As true thou tell'ft me, when I fay I love her:
But faying thus, inftead of oil and balm,

Thou lay'ft in every gafh that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.

Pan. I fpeak no more than truth,

Troi. Thou doft not speak fo much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is, if the be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fhe be not, the has the 'mends in her own hands.

Troi. Good Pandarus; how now, Pandarus?

Pan. I have had my labour for my travel, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Troi. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore fhe's not fo fair as Helen; an fhe were not kin to me, fhe would be as. fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an fhe were a black-a-moor, 'tis all one to me. Troi. Say I, fhe is not fair?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to ftay behind her father: let her to the Greeks, and fo I'll tell her the next time I fee her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i' th' matter.

Troi. Pandarus

Pan, Not I.

Troi. Sweet Pandarus

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

[Exit Pandarus. [Sound Alarum.

Troi.Peace,you ungracious clamours! peace, rude founds!

Fools on both fides. Helen must needs be fair,

When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this Argument,

It is too ftarv'd a fubject for my fword;

But Pandarus-O Gods! how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Creffid, but by Pandarus;
And he's as teachy to be woo'd to wooe,
As fhe is ftubborn, chaft, against all fuit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Creffid is, what Pandar, and what we :

N 3

Hor

Her bed is India, there the lyes a pearl;
Between our Ilium, and where the refides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandring flood,
Our felf the merchant, and this failing Pandar
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
SCENE

[Alarum.]

Enter Æneas.

II.

Ene. How now, Prince Troilus?wherefore not i'th' field? Troi. Because not there; this woman's anfwer forts,' For womanish it is to be from thence:

What news, Eneas, from the field to-day?

Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt,
Troi. By whom, Æneas?

Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus.

Troi. Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a fear to fcorn, Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarum. Ene. Hark, what good fport is out of town to-day? Troi. Better at home, if, would I might were, may. But to the sport abroad-are you bound thither ?

Ene, In all swift hafte.

Troi. Come, go we then together.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Between the Palace and the City. Enter Creffida and a Servant, named Alexander. Cre. Who were thofe went by?

Ser. Queen Hecuba and Helen.

Cre. And whither go they?
Ser. Up to th' eaftern tower,

Whose height commands as fubject all the vale,
To fee the fight. Hector, whofe patience
Is, as the virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and ftruck his armorer, '
And like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the fun rofe, he was harness-dight.
And to the field goes he; where ev'ry flower,
Did as a prophet weep what it forefaw,

In Hector's wrath.

Cre. What was his caufe of anger?

Ser. The noife goes thus; There is among the Greeks, A Lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector, They call him Ajax.

Cres

Cre. Good; and what of him? Ser. They fay he a very man per fe, and ftands alone. Cre. So do all men, unless they are drunk, fick, or have no legs.

Ser. 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 hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint, but he carries fome ftain of it. He is melan◄ choly without cause, 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 of no ufe; or a purblind Argus, all eyes and no fight.

Cre. But how fhould this man (that makes me fmile) make Hector angry

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

SCENE IV. Enter Pandarus.

Cre. Who comes here?

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

Ser. As may be in the world, Lady.

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

Cre. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus,

Pan. "Good morrow, coufin Creffid: what do you talk of? 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 ye came to Ilium? Helen was was the?

not up

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

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

Gre. That were we talking of, and of his anger.

Throughout this Play the name of 1lium feems to be given only to the palace of Priam

Pan.

Pan. Was he angry?

Cre. So he fays here.

Pan. True, he was fo; I know the cause 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.

Cre. What, is he angry too,

[two,

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

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. On condition I had gone bare-foot to India.
Cre. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself; would he were himself! well, the Gods are above, time muft 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, neice; Helen herself fwore th' other day, that Troilus for a brown favour, (for fo'tis I must confefs) not brown neither

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

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

Pan. So he has.

Cre. Then Troilus fhould have too much; if the prais'd him about his complexion as higher than his, he having colour enough, 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 wear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris.

Cre. Then fhe's a merry Greek indeed.

Pan. Nay, I am fure fhe does. She came to him th other day into the compaft 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, fhe 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 smiling becomes him better, than any man in all Phrygia. Cre. Oh, he fmiles valiantly.

Pan. Does he not?

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

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

Cres Troilus will fand to the proof, if you'll prove it fo. Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more, than I efteem 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 the has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confefs.

Cre. Without the rack.

Pan.