And to the field goes he; where ev'ry flower
Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw,

In Hector's wrath.

Cre. What was his caufe of anger ?

Serv. The noife goes thus; There is among the Greeks A Lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector,

They call him Ajax.

Cre. Good; and what of him?

Serv. They fay, he is a very man per fe, and stands alone.

Cre. So do all men, unless they are drunk, fick, or have no legs.

Serv. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, flow as the elephant; a man into whom Nature hath fo crouded humours, that his valour is crusht into folly, his folly fauced with difcretion: there is no man hath a virtue, that he has not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries fome ftain of it. melancholy without caufe, and merry against the hair; he hath the joints of every thing, but every thing fo out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no ufe; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no fight.

He is

Cre. But how fhould this man, that makes me fmile, make Hector angry?

Serv. They fay, he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle and ftruck him down, the difdain and fhame whereof hath ever fince kept Hector fafting and waking.

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. Who comes here?

Conundrum aim'd at, in Sun rofe, and harneft light? A very flight Alteration makes all thefe Conftructions unneceflary, and gives us the Poet's meaning in the propereft Terms imaginable.

Before the Sun rofe, he was harness-dight,

i. e. compleatly dreft, accoutred, in Arms. It is frequent with our Poet, from his Mafters Chaucer and Spenfer, to fay dight for deck'd; pight, for pitch'd; &c, and from them too he uses Harness for

Armour.

Serv. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cre. Hector's a gallant man.

Serv. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?

Cre. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow, coufin Cressid; what do you talk of? (3) Good morrow, Alexander ;- how do you, coufin? when were you at Ilium?

Cre. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came ? was Hector arm'd and gone, ere you came to Ilium? Helen was not up? was the?

Cre. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.

Pan. E'en fo; Hector was ftirring early.

Cre. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry ?

Cre. So he fays, here.

Pan. True, he was fo; I know the caufe too: he'll lay about him to day, I can tell them that; and there's Troilus will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

(3) Good morrow, coufin Creffid; What do you talk of? Good morrow, ALEXANDER; How do you, coufin?] Good mor– row, Alexander is added in all the Editions, fays Mr. Pope, very abfurdly, Paris not being on the Stage. Wonderful Acuteness: But, with Submiffion, this Gentleman's Note is much more abfurd: for it falls out very unluckily for his Remark, that tho' Paris is, for the Generality, in Homer call'd Alexander; yet, in this Play, by any one of the Characters introduc'd, he is call'd nothing but Paris. The truth of the Fact is this. Pandarus is of a bufy, impertinent, infinuating Character; and 'tis natural for him, fo foon as he has given his Coufin the good-morrow, to pay his Civilities too to her Attendant. This is purely éve, as the Grammarians call it; and gives us an admirable Touch of Pandarus's Character. And why might not Alexander be the Name of Creffid's Man? Paris had no Patent, I fuppofe, for engroffing it to himself. But the late Editor, perhaps, because we have had Alexander the Great, Pope Alexander, and Alexander Pope, would not have fo eminent a Name proftituted to a common Valet.

Gre.

Cre. What is he angry too?

Pan. Who, Troilus?Troilus is the better man of the two.

Cre. Oh, Jupiter! there's no comparison.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? do you know a man, if you see him?

Cre. Ay, if I ever faw him before, and knew him. Pan. Well, I fay, Troilus is Troilus.

Cre. Then you fay, as I fay; for, I am fure, he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in fome degrees. Cre. 'Tis juft to each of them, he is himself.

Pan. Himself? alas, poor Troilus! I would, he were. Cre. So he is.

Pan. 'Condition, I had

Cre. He is not Hector.

gone bare-foot to India.

Pan. Himfelf? no, he's not himfelf; 'would, he were himfelf! well, the Gods are above; time must friend, or end; well, Troilus, well, I would, my heart were in her body!- -no, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

Cre. Excufe me.

Pan. He is elder.

Cre. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. Th' other's not come to't; you fhall tell me another tale, when th' other's come to't: Hector fhall not have his wit this year.

Cre. He fhall not need it, if he have his own.

Pan. Nor his qualities.

Cre. No matter.

Pan. Nor his beauty.

Cre. "Twould not become him, his own's better.

Pan. You have no judgment, Niece; Helen herfelf fwore th' other day, that Troilus for a brown favour, (for fo 'tis, I must confefs) not brown neither

Cre. No, but brown.

Pan. 'Faith, to fay truth, brown and not brown..
Cre. To fay truth, true and not true.

Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Pre. Why, Paris hath colour enough..

Pan.

Pan. So he has.

Cre. Then Troilus fhould have too much; if the prais'd him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lieve Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nofe.

Pan. I fwear to you, I think, Helen loves him better than Paris.

Cre. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed.

Pan. Nay, I am fure, the does. She came to him th’ other day into the compafs-window; and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin.

Cre. Indeed, a tapfter's arithmetick may foon bring his particulars therein to a total.

Pan. Why, he is very young; and yet will he within three pound lift as much as his brother Hector.

Cre. Is he fo young a man, and fo 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. Cre. Juno, have mercy! how came it cloven?

Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled. I think, his fmiling becomes him better, than any man in all Phrygia.. Cre. Oh, he fmiles valiantly.

Pan. Does he not?

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

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

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

Cre. If you love an addle egg, as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i'th' fhell.

Pan. I cannot chufe but laugh to think how the tickled his chin; indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I muft needs confefs.

Cre. Without the Rack.

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.

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

Pan.

Pan. But there was fuch laughing. Queen Hecuba laught, that her eyes run o'er.

Čre. With milftones.

Pan. And Caffandra laught.

Cre. But there was more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes; did her eyes run o'er too? Pan. And Hector laught.

Cre. At what was all this laughing?

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

too.

Cre. An't had been a green hair, I should have laught

Pan. They laught not fo much at the hair, as at his pretty answer.

Cre. What was his anfwer?

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

is

Cre. This is her question.

Pan. That's true, make no queftion of that: one and fifty hairs, (4) quoth he, and one white; that white hair my father, and all the reft are his fons. Jupiter ! quoth fhe, which of thefe hairs is Paris, my husband? the forked one, quoth he, pluck it out and give it him: but there was fuch laughing, and Helen fo blufh'd, and Paris fo chaf'd, and all the reft fo laught, that it paft. Cre. So let it now, for it has been a great while going by.

Pan. Well, coufin, I told you a thing Yesterday; think on't.

Cre. So I do.

Pan. I'll be fworn, 'tis true; he will weep you, an 'twere a man born in April. [Sound a retreat. Cre. And I'll fpring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle against May.

(4) Two and fifty hairs, quoth be, and one white; that white Hair is my Father, and all the reft are his Sons.] The Copyifts must have erred here in the Number; and I have ventured to fubstitute one and fifty, I think, with fome Certainty. How else can the number make out Priam, and his fifty Sons?

Pan.