoons will be will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be 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 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 truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; place; at length they came to the broom-staff with broade gordith

me, I defied them still; when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work: The devil was amongst them, I think, surely.

Port. 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 them 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 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, felThere's a trim rabble let in Are all these [lows. 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 heel heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines, for for neglect neglect:

You are lazy knaves:

And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, 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 ache.

Port. You i'the camlet, get up o'the rail; I'll pick you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The Palace.

Enter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's Staff, Duke of 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 Montle, &c. Train borne by a Lady; then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, the other Godmother, and Ladies. The Troop pass once about the Stage, and Garter speaks.

Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth.

Flourish. Enter King and Train.

Cran. [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!

Thank you, good lord archbishop:
Elizabeth.

What is her name? Cran.

K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too proI thank ye heartily; so shall this lady [digal: When she has so much English. Cran.

Let me speak, sir, She shall be lov'd, and fear'd: Her own shall bless her;

A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
K. Hen. O lord archbishop,

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 phœnix,
Her ashes new create another heir,

As great in admiration as herself;

[ness),

So shall she leave her blessedness to one
(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of dark-
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.

K. Hen.

Thou speakest wonders.

Cran. 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,

This happy child, did I get any thing:
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me,
That, when I am in heaven,
P
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 beholden;
I have receiv'd 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
He has business at his house; for all shall stay,
This little one shall make it holiday.

EPILOGUE.

'TIS ten to one, this play can never please

[Exeunt.

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
Abus'd extremely, and to cry, that's witty!
Which we have not done neither that, I fear,
All the expected good we are 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 them: If they smile
And say, 'twill do, I know, within awhile
All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap.

Priam, King of Troy.

Hector,

Troilus,

Paris, Deiphobus,

Helenus,

Æneas,

Antenor,

his Sons.

Trojan Commanders.

Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.

Alexander, Servant to Cressida.

Greeks.

Pandarus, Uncle to Cressida.

Margarelon, a Bastard Son of Priam.

Agamemnon, the Grecian General.
Menelaus, his Brother.

Diomedes.

Helen, Wife to Menelaus.

Andromache, Wife to Hector.
Cassandra, Daughter to Priam; a Prophetess.
Cressida, Daughter to Calchas.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.

PROLOGUE.

IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous, their high blood chafd,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: Sixty and nine, that wore
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia: and their vow is made,
To ransack Troy; within whose strong immures
The ravished Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come;

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage: Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, liias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr up the sons of Troy,

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard:-And hither am I come
A prologue arm'd, but not in confidence
Of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited
In like conditions as our argument,-

What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where she resides,
Let it be cali'd the wild and wandering flood;

Tro. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, to the leavening but here's yet in the word-hereafter, the kneading; the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

nay,

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit;

And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,-
So, traitor!-whenshe comes! When is she thence?
Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever
I saw her look, or any woman else.

Tro. I was about to tell thee, When my heart,-
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain;
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm),
Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:

But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to), there were no more comparison between the women, But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, -But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but

Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,-
When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad

In Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, She is fair;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand,
In whose comparison all whites are ink,

Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'stme,
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.

Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
Alarum. Enter Æneas.

Ane. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not

afield?

Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed; 'tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. Æne. Hark! what good sport is out of town to-day! Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were may.But, to the sport abroad; -Are you bound thither? Æne. In all swift haste.

Tro.

Come, go we then together.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same. A Street.
Enter Cressida and Alexander.

Cres. Who were those went by ?
Alex.

Queen Hecuba and Helen.

Cres. And whither go they? Alex.

Up to the eastern tower.

Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;
And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light,
And to the field goes he; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.

be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Tro. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labour for my travel; illthought on of her, and ill-thought on of you gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-amoor; 'tis all one to me.

Tro. Say 1, she is not fair ?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no.

She'sa

fool to stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the matter.

Tro. Pandarus,

Pan. Not I.

Tro. Sweet Pandarus,

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me; I will leave all as I found it, and there an end.

[Exit Pandarus. An Alarum.

Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds!

Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
But Pandarus- -O gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo,
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,

hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain of it he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: He hath the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?

Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the battle, and struck him down: the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Heetor fasting and waking.

Enter Pandarus.

Cres. Who comes here?

Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

Cres. Hector's a gallant man.

Alex. As may be in the world, lady.

Pan. What's that? what's that?

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: What do you

talk off-Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, cousin?-When were you at Ilium ?

Cres. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came? Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to liium? Helen was not up, was she?

Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early.
Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?

Cres. What, is he angry too?

Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under

Cres. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector ! Do

you know a man, if you see him?

Cres. Ay; if ever I saw him before, and knew him. Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.

Cres. Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees.

Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself. Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would, he

Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter? Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him:she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin,

Cres. Juno have mercy! How came it cloven! Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think, his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.

Cres. O, he smiles valiantly.

Pan. Does he not?

Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.

Pan. Why, go to then: -But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus,

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so. Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i'the shell.

Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled his chin; -Indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess.

Cres. Without the rack.

Pan. And Hector laughed.

Cres. At what was all this laughing?

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin.

Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed too.

Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at his pretty answer.

Cres. What was his answer.

Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.

Cres. This is her question.

Pan. That's true; make no question of that. One and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one white: That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. Jupiter! quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris, my husband? The forked one, quoth he; pluck it out, and give it him. But, there was such laughing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed.

Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by.

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on't.

Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that; There's a fellow! Go thy way, Hector:-There's a brave man, niece. O brave Hector!-Look, how he looks! there's a countenance I'st not a brave man? Cres. O, a brave man!

Pan. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good--Look you what hacks are on his helmet: look you yonder, do you see? look you there! There's no jesting: there's laying on; take't off who will, as they say: there be hacks!

Cres. Be those with swords?

Paris passes over.

Pan. Swords? any thing, he cares not an the devil come to him, it's all one By god's lid, it does one's heart good:-Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: look ye yonder, niece; Is't not a gallant man too, is't not?-Why, this is brave now.Who said, he came hurt home to-day? he's not hurt: why, this will do Helen's heart good now. Ha! 'would I could see Troilus now 1-you shall see Troilus anon.

Cres. Who's that?

Helenus passes over.

Pan. That's Helenus; -I marvel, where Troilus is:-That's Helenus; -I think he went not forth to

on his chin.

Cres. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.

Pan. But, there was such laughing; -Queen He

cuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er.

Cres. With millstones.

Pan. And Cassandra laughed.

Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle? Pan. Helenus? no;-yes, he'll fight indifferent well:-I marvel, where Troilus is!-Hark: do you not hear the people cry, Troilus?-Helenus is priest.

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder?