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IN

THE

PROLOGUE.

N Troy, there lyes the scene: from Ifles of Greece
The Princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd,
Have to the port of Athens fent their ships,
Fraught with the minifters and inftruments
Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore
Their crownets regal, from th' Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia, and their vow is made
To ranfack Troy; within whofe ftrong immures,
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' Queen

With wanton Paris fleeps, and that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come

And the deep-drawing barks do there difgorge
Their warlike fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains,
The fresh and yet unbruifed Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions. Priam's fix-gated city,
Dardan, and Timbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
And Anteroridas, with may ftaples
And correfponfive and fulfilling bolts,
Stir up the fons of Troy.

Now Expectation tickling skittish spirits
On one and other fide, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard. Hither am I come
A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence
Of Author's pen, or Actor's voice; but suited
In like conditions as our argument;
To tell you, (fair beholders) that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firftlings of those broils,
Beginning in the middle: ftarting thence,
To what may be digefted in a play.
Like, or find fault, do as your pleasures are,
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

Dramatis

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Helen, Wife to Menelaus, in Love with Paris.

Andromache, Wife to Hector.

Creffida, Daughter to Calchas, in Love with Troilus.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, with other attendants.

SCENE Troy and the Grecian Camp.

The Story originally written by an old Lombard Author, and
Since by Chaucer.

+ TRO ILUS and CRESSIDA.

ACT I. SCENE I.

T R 0 Y.

Enter Pandarus and Troilus.

TROILU S.

ALL here my varlet, I'll unarm again,
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find fuch cruel battle here within?
Each Trojan that is mafter of his heart,
Let him to field, Troilus alas hath none.
Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended?

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Troi. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant.

But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than fleep, fonder than ignorance;
Lefs valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skil-less as unpractis'd infancy.

+ Before this Play of Troilus and Creffida printed in 1609 is a Bookfeller's preface, fhowing that first impreffion to have been before the Play had been afted, and that it was published without Shakespear's knowledge from a copy that had fallen into the Bookfeller's bands. Mr. Dryden thinks this one of the first of our Author's plays: But on the contrary, it may be judg'd from the foremention'd Preface that it was one of his last; and the great number of obfervations, both moral and politick, (with which this piece is crowded more than any other of his) feems to confirm my opinion.

Pan.

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make any farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding.

Troi. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ah, the grinding; but you must tarry the boulting. Troi. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the boulting; but you must tarry the leav'ning. Troi. Still have I tarried.

Pan. Ay, to the leav'ning: but here's yet in the word hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Trai. Patience her felf, what Goddess e'er fhe be, Doth leffer blench at fufferance than I do:

At Priam's royal table I do fit;

And when fair Creffid comes into my thoughts,---

So traitor!---- when fhe comes? when is fhe thence?

Pan. Well, the look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.

Troi. I was about to tell thee, when my heart
As wedged with a figh would rive in twain,
Left Hector or my father fhould perceive me
I have (as when the fun doth light a storm)
Buried this figh in wrinkle of a smile :
But forrow, that is couch'd in feeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to fudden fadness.

Pan. An her hair were not fomewhat darker than Helen's---well, go to, there were no more comparison between the women. But for my part she is my kinswoman, I would not (as they term it) praise her---- but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did: I will not dispraise your sister Caffandra's wit, but-

Troi. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus---

When

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