Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans !

Hect. It is Caffandra.

SCENE IV.

Enter Caffandra with her bair about her ears. Caf. Cry, Trojans, cry; lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetick tears.

Hect. Peace, fifter, peace.

Caf. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled old,
Soft infancy, that nothing can but cry,
Add to my clamour! let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come:
Cry, Trojans, cry, practise your eyes with tears.
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand:
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a wo;
Cry, cry, Troy burns, or else let Helen go.

[Exit.

Het. Now, youthful Troilus, do not the high ftrains

Of divination in our fifter work

Some touches of remorfe? Or is your blood

So madly hot, that no difcourfe of reafon,
Nor fear of bad fuccefs in a, bad caufe,
Can qualifie the fame ?

Troi. Why, brother Hector,

We may not think the juftness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it;
Nor once deject the courage of our minds,
Because Caffandra's mad; her brain-fick raptures
Cannot diftaste the goodness of a quarrel,
Which hath our feveral honours all engag'd
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's fons;
And Jove forbid there fhould be done amongst us
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
To fight for and maintain!

Par. Elfe might the world convince of levity
As well your counfels, as my undertakings:
For 1 atteft the Gods, your full confent
Gave wings to my propenfion, and cut off
All fears attending on fo dire a project.
For what, alas, can thefe my fingle arms ?

What

What propugnation is in one man's valour,
To ftand the push and enmity of those
This quarrel would excite? yet I proteft,
Were I alone to pafs the difficulties,
And bad as ample power, as I have will,
Paris fhould ne'er retract what he hath done,
Nor faint in the purfuit.

Pri. Paris, you speak

Like one befotted on your fweet delights;
You have the honey ftill, but these the gall,
So to be valiant is no praise at all.

Par. Sir, I propofe not merely to myself
The pleasures fuch a beauty brings with it:
But I would have the foil of her fair rape
Wip'd off in honourable keeping her.
What treafon were it to the ranfack'd Queen,
Difgrace to your great worths, and fhame to me,
Now to deliver her poffeffion up,

On terms of bafe compulfion! can it be,
That fo degenerate a strain as this

Should once fet footing in your generous bofoms?
There's not the meaneft fpirit on our party,
Without a heart to dare, or fword to draw,
When Helen is defended: none fo noble,
Whofe life were ill beftow'd, or death unfam'd,
Where Helen is the fubject. Then, I fay,
Well may we fight for her, whom we know well
The world's large spaces cannot parallel.

Het. Paris and Troilus, you have both faid well :
But on the cause and question now in hand
Have glofs'd but fuperficially; not much
Unlike young men, whom Ariftotle thought
Unfit to hear moral philofophy.

The reafons you alledge, do more conduce
To the hot paffion of diftemper'd blood,
Than to make up a free determination

'Twixt right and wrong: for pleasure and revenge
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decifion. Nature craves

All dues be render'd to their owners; now

What

What nearer debt in all humanity,
Than wife is to the hufband? if this law
Of nature be corrupted through affection,
And that great minds, of partial indulgence
To their benummed wills, refift the fame;
There is a law in each well-order'd nation,
To curb thofe raging appetites that are
Moft difobedient and refractory.
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's King,
(As it is known fhe is) these moral laws
Of nature, and of nations, fpeak aloud
To have her back return'd. Thus to perfift
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong,

But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
Is this in way of truth; yet ne'ertheless,

My fprightly brethren, I propend to you

In refolution to keep Helen ftill;

For'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance

Upon our joint and several dignities.

Troi. Why, there you touch'd the life of our defigns:

Were it not glory that we more affected,

Than the performance of our heaving spleens,

I would not with a drop of Trojan blood

Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
She is a theam of honour and renown,
A fpur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,
Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
And fame, in time to come, canonize us.
For I prefume brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promis'd glory,
As fmiles upon the forehead of this action,
For the wide world's revenue.

Heft. I am yours,

You valiant off-fpring of great Priamus;
I have a roifting challenge fent amongst
The dull and factious Nobles of the Greeks,
Will ftrike amazement to their drowfie spirits.
I was advertis'd their great General flept,
This I prefume will wake him,

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE V. The Grecian Camp.
Enter Therfites folus.

Ther. How now, Therfites? what, loft in the labyrinth of thy fury? fhall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy fatisfaction! would it were otherwife; that I could beat him, whilft he rail'd at me; 'sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll fee fome iffue of my fpiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken 'till thefe two undermine it, the walls will ftand 'till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the King of Gods; and, Mercury, lofe all the ferpentine craft of thy Caduceus, if thou také not that little, little, lefs than little wit from them that they have; which fhort- arm'd ignorance itfelf knows is fo abundant fcarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a fpider, without drawing the maffy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp! or rather the bone-ach, for that methinks is the curfe dependant on those that war for a placket. I have faid my prayers, and devil Envy fay Amen! What ho! my Lord Achilles!

"

Enter Patroclus.

Pat. Who's there? Therfites? Good Therfites, come in and rail.

Ther. If I could have remember'd a gilt counter, thou could'ft not have flip'd out of my contemplation; but it is no matter, thy felf upon thy felf! The common curfe of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor,and difcipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction 'till thy death! then if the that lays thee out fays thou art a fair coarse, I'll be fworn and fworn upon't she never shrouded any but Lazars; Amen? Where's Achilles ?

Pat. What, art thou devout? waft thou in a prayer? Ther. Ay, the heav'ns hear me!

Enter Achilles.

Acbil. Who's there?

Pat. Therfites, my Lord,

Achil. Where, where? art thou come? why, my cheese, my digeftion-why haft thou not ferved thy felf up to my table, fo many meals? come, what's Agamemnon? Ther. Thy commander, Achilles; then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles?

Pat. Thy lord, Therfites: then tell me, I pray thee, what's thy felf?

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus: then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?

Pat. Thou may'ft tell, that know'ft.

Achil. O tell, tell.

Ther. I'll derive the whole queftion. Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my lord, I am Patroclus's knower, and Patroclus is a fool.

Pat. You rafcal

Ther. Peace, fool, I have not done.

Acbil. He is a privileg'd man. Proceed, Therfites. Ther. Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool, Therfites is a fool, and, as aforefaid, Patroclus is a fool.

Acbil. Derive this; come. :

Ther, Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles, Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon, Therfites is a fool to ferve fuch a fool, and Patroclus is a fool pofitive..

Pat. Why am I a fool?

Ther. Make that demand to thy creator; it fuffices me thou art.

SCENE VI.

Enter Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax, and Chalcas.

Look you, who comes here?

Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with no body; come in with me, Therfites.

[Exit. Ther. Here is fuch patchery, such jugling, and fuch knavery: all the argument is a cuckold and a whore, a good quarrel to draw emulous factions,and bleed to death upon: now the dry Serpigo on the fubject! and war and lechery confound all!

Aga. Where is Achilles?
Pat. Within his tent, but ill difpos'd, my Lord.

[Exit.

Aga.