Imatges de pàgina
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Doth 3'not less' blench at sufferance than I do:

Tamer than fleep, fonder than ignorance ;
Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy.

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 carry the grinding. Troi. Have I not tarried ? Pan. Ay, 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, youmust stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Troi. Patience her felf, what Goddess e'er the be,

At Priam's royal table I do fit ;
And when fair Cresid comes into my thoughts,
So, traitor! when she comes? when is she thence?

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

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

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat 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:

3 lester

did: I will not dispraise your fifter Casandra's wit,
but

Troi. O Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus-
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lye indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Crefid's love: thoy answer'st, soe is. fair ;
Pour’ft in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gate, her voice;
Handleft in thy discourse that! her hand!
In whose comparison, all whites are ink
Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, 4'to th'' spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou tell’lt me,
As true thou tellist me, when I say I love her :
But saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every galh that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Troi. Thou doft not speak so much.

Pan. 'Faith, I?ll not meddle in't. Let her be as me is, if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she 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 she's not fo fair as Helen; an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care 1? I care not an fhe were a black-a-moor, 'cis all one to me.

Troi. Say I, she is not fair ?
Pan. I do not care whether you do or no.

She's a fool to stay behind her father : let her to the Greeks, and

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so I'll tell her the next time I see her : for my party 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 sounds! Fools on both sides. Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this Argument, It is too stary'd à fubject for my sword : But Pandarus Gods! how do you plague me ! I cannot come to Crefid, but by Pandarus ; And he's as teachy to be woo'd to wooe, As she is stubborn, chast, against all suit. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, What Cresid is, what Pandar, and what we : Her bed is India, there she lyes a pearl ; Between our Ilium, and where the resides, Let it be call'd the wild and wandring food, Our self the merchant, and this failing Pandar Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

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[Alarum.) Enter Æneas. Æne. How now, Prince Troilus? wherefore not i'ch'

field?
Troi. Because not there ; this woman's answer forts,
For womanish it is to be from thence:
What news, Æneas, from the field to-day ?

Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Troi. By whom, Æneas ?
Æne. Troilus, by Menelaus.

Troi.

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

(Alarum. Æne. Hark, what good sport 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 ?

Æne. In all swift hafte.
Troi. Come, go we then together.

[Exeunt.

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Between the Palace and the City.
Enter Crellida and a Servant, named Alexander.

Cre.
WHO

O were those went by.?

Ser. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cre. And whither go they ?
Ser. Up to th’ eastern tower,
Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the fight. Hector, whose patience
Is, as 5 'the virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov’d:
He chid Andromacbe, and struck his armorer,
And like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose, he was harness-dight,'
And to the field goes he ; where ev'ry flower
Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw,
In Hector's wrath.
Cre. What was his cause of

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

Cre. Good, and what of him?
Ser. They say he is a very man per fe, and stands alone.

Cre. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

Ser. 5a... old edit. Warb. emend. 6 harneft light, ...old edit. Theob. emend.

Ser. This man, Lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions ; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, now as the elephant ; a man into whom nature hath fo crouded humours, that his valour is crusht into folly, his folly sauced with discretion : there is no man hath a virtue, that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint, but he carries fome stain of it. He is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair ; he hath the joints of every thing, but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands 7 land of no use ; or a purblind' Argus, all eyes and no fight.

Cre. But how should this man (that makes me smile) make Hector angry?

Ser. They say, he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battel and struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

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Cre. Who comes here? Ser. Madam, your uncle Pandarus: Cre. HeEtor'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, cousin Crefid: what do you talk of? good morrow, Alexander. How do you, cousin ? when were you at. Ilium ? *

Cre. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came ? was Heator arm'd and gone, ere ye came to llium ? Helen was not up? was she ?

Cre, Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so; Heator was stirring early,

Cre. (a) Throughout this Play the name of Iliam feems to be giver enly to the palace of Priam. 7 and no use; or purblind

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