Imatges de pÓgina

Cre. Go hang your self, you naughty mocking Uncle: You bring me to do -and then you flout me too.

Pan. To do what? to do what? let her say, what : What have I brought you to do?

Cre. Come, come, beshrew your Heart ; you'll ne'er be good; nor suffer others.

Pan. Ha, ha ! alas poor Wretch; a poor Chipochia, hast not slept to Night? Would he not (a navghty Man) let it sleep; a Bug-bear take him,

[One knocks

. Cre. Did I not tell you? Would he were knock'd i'ch' Head. Who's that at Door?--.-Good Uncle,go and see. My Lord, come you again into my Chamber : You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

Troi. Ha, ha.=

Cre. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing. How earnestly they knock---Pray you come in. [Knock

. I would not for half Troy have you seen here. [Exeunt

. Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will you

beat down the Door? How now? what's the matter?

Enter Æneas.
Æne. Good morrow Lord, good morrow.

Pan. Who's there, my Lord Æneas ? By my troth, I knew you not ; What News with you so early?

Æne. Is not Prince Troilus here?
Pan. Here! what should he do here?

Æne. Come, he is here, my Lord, do not deny him: It doth import him much to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than I know, I'll be sworn; for my own part, I came in late : What should he do here?

Æne. Who-..-nay, then :---- Come, come, you'll do him wrong, e'er y' are aware : You'll be so true to him, to be false to him: Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch

him hither, go.

Enter Troilus. Troi. How now? what's the matter?

Ane. My Lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My macter is so harsh : There is at hand, Paris your Brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomede, and our Anthenor Deliver'd to us, and for him forth-with, E'er the 6: st Sacrifice, within this Hour,


We must give up to Diomedes Hand
The Lady Cressida.

Troi. Is it concluded so?

Æne. By Priam, and the general State of Troy.
They are at hand, and ready to effe& it.

Troy. How many Atchievments mock me!
I will go meet them; and my Lord Æneas,
We met by chance, you did not find me here.

Æne. Good, good, my Lord; the secrets of Nature
Have not more Gift in taciturnity.

[Exeunt. Enter Pandarus and Crellida. Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner got, but loft: The Devil take Anthenor ; the young Prince will


mad: a Plague upon Anthenor; I would they had broke's Neck.

Cre. How now? what's the matter? who was here?
Pan. Ah, ah!.

Cre. Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my Lord? gone? Tell me, Sweet Uncle, what's the matter?

Pan. Would I were as deep under the Earth, as I am above.

Cre. O the Gods! what's the matter?

Pan. Prithee get thee in ; would thou had'st ne'er been born; I knew thou would'st be his Death. O poor Gentleman! A Plague upon Anthenor.

Cre. Good Uncle, I beseech you, on my Knees, I beseech you what's the matter?

Pan. Thou must be gone, Wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang'd for Anthenor ; thou must go to chy Father, and be gone from Troilus: 'Twill be his death: 'cwill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

Cre. O you immortal Gods! I will not go.
Pan. Thou must.
Cre. I will not, Uncle: I have forgot my Father.
I know no touch of Confanguinity :
No Kin, no Love, no Blood, no Soul so near me,
As the sweet Troilus: O you Gods divine !
Make Cresid's name the very Crown of Falshood,
If ever he leave Troilus: Time and Death,
Do to this Body what extremity you can';
But the strong Base and building of my Love
Is, as the very centre of the Earth,


Drawing all things to it. I will go in and Weep.

Pan, Do, do
Cre. Tear my bright Hair, and scratch my praised

Crack my clear Voice with Sobs, and break my Heart
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. [Exit,

Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Deiphobus, Anthenor,

and Diomedes.

Par. It is great Morningand the Hour prefixt
Of her deliv'ry to this valiant Greek
Comes falt upon : Good my Brother Troilus,
Tell you the Lady what she is to do,
And haste her to the purpose.

Troi. V Valk into her House:
I'll bring her to the Grecian presently;
And to his Hand when I deliver her,
Think it an Altar, and thy Brother Troilas
A Priest, there offering to it his Hearts

Par. I know what 'tis to Love;
And would, as I Mall pity, I could help.
Please you walk in, my Lords.

[Exeunt. Enter Pandarus and Crellid. Pan, Be moderate, be moderate.

Cre. Why tell you me of moderation ?
The Grief is fine, full perfect that I tafte,
And no less in a sense as strong, as that
Which causeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my Affe&ion,
Or brew it to a weak and colder Palate,
The like allayment could I give my Grief ;
My Love admits no qualifying cross,

Enter Troilus.
No more my Grief in such a precious loss.

Pan. Here, here, here he comes a sweet Duck.
Cre, O Troilus, Troilus !

Par. VVhat a pair of Spectacles is here! let me embrace too: Oh Heart, as the goodly saying is ; O Heart, heavy Heart, why fittelt thou without breaking ? Look where he answers again ; Because thou can’st not ease thy smart by


Friendship, nor by speaking ; there was never a truer time;
let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of
such a Verse; we see it, we see it : how now, Lambs?

Troi, Cresid, I love thee in so strange a purity;
That the blest Gods, as angry with my Fancy,
More bright in Zeal, than the Devotion which
Cold Lips blow to their Deities, take thee from me.

Cre. Have the Gods Envy?
Pan. Ay, Ay, A, Ay, 'tis too plain a Case.
Cre. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?
Troi. A hateful Truth.
Cre. What, and from Troilus too?
Troi. From Troy, and Troilus.
Cres. Is it possible?

. And suddenly: while injury of Chance
Pues back leave-taking, justtes roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our Lips
Of all rejoyndure; forcibly prevents
Our lock d Embrasures; ftrangles our dear Vows,
Even in the birth of our own labouring Breath.
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell our selves,
With the rude brevity and discharge of one;
Injurious time, now, with a Robber's halte,
Crams his rich Thievery up, he knows not how.
As many farewels as be Stars in Heaven,
With distina Breath, and coolign’d Kisses to them,
He fumbles up all in one loose adieu;
And scants us with a single famish'd Kiss,
Diftafted with the Salt of broken Tears.

Æneas within. My Lord, is the Lady ready?

Troi. Hark, you are call’d. Some say, the Genius so
Cries, Come, to him that instantly must die.
Bid them have Patience ; she shall come anon.

Pan. Where are my Tears ? Rain, to lay this Wind, or
my Heart will be blown up by the Root.
Cre. I must then to the Grecians ?
Trri. No remedy.
Cre. A woful Crellid, 'mongst the merry Greeks.
Troi. When shall we see again?

Vol. IV.




[ocr errors]

Hear me, my Love; bethou but true of Heart

Cre. I true? how now what wicked deem is this?

Troi. Nay, we must use Expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us :
I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee :
For I will throw my Glove to Death himself,
That there's no maculation in thy Heart;
But be chou true, say I, to fashion in
My sequent Protestation: Be thou true,
And I will see thee.

Cre. O you shall be expos’d, my Lord, to dangers
As infinite, as iminent : But I'll be true,

Troi. And I'll grow Friend with danger ; Wear this Sleeve.

Cre. And you this Glove.
When shall I see you?

Troi. I will corrupt the Grécian Centinels
To give thee nightly Visitation :
But yet be true.

Cre, o Heavens! be true again.

Troi. Hear while I speak it, Love:
The Grecian Youths are full of subtle Qualities,
They're loving, well compos'd, with gift of Nature,
Flowing and swelling o'er with Arts and Exercise;
How Novelties may move, and Parts with Person-
Alas, a kind of godly Jealousie,
Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous Sin,
Makes me afraid.

Cre. O Heavens, you love me not!

Troi. Die I a Villain then:
In this I do not call your Faith in question
So mainly as my Merit : I cannot Sing,
Nor heel the high Lavolt; nor sweeten Talk;
Nor play at subtle Games; fair Virtues all-
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant :
But I can tell, that in each Grace of these,
There lurks a ftill and dumb-discoursive Devil,
That tempts most cunningly : But be not tempted.

Cre. Do not think, I will.

Troi. No, but something may be done that we will not: And sometimes we are Devils to our felves,


« AnteriorContinua »