(As, true thou tell'ft me ;) when I fay, I love her :
But faying thus, instead of oil and balm,

Thou lay'ft, in every gash that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.

Pan. I fpeak no more than truth.

Troi. Thou doft not speak fo much.
Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't.

Let her be as fhe

is, if the be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fhe be not, fhe 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 fmall thanks for my labour. Troi. What art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Becaufe fhe is kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; and fhe were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an fhe were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me. Troi. Say 1, fhe is not fair?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no, she's a fool to ftay behind her father: let her to the Greeks, and fo I'll tell her the next time I fee her for my part, 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 Alarm. Tr. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude founds! Fools on both fides.Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument,

It is too ftarv'd a fubject for my fword:

But Pandarus-O Gods! how do you plague me !!
I cannot come to Creid, but by Pandar;
And he's as teachy to be woo'd to wooe,
As he is ftubborn-chafte against all fute.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Creid is, what Pandar, and what we:

Her bed is India, there the lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where the refides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourself the merchant, and this failing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
Enter Æneas.

{Alarm.]

Ene How now, PrinceTroilus? wherefore not i'th' field? Troi. Because not there; this woman's answer forts, For womanifh it is to be from thence:

What news, Eneas, from the field to-day?

Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Troi. By whom, Eneas?

Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus.

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

[Alarm. Ene. 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

Ene. In all fwift hafte.

are you bound thither?

Troi. Come, go we then together.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a publick Street, near the
Walls of Troy.

Enter Creffida, and Alexander, her Servant.

1

Cre.

W

HO were thofe went by ?

Serv. Queen Hecuba and Helen.

Cre. And whether go they?

Serv. Up to th' eaftern tower,

Whofe height commands as fubject all the vale,
To fee the fight. Hector, whofe patience
Is, as the virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and struck his armorer;
And like as there were hufbandry in war,
Before the fun rofe, he was harness-dight, (2)

And

(2) Before the Sun rofe, he was harnest light,] Why harneft light? Does the Poet mean, that Hefter had put on light Armour ? Or that he was sprightly in his Arms, even before Sun-rife? Or is a

Conun

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 cause of anger?

Serv. The noife goes thus; there is among A Lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector, They call him Ajax.

Cre. Good; and what of him?

the Greeks

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

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

Serv. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beafts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, flow as the elephant; a man into whom Nature hath fo crouded 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 glimpfe of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries fome ftain of it. He is melancholy without caufe, 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 and no ufe; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no fight.

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

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

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. Who comes here?

Conundrum aimed at, in Sun rofe, and harneft light? A very flight Alteration makes all thefe Constructions unneceflary, and gives us the Poet's meaning in the propereft Terms imaginable.

Before the Sun rofe, he was harness-dight,

i. e. compleatly dreft, accoutred, in Arms. It is frequent with our Poet, from his Mafters Chaucer and Spenfer, to fay dight for deck'd; pight, for pitch'd; &c, and from them too he ufes Harness for Armour,

Serv

Serv. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
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 you talk of? (3) Good-morrow, Alexander;-how do you, coufin? when were you at Ilium?

Cre. This morning, uncle.

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 the?

Cre. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.

Pan. E'en fo; Hector was stirring 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 cause too: he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that; and there's Troilus will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Triolus; I can tell them that too.

(3) Good-morrow, coufin Creffid; What do you talk of? Goodmorrow, ALEXANDER; How do you, coufin ? Good-mor row, Alexander- -is added in all the Editions, fays Mr. Pope, very abfurdly, Paris not being on the Stage.

Wonderful

Acutenefs: But, with Submiffion, 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 called Alexander; yet, in this Play, by any one of the Characters introduced, he is called nothing but Paris. The truth of the Fact is this. Pandarus is of a bufy, impertinent, infinuating Character; and it is natural for him, fo foon as he has given his Coufin the good morrow, to pay his Civilities too to her Attendant. This is purely éve, as the Grammarians call it; and gives us an admirable Touch of Pandarus's Character. And why might not Alexander be the Name of Creffid's Man? Paris had no Patent, I fuppofe, for engroffing it to himself. But the late Editor, perhaps, becaufe we have had Alexander the Great, Pope Alexander, and Alexander Pope, would not have fe eminent a Name prostituted to a common Valet,

Pan.

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

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

Cre. Ay, if I ever faw him before, and knew him.
Pan. Well, I fay, Troilus is Troilus.

Cre. Then you fay, as I fay; for, I am fure, he is

not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in fome degrees.
Cre. 'Tis juft to each of them, he is himself.

Pan. Himself? 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 himfelf; 'would, he were himself! well, the Gods are above; time muft 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 tot; you fhall tell me another tale, when th' other's come to't: Hector shall 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 herself fwore th' other day, that Troilus for a brown favour, (for fo 'tis, I must confefs) not brown neither

Cre. No, but brown.

Pan. 'Faith, to fay truth, brown and not brown.

Gre. To fay truth, true and not true.

Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Cre. Why, Paris hath colour enough.

Pan. So he has.

Cre.