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Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
Pan. In good troth, it begins fo.

Love, love, nothing but love, ftill more :
For O, love's bor

Shoots buck and doe;

The shaft confounds
Not that it wounds,

But tickles ftill the fore.

Thefe lovers cry, ob! oh! they die :
Yet that, which feems the wound to kill,
Doth turn, ob! ob! to ha, ha, he:
So dying love lives ftill.

O bo, a while; but ha, ha, ha;

O ho groans out for ha, ha, habey bo!

Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nofe Par. He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds are love.

Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds? why, they are vipers; is love a generation of vipers?- -Sweet Lord, who's a-field to-day?

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain have arm'd to-day, but my Nell would not have it fo. How chance my brother Troilus went not?

Helen. He hangs the lip at fomething; you know all, Lord Pandarus.

Pan. Not I, honey-fweet Queen: I long to hear how they fped to-day. You'll remember your brother's ex


Par. To a hair.

Pan. Farewel, fweet Queen.

Helen. Commend me to your niece.

Pan. I will, fweet Queen. [Exit. Sound a Retreat. Par. They're come from field; let us to Priam's Hall, To greet the warriors-Sweet Helen, I muft woo you To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles, With these your white enchanting fingers toucht,



Shall more obey, than to the edge of fteel,

Or force of Greekifh finews: you shall do more
Than all the island Kings, difarm great Hector.

Helen. "Twill make us proud to be his fervant, Paris: Yea, what he fhall receive of us in duty

Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
Yea, over-fhines ourself.

Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee.

[Exeun t.

SCENE an Orchard to Pandarus's House.


Enter Pandarus, and Troilus's Man.


OW, where's thy mafter? at my coufin

Serv. No, Sir, he stays you to conduct him thither.

Enter Troilus.

Pan. O, here he comes; how now, how now?
Troi. Sirrah, walk off.

Pan. Have

feen you



Troi: No, Pandarus: I ftalk about her door,
Like a strange foul upon the Stygian banks
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
And give me fwift tranfportance to those fields,
Where I may wallow in the lily beds

Propos'd for the deferver! O gentle Pandarus,
From Cupid's fhoulder pluck his painted wings,
And fly with me to Creffid.

Pan. Walk here i'th' orchard, I will bring her straight,

[Exit Pandarus.

Troi. I'm giddy; expectation whirls me round.

Th' imaginary relish is so sweet,

That it enchants my fenfe; what will it be,
When that the watry palates tafte, indeed,
Love's thrice-reputed nectar? death, I fear me;
Swooning deftruction, or fome joy too fine,
Too fubtle-potent, and too fharp in sweetness,
For the capacity of rude powers;
I fear it much, and I do fear befides,
That I fhall lose distinction in my joys;



As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps

The flying enemy.

Re-enter Pandarus.

Pan. She's making her ready, fhe'll come ftraight; you must be witty now. She does fo bluth, and fetches her wind fo fhort, as if he were fraid with a fprite: I'll bring her. It is the pretticit villain, the fetches her breath. as fhort as a new-ta'en fparrow. [Exit Pandarus. Troi. Ev'n fuch a paffion doth embrace my bosom: My heart beats thicker than a fev'rous pulse;

And all my pow'rs do their bettowing lofe,
Like vafalage at unawares encountring

The eye of Majefty.

Enter Pandarus and Creffida.


Pan. Come, come; what need you blush? Shame's a baby. Here he is now: fwear the oaths now to her, that you have fworn to me. What, are you gone again? you must be watch'd ere you be made tame, must you come your ways, come your ways; if you draw backward, we'll put you i'th' files: Why do you not speak to her? Come, draw this curtain, and let's fee your picture. Alas the day, how loth you are to offend daylight? an 'twere dark, you'd close fooner. So, fo, rub on, and kifs the Miftrefs; how now, a kifs in fee-farm? build there, carpenter, the air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out, ere I part you. The faulcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i'th' river: (14) go to, go to.

Troi. You have bereft me of all words, lady.

Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but she'll bereave you of deeds too, if the call your activity in queftion: what, billing again? here's, in witnefs whereof the parties interchangeably. -come in, come in, I'll go get a fire. [Exit Pandarus.

(14) The Faulcon has the Tercel, for all the Ducks i'th River.] This Reading firft got Place cafually, as I prefume, in Mr. Rowe's Edition ; and was implicitly follow'd by Mr. Pope. But they both deprave the Text. Pandarus, feeing Troilus kifs with Fervour, and Creffida meet his Kifles with equal Zeal, means, that he'll match his Niece against her Lover for any Bett. The Tercel is the male Hawk by the Faulcon, we generally understand the Female.


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Cre. Will you walk in, my Lord ?

Troi. O Crefida, how often have I wifht me thus ? Cre. Wisht, my Lord! the Gods grant-O my Lord. Troi. What should they grant? what makes this pretty abruption? what too curious dreg efpies my fweet lady in the fountain of our love?

Cre. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes. Troi. Fears make devils of cherubins, they never fee truly. Cre. Blind fear, which feeing reafon leads, finds fafer footing than blind reason ftumbling without fear. To fear the worst, oft cures the worse.

Troi. O, let my lady apprehend no fear; in all Cupid's Pageant there is prefented no monster.

Cre. Nor nothing monftrous neither ?

Troi. Nothing, but our Undertakings; when we vow to weep feas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tygers; thinking it harder for our miftrefs to devife impofition enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty impofed. This is the monftruofity in love, lady, that the will is infinite, and the execution confin'd; that the defire is boundless, and the act a flave to limit.

Cre. They fay, all lovers fwear more performance than they are able; and yet referve an ability, that they never perform: vowing more than the perfection of ten, and difcharging less than the tenth part of one. They that have the voice of lions, and the act of hares, are they not monftrous?

Troi. Are there fuch? fuch are not we: praife us as we are tafted, allow us as we prove: our head fhall go bare, 'till merit crown it; no perfection in reverfion fhall have a praife in prefent; we will not name defert before his birth, and, being born, his addition fhall be humble; few words to fair faith. Troilus fhall be fuch to Creffida, as what envy can fay worft, fhall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak trueft, not truer than Troilus. Cre. Will you walk in, my Lord ?

Enter Pandarus.

Pan. What, blushing ftill? have you not done talking yet?


Cre. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to


Pan. I thank you for that; if my Lord get a boy of you, you'll give him me; be true to my Lord; if he flinch, chide me for it.

Troi. You know now your hoftages; your uncle's word and my firm faith.

Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too; our kindred, though they be long ere they are woo'd, they are conftant, being won: they are burrs, I can tell you, they'll stick where they are thrown.

Cre. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me heart: Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day, For many weary months.

Troi. Why was my Crefid then fo hard to win?
Cre. Hard to feem won: but I was won, my Lord,
With the first glance that ever- pardon me-
If I confefs much; you will play the tyrant:
I love you now; but not till now, fo much
But I might mafter it--in faith, I lye-
My thoughts were like, unbridled children, grown
Too headftrong for their mother; fee, we fools!
Why have I blabb'd? who fhall be true to us,
When we are so unfecret to ourselves?

But though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not;
And yet, good faith, I wisht myself a man:
Or that we women had men's privilege,

Of fpeaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue;
For in this rapture I fhall furely fpeak

The thing I fhall repent; fee, fee, your filence
(Cunning in dumbnefs) from my weakness draws
My very foul of counfel. Stop my mouth.

Troi. And fhall, albeit fweet mufick iffues thence.

Pan. Pretty, i'faith.

Cre. My Lord, I do befeech you, pardon me; "Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kifs:

I am afham'd;- -O heavens, what have I done!.
For this time will I take my leave, my Lord.

Troi. Your leave, fweet Crefid?

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