Imatges de pàgina

Pan. Command, I mean, friend.
Sery. Who shall I command, Sir ?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another. I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?

Serv, That's to't, indeed, Sir. Marry, Sir, at the request of Paris my Lord, who's there in person ; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, & love's vifible soul.

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ?

Serv. No, Sir, Helen. Could you not find out that by her attributes ?

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen thé Lady Cressida. . I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a complimental afault upon him, for my business feethes.

Serv. Sodden business! chere's a stew'd phrase, indeed.

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Enter Paris and Helen, attended. Pan. Fair be to you, my Lord, and to all this fair company! fair Defires in all fair measure fairly guide them; especially to you, fair queen, fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

Helen. Dear Lord, you are full of fair words.

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet Queen. Fair Prince, here is good broken mufick.

Par. You have broken it, cousin, and, by my life, you fall make it whole again ; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of harmony.

Pan. Truly, lady, no.
Helen, O, Sir
Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.

8 love's vifitle foul.] So Han. right, and may mean the foul of mer. The other edit ons have in love invisible every where else. vifbk, which perhaps may be VoL, V.:.



Par. Well said, my Lord; well, you say so in fits

Pan. I have business to my Lord, dear Queen. My Lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ?

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out ; we'll hear you sing, certainly.

Pan. Well, sweet Queen, you are pleasant with me; but, marry thus, my Lord. - My dear Lord, and most eftcemed friend, your brother Troilus

Helen. My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet Lord,

Pan. Go to, sweet Queen, go to Commends himself most affectionately to you.

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody, If you do, our melancholy upon your heal!

Pan. Sweet Queen, sweet Queen, that's a sweet Queen, l'faith—

Telen. And to make a sweet Lady fud, is a four


Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn, that snail it not in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words, no, no. * And, my Lord, he delires you, that if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.

Helen. My Lord Pandarus,

Pan. What says my sweet Queen, my very very sweet Queen?

Par. What exploit's in hand, where supsheto-night? Helen. Nay, but my Lord,

Pan. What says my sweet Queen? My cousin will fill out with you.

Helen. You must not know where he sups.
Per. I'll lay my life; e with my disposer Cressida.

And, my Lord, he defires you,] these places, be read DisPOU. Here I think the speech of Pan SER; she that would separate darus should begin, and the rest Helen from him. WARBURTON. of it should be added to that of I do not underítand the word He'en, but I have followed the disposer, nor know what to substicopies.

tute in its place. There is no with my DisPOSER Cref- variation in the copies. fija. I think difpofer ihould, in



Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come your disposer is fick.

. Par. Well, I'll make excuse.

Pan. Ah, good my Lord, why should you say, Cresida? No, your poor disposer's sick.

Par. I spy

Pan. You spy, what do you spy? Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet Queen.

Helen. Why, this is kindly done.

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet Queen,

Helen. She shall have it, my Lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.

Pan. He? no, she'll none of him, they two are twain,

Helen. Falling in after falling out, may make them three.

Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this. I'll sing you a song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, pr’ythee now. By my troth, ' sweet Lord, thou hast a fine forehead.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may

Helen. Let thy fong be love: this love will undo us all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! Pan. Love !

-ay, that it shall, i'faith. Par. Ay, good now. Love, love, nothing but love.

Pan. In good troth, it begins fo. Love, love, nothing but love; still love, ftill more.

For Ó, love's bow
Sboots buck and doe;
The shaft confounds,
Not that it wounds,
Bat tickles still the fore.
These lovers cry,
Ob! Oh! they die,

- f-wiet Lord;] In the quarto, sweet lad.

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* Yet that, which seems the wound to kill,
Dolb lurn, ob! ob ! to ha, ba, be:
So dying love lives still.
O bo, a while ; but ba, ba, ba ;
O bo groans out for ba, ha, babey bo!

Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose!

Par. He eats nothing but doves, Love, and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hor deeds, and hot deeds are love.

Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds ? Why, they are vipers ; is love a generation of vipers ? Sweet Lord, who's afield to-day?

Par. Heftor, Deipbobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain have arm'd today, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not ?

Helen. He hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus.

Pan. Not I, honey-sweet Queen. I long to hear how they sped co-day. You'll remember your brother's excuse.

Par. To a hair.
Pan. Farewel, sweet Queen.
Helen. Commend me to your

niece. Pan. I will, swet Queen. (Exit. Sound a Retreat. Par. They're come from field. Let us to Priam's


. let that, which seems the. But that which feems to kill,

wound to kill,] To kill the Doth turn, &c. wound, is no very intelligible ex. So dying love lives fill. prefiion, nor is the measure pre- Yet as the wound to kill may ferved. We might read, mean the wound that seems mortal, These lovers cry,

I alter nothing. Ob! ob! they die:


To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you
To help unarm our Hefior ; his stubborn buckles,
With these your white enchanting fingers touche,
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel,
Or force of Greekis finews; you shall do more
Than all the island Kings, disarm great Heator.
Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant,

Paris :
Yea, what he hall receive of us in duty
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
Yea, over-shines ourself.

Paris. Sweet. Above thought I love her. (Exeunt.

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An Orchard to Pandarus's House.

Enter Pandarus, and Troilus's Man. Pan. W, where's thy master ? at my cousin

Craffida's ? Serv. No, Sir, he stays for you to conduct him thi


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Enter Troilus.

Pan. O, here he comes. How now, how now?
Troi. Sirrah, walk off.
Pan. Have you seen my cousin ?

Troi. No, Pandarus, I ftalk about her door,
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
And give me swift transportance to those fields,
Where I may wallow in the lily beds
Propos'd for the deserver ! O gentle Pandarus,
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings,
And fy with me to Creffid.


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