Imatges de pàgina
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(As, true thou tell’st me;) when I say, I love her :
But saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay it, in every galh that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth,
Troi. Thou dost 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; an fhe 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


labour. Troi. What art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Because she is kin

to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; and the 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 she were a black-a-moor ; 'tis all one to me.

Troi. Say 1, 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 so I'll tell her the next time I see 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 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 karv'd a subject for


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



Her bed is India, there she lies, a pearl :
Between our Ilium, and where the resides,
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.

(Alarm.] Enter Æneas.
Æna How now,Prince Troilus? wherefore not i'th' 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. Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a scar to scorn ;
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarm, Æne. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day?

Troi. Better at home, if would I might, were mayBut to the sport abroad are you bound thither?

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

WHO were thofe went by ?

SCENE changes to a publick Street, near the

iValls of Troy. Enter Creflida, and Alexander, her Servant. Cre.

Serv. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cre. And whether go they ?

Seru. Up to th’ eastern tower,
Whofe height commands as fubject all the vale,
To see the

fight. Heftor, 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 husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose, he was harness-dight, (2)


(2) Before tbe Sun rose, be was harneit light,] Why barnest ligbt ? Does the Poet mean, that Heftir had put on light Armour ? Or that he was sprigbtly in his Arms, even before Sun-sise? Or is a


And to the field goes he; where ev'ry flower
Did as a prophet weep what it forelaw,
In Hector's wrath.

Cre. What was his cause of anger?

Serv. 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;

Serv. They say, he is a very man per fe, and lands 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 sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue, that he has not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain 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; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no fight.

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

Serv. They say, he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle and struck him down, the disdain and frame whereof hath ever fince kept Hector fafting and waking,

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. Who comes here?

Conundrum aimed at, in Sun rose, and harneft light? A very night Alteration makes all these Constructions unnecellary, and gives us the Poet's meaning in the properest Terms imaginable.

Before the Sun rose, be was harness-dight, i. e. compleatly drest, accoutred, in Arms. It is frequent with ous Poet, from his Masters Chaucer and Spenser, to say digbt for deck'd pigbt, for pitch'd; &c. and from them too he uses Harness for Armour,

Sero. 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, cousin Creffid; what do you talk
of? (3) Good-morrow, Alexander ;-how do you, cou-
fin? 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. Heitor 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 says, here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too: he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that; and there's Froilus will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Triolus ; I can tell them that too.

Cre. What is he angry too ?


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(3) Good-morrow, confin Cressid; What do you talk of? Goodmorrow, ALEXANDER;,

How do you, cousin? Good-mora row, Alexander is added in all the Editions, says Mr. Pope, very abfurdly, Paris not being on the Stage.

Wonderful Acuteness: But, with Submiffion, this Gentleman's Note is much more absurd : for it falls out very unluckily for his Remark, that though Paris is, for the Generality, in Homer oalled 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

busy, impertinent, infinuating Character; and it is natural for him, so soon as he has given his Coufin the good-morrow, to pay his Çivilities too to her Attendant. This is purely év lens as the Grammarians call it; and gives us an admirable Touch of Pandarus's Character. And why might not Alexander be the Name of Cresjid's Mao? Paris had no Patent, I suppose, for engrossing it to himself. But the late Editor, perhaps, becaufe we have bad Alexunder the Great, Pope Alexander, and Alexander Pope, would not bave fe Eminent a Name prostituted to a. common Xalet,


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"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 you know a man, if you see him?

Cre. Ay, if I ever saw him before, and knew him.
Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.

Cre. Then you say, as I say; for, I am fure, he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees.
Cre. 'Tis just 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. Himself? no, he's not himself; 'would, he were himself! well, the Gods are above; time must friend, or end; well, Troilus, well, I would, my heart were in her body! -no Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

Cre. Excuse me,
Pan. He is elder,
Cre. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. Th’ other's not come tot; you shall tell me another tale, when th' other's come to't: Hector shall not have his wit this

Gre. He shall 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, Nieče; Helen herself fiore th' other day, that Troilus for a brown favour, ffor so 'tis, I must confess) not brown neither

Cre. No, but brown.
Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown,
Cre. To say truth, true and not true.
Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris,
Cre. Why, Paris hath colour, enough.
Pan. So he has,


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