Imatges de pàgina
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Handleft in thy Difcourfe

O that! her Hand!

In whofe Comparifon, all Whites are Ink
Writing their own Reproach) to whofe foft feizure
The Cignets Down is harth, and Spirit of Senfe
Hard as the Palm of Ploughman. This thou tell'ft mez
As true thou tell'ft me; when I fay I love her:
But faying thus, inftead of Oil and Balm,

Thou lay ft in every gafh that Love hath given me,
The Knife that made it.

Pan. I fpeak no more than Truth.

Troia Thou doft not speak fo much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as he is, if the be fair, 'tis the better for her; and he be not, the has the mends in her own hands.

Troi. Good Pandarns; 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 bea tween, but small thanks for my labour.

Troi. What art thou angry, Pandares? what, with me? Pan. Because he is Kin to me, therefore fhe's not to 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 care not and the were a Black-a-More, 'tis 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 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.

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Pan. Pray you fpeak 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 fides, Helen muft needs be fair, I When with your Blood you daily paint her thus, I cannot fight upon this Argument,

It is too ftarv'd a Subject for my Sword:

But Pandares O Gods! how do you plague the !
I cannot come to Creffid, but by Pandarus,

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And he's as teachy to be woo'd to woe,

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As she is stubborn, chaft, against all fute..
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's Love, majovalo brod A
What Creffid is, what Pandar, and what we and leo yada
Her Bed is India, there the lyes, a Pearl,
bag a0
Between our Ilium, and where the refides yet ver
Let it be call'd the mild and wandring Flood ob c
Our felf the Merchant, and this failing Pandar
Our doubtful Hope, our Convoy, and our Bark,
Enter Æneasbba To

Alarum.
Ant. How now, Prince Troilus ? wel water.
Wherefore not i'th' Field?

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Troi. Becaufe not there; this Woman's answer forts, For womanifh it is to be from thence:

What News, Aneas, from the Field to day? "Ane. That Paris is returned home, and hurt, Troi. By whom, Æneas

Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus,

Troi. Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a fear to Scorn. Paris is gor'd with Menelaus Horn.

[Alarmm. 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 abroadare you bound thither? Ene. In all fwift hafte."

Troi. Come, go we then together.

Enter Creffida and a Servant.

Cre. Who were those went by?
Ser. Queen Hecuba and Helen.

Cre. And whither go they?

Ser. Up to the Eastern Tower,

Whofe height commands as fubject all the Vals,
To fee the Battel; Hector, whofe Patience
Is as a Virtue fix'd, to day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and ftruck his Armorer,
And like as there were Husbandry in Warr
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?

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Ser. The noife goes this;

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 stands alone. Cre. So do all Men, unless they are drunk, fick, or have no Legs.

Ser. This Man, Lady, hath robb'd many Beasts of their particular Additions, he is as valiant as the Lyon, churlish as the Bear, flow as the Elephant; a Man into whom Nature hath fo crowded Humors, that his Valour is crufht into Folly, his Folly fauced with Difcretion: There is no Man hath a Virtue, that he hath not a Glimpfe of, nor any Man an Attaint, but he carries fome Stain of it. He is melancholy without Caufe, 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 pui blinded Argus, all Eyes and no Sight.

Cre. But how fhould this Min (that makes me fmile) make Hector angry?

Ser. They fay, he Yefterday cop'd Hector in the Battel and ftruck him down, the Difdain and Shame whereof hath ever fince kept Hector fafting and waking.

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. Who comes here?

Ser. Madam, your Unkle 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.

Pan. Good morrow, Cofin Creed: what do you talk of? good morrow, Alexander; how do you, Coufin? when were you at Ilium ?

Cre. This Morning, Unkle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came ? Was Heltor arm'd and gone, e're ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up? was fhe ?

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

Cre. That were we talking of, and of his Anger.

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Pan. Was he angry?w

Cre. So he fays here.

Pan. True, he was fo; I know the Caufe too, he'll la about him to Day I can tell them that; and there's Troin will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Trilus; I can tell them that too.

Cre. What is he angry too?

Pan. Who, Troilus?

Trolins is the better Man of the two.

Cre. Oh Jupiter; there's no comparifon.

Pan. What not between Troilus and Helkor? do you 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 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. Himself no? he's not himfelf, would a were hime felf; 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 shall tell me another Tale when th'others come to't: Heller 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, Neice; Helen her felf (wore th'other Day, that Troilus for a brown Favor, (for fo 'tis I must confefs) not brown neither

Cre. No, but brown.

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Pan. Faith to fay Truth, brown and not brown.
Cre. To fay the Truth, true and not true. ml of
Pan. She prais'd his Complexion above Paris.
Cre. Why Paris hath Colour enough.
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Pand So he has

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Cre. Then Troilus fhould have too much; if the prais'd him above, his Complexion is higher than his, he having Colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a Praile 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 he's a merry Greek indeed.

Pan. Nay, I am fure the doe. She came to him th'other Day into the compaft Window, and you know he has not paft three or four Hairs on his Chin.

Cre. Indeed a Tapfters Arithmetic 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?

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Pan. But to prove to you that Helen loves hirr, the 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 smiling becomes him better, than any Man in all Phrigia.

Cre. Oh, he fmiles valiantly.

Pan. Does he not?

Cre. Oh yes, and 'twere a Cloud in Autumn.

Pan. Why go to then

Helen loves Troilus.

Cre. Troilus wili ftand to the

Proof, if you'll prove it fo.

but to prove to you that

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

Cre. If you love an addle Egg, as well as you love an idle Head, you would eat Chickens i'th' fhell.

Pan. I cannot chofe but Laugh to think how the tickled his Chin; indeed he has a Marvel's white Hand, I must needs confefs.

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