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?

Serv. The noife goes thus; There is among the
Greeks

A Lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Heilor,
They call him Ajax.

Cre. Good; and what of him?

Serv. They fay, he is a very man per fe, and stands alone.

Grè. So do all men, unless they are drunk, fick, or have no legs.

Serv. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of

frightly in his arms even before fun rife? or is a conundrum aim'd at, in Sun role and harnest light? Was any thing like it? but to get out of this perplexity, he tells us that a very flight alteration makes all these conftructions unneceffary, and fo changes it to barnefs-dight. Yet indeed the very flightelt alteration will at any time let the poet's fenfe thro' the critic's fingers: And the Oxford Editor very contentedly takes up with what is left behind, and reads harness dight too, in order, as Mr. Theobald well exprefies it, To make all conftru&tion unreceffary. WARBURTON.

How does it appear that Hector was to fight on foot rather to-day than on any other day? It is to be remembered, that the ancient heroes never fought on horfeback; nor does their manner of fighting in chariots feem to require lefs activity than on foot.

their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlifh as the bear, flow as the elephant; a man into whom Nature hath fo crowded humours,

that his valour is crusht into folly, his folly fauced with difcretion; there is no man hath a virtue, that he has not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain of it. He is melancholy 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 no ufe; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no fight.

Cre. But how fhould this man, that makes me fmile, make Helor angry?

Serv. They fay, he yesterday cop'd Heor in the battle and ftruck him down; the difdain and shame whereof hath ever fince kept Hector fafting and waking.

Cre. Who comes here?
Serv. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

8 that bis valour is CRUSHT into folly, his folly Sauced with difcretion: Valour crusht into folly is nonfenfe; but it is of the firft editor's making; who feeing crouded go before, concluded that cruft (which is oft indeed the confequence) muft needs follow. He did not observe that the poet here employs a Kitchen-metaphor, which would have led him to the true reading, His valour is CRUSTED into folly, his folly fauced with difcretion. Thus is Ajax difhed up by the poet. The expreffion is humourous. His

temper is reprefented as fo hot that his valour becomes overbaked, and fo is crafted or har dened into folly or temerity: yet the hardness of his folly is faced or foftened with discretion, and fo made palatable. WARB

This emendation does not want ingenuity or humour; but I cannot fee fo clearly that the prefent reading is nonfenfe. To be crushed into folly, is to be confufed and mingled with folly, fo as that they make one mafs together.

Cre.

Cre. Hector's a gallant man.

Serv. 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
9

talk of? Good morrow, Alexander

coufin? when were you at Ilium?

Cre. This morning, uncle.

you

How do you,

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came ? Was Hector arm'd and gone, ere you came to Ilium? Helen was not up? was he?

Cre. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en fo; Hector was ftirring early.

Cre. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?

Cre. So he fays, here.

Pan. True, he was fo; I'know the caufe too: he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that; and there's Trailus will not come far behind him, let them take. heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cre. What is he angry too?

natural for him, fo foon as he has given his coufin the good-mor row, to pay his civilities too to her attendant. This is purely

9 Good morrow, coufin Creffid; What do you talk of? Good morTOW, ALEXANDER ;--How do you, coufen? Good morrow, Alexanderis added in all the edi-, as the grammarians call tions, fays Mr. Pepe, very abfurdly, Paris not being on the ftage. Wonderful acutenefs: But, with fubmiffion, this gentleman's note is much more abfurd; for it falls out very unluckily for his remark, that though Paris is, for the generality, in Homer call'd Alexander; yet, in this play, by any one of the characters introduc'd, he is call'd nothing but Paris. The truth of the fact is this. Pandarus is of a bufy, impertinent, infinuating character; and 'tis VOL. VII.

it; and gives us an admirable touch of Pandarus's chara&er. And why might not Alexander be the name of Creffid's man? Paris had no patent, I fuppofe, for engroffing it to himfelf. But the late Editor, perhaps, because we have had Alexander the Great, Pope Alexander, and Alexander Pepe, would not have fo eminent a name proftituted to a common valet. THEOBALD. Ilium] Was the palace of

Troy.
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Pan.

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

Cre. Oh, Jupiter! there's no comparison.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? do you know a man, if you fee him?

Cre Ay, if Fever faw him before, and knew him. Pan. Wel, Ify, Troilus is Troilus.

Cre. Then you fay, as I fay; for, I am fure, he is not Hedor.

Pan. No, nor Heator is not Troilus, in fome degrees.

Cre. 'Tis juft to each of them. He is himself. Pan. Himfelf? alas, poor Troilus! I would, he

were.

Cre. So he is.

Pan. 'Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India. Cre. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himfelf? No, he's not himself. 'Would, he were himself! Well, the Gods are above; time must 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, Niece. Helen herfelf fwore th' other day, that Troilus for a brown favour, for fo 'tis, I must confefs-Not brown neitherCre. No, but brown.

Pan.

Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cre. To fay the truth, true and not true.
Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Cre. Why, Paris hath colour enough.

Pan. So he has.

Cre. Then Troilus fhould have too much, if the prais'd him above; his complexion is hither than his,. he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praife for a good complexion. I had as lieve Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nofe.

Pan I fwear 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 compaf-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 fmiling becomes him better, than any man in all Phrygia.

Cre. Oh, he fmiles valiantly.

Pan. Does he not?

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

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

Cre. Troilus will ftand to the proof, if you'll prove it fo.

Pan. Troilus? why he esteems her no more than I efteem an addle egg.

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Cre