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Troi. Nothing at all, unless that this was she.
If fouls guide vows, if vows are fanctimony,
This is not she. O madness of discourse!
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
Troi. Ay, Greek, and that shall be divulged well; In characters, as red as Mars his heart
Inflam'd with Venus-ne'er did young man fancy With fo eternal, and fo fix'd a foul
Hark, Greek, as much as I do Cressfid love,
So much by weight hate I her Diomede,
That fleeve is mine, that he'll bear in his helm:
In his descent, than fhall my prompted fword
Ther. He'll tickle it for his concupy.
Troi. O Creffid! O falfe Creffid! falfe, falfe, falfe! Let all untruths ftand by thy ftained name,
And they'll feem glorious.
Uly. O, contain yourself:
· Your paffion draws ears hither.
Ene. I have been feeking you this hour, my Lord, Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy.
Ajax, your guard, ftays to conduct you home.
Troi. Have with you, Prince; my courteous Lord, adieu. Farewel, revolted Fair: and, Diomede,
Stand faft, and wear a caftle on thy head!
Ulf. I'll bring you to the gates.
Troi. Accept distracted thanks.
[Exeunt Troilus, Eneas, and Ulyffes. Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomede, I would croak like a raven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the intelligence of this whore: the parrot will do no more for an almond, than he for a commodious drab: letchery, letchery, ftill wars and letchery, nothing elfe holds fafhion. A burning devil take them!
[Exit. SCENE changes to the Palace of Troy.
Enter Hector and Andromache.
And. WHEN was my Lordfo much ungently temper'd,
To ftop ears against
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day.
Het. You train me to offend you; get you gone.
And. My dreams will, fure, prove ominous to-day.
Caf. Where is my brother Hector?
And. Here, fifter, arm'd, and bloody in intent:
Hect. Ho! bid my trumpet found.
Caf. No notes of fally, for the heav'ns, sweet brother. Hect. Be gone, I fay: the Gods have heard me fwear. Caf. The Gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows ; They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
'Than fpotted livers in the facrifice.
And. O! be perfuaded, do not count it holy
For us to count we give what's gain'd by thefts,
Caf. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow;
Hect. Hold you ftill, I fay
Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate;
How now, young man; mean'ft thou to fight to-day?
I am to-day i'th' vein of chivalry :
Let grow thy finews till their knots be ftrong,
Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,
Heft. What vice is that? good Troilus, chide me for it.
You bid them rife, and live.
Hect. O, 'tis fair play.
Troi. Fool's play, by Heaven, Hector.
Troi. For love of all the Gods,
Let's leave the hermit Pity with our mothers;
Troi. Hector, thus 'tis in wars.
Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day.
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
Their eyes o'er-galled with recourse of tears;
Enter Priam and Caffandra.
Caf. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him faft:
Priam. Hector, come, go back:
Thy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had vifions:
Am, like a prophet, fuddenly enrapt
Hect. Eneas is a-field,
And I do ftand engag'd to many Greeks,
Priam. But thou shalt not go.
Het. I must not break my faith:
You know me dutiful, therefore, dear Sir,
Let me not shame refpect; but give me leave
Which you do here forbid me, Royal Priam.
And. Do not, dear father.
Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you.
Upon the love you bear me, get you in. [Exit Androm. Troi. This foolish, dreaming, fuperftitious girl
Makes all thefe bodements.
Caf. O farewel, dear Hector:
Look, how thou dy'ft; look, how thy eyes turn pale!
And all cry, Hector, Hector's dead! O Hector !
Caf. Farewel: yet, foft: Hector, I take my leave; Thou do'ft thyfelf and all our Troy deceive.
[Exite Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim: Go in and cheer the town, we'll forth and fight; Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. Priam. Farewel: the Gods with fafety stand about thee! [Alarm. Troi. They're at it, hark: proud Diomede, believe, I come to lofe my arm, or win my fleeve.
Pan. Do you hear, my Lord? do you hear?
Pan. Here's a letter come from yond poor girl.
Pan. A whorefon ptifick, a whorefon rafcally ptifick fo troubles me; and the foolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing and what another, that I shall leave you one o' thefe days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too, and fuch an ach in my bones that unless a man were curît, I'cannot tell what to think on't. What fays fhe, there? Troi. Words, words, meer words; no matter from the
Th' effect doth operate another way. [Tearing the letter.