Imatges de pÓgina

Writing their own reproach) to whofe foft seizure The cignet's down is harsh, * and (spite of sense) Hard as the palm of ploughman. This thou tell'ft me; (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 so much.

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

Troi. Say I, fhe 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 fo I'll tell her the next time I fee her: for 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

and Spirit of fenfe

Hard as the palm of ploughman.] Read, and (Spite of fenfe) in a Parenthesis. The Meaning is, tho' our Senfes contradict it never fo much, yet the cignet's down is not only harfh, when compared to the Softness of Creffid's Hand, but hard as the Hand of Ploughman. B



all as I found it, and there's an end. [Exit Pandarus. [Sound Alarm. Troi. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude founds !

Fools on both fides.-Helen muft 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 sword:

But Pandarus-O Gods! how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Creffid, but by Pandar;
And he's as teachy to be woo'd to woo,
As fhe is ftubborn-chafte against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Creffid is, what Pandar, and what we:
Her bed is India, there fhe lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where the refides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourfelf the merchant, and this failing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

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[Alarm.] Enter Æneas.

Ene. Hith field?

O W now, Prince Troilus? wherefore not

Troi. Because not there; this woman's anfwer 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, Æneas?

Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus.

Troi. Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a fcar to fcorn: Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarm. Ene. Hark, what good fport 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? Ene. In all swift hafte.

Troi. Come, go we then together.

[Exeunt. SCENE

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Changes to a public Street, near the Walls if Troy.
Enter Creffida, and her Servant.

HO were thofe

Cre. W Ser. Queen Hecuba and Helen.

Cre. And whither go they?
Ser. Up to th' eaftern tower,


Whofe height commands as subject all the vale,
To fee the fight. Hector, whose patience
Is, as the Virtue fix'd, to-day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and ftruck his armorer;
And like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the Sun rofe, he was harneft light,
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?

Ser. The noife 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 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.

Ser. 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

-He&tor, whofe patience

Is, as a Virtue, fix'd,- -] Patience fure was a Virtue, and therefore cannot, in Propriety of Expreffion, be faid to be like one. We should read,Is as the Virtue fix'd.-i. e. his Patience is as fixed as the Goddess Patience herself. So we find Troilus a little before saying,

Patience herself what Goddess e'er fhe be,
Doth leffer blench at fufferance than I do.

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into whom Nature hath fo crouded humours,* that his valour is crufted 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 fome ftain 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 use purblind Argus, all eyes and no fight.

; or

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

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

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Ser. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

Cre. Hector's a gallant man.

Ser. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?

Cre. Good-morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Tan. Good-morrow, coufin Creffid; what do you talk of? 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 he?

*that his valour is crusht into folly, his folly fauced with difcretion:] Valour crusht into Folly is Nonfenfe; but it is of the firft Editor's making; who seeing crouded go before, concluded that crusht (which is oft indeed the Confequence) must needs follow. He did not obferve 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.


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 Troilus will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cre. What is he angry too?

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 know a man, if you fee 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 himfelf.

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 to't; you fhall tell me another tale, when the 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.

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