Imatges de pÓgina
[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]
[ocr errors][merged small]

P R O L 0. G U

G U E.

[ocr errors]

N Troy, there lyes the scene : from ifles of Greece

The Princes orgillous, their high blood chaf’d,
Have to the port of Athens sent their hips,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore
Their crownets regal, from thAthenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia, and their vow is made
To ransack Troy ; within whose Atrong immures,
The ravisód Helen, Menelauso Queen
With wanton Paris seeps, and that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains,
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions. Priam's fix-gated city,
Dardan, and Timbria, Helias, Chetas, Trojen,
And Anteroridas, with maly staples
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Stir up the Sons of Troy.
Now Expectation tickling skittis spirits
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard. Hither am I come
A Prologue arm’d, but not in confidence
Of Author's pen, or Actor's voice; but suited
In like conditions as our argument;
To tell you, (fair beholders) that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
Beginning in the middle : starting thence,
To what may be digested in a play.

or find fault, do as your pleasures are,
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.



[blocks in formation]

Helen, Wife to Menelaus, in Love with Paris.
Andromache, Wife to Hector.
Cressida, Daughter to Calchas, in Love with Troilus.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, with other attendants.

SCENE Troy and the Grecian Camp.

The Story originally written by an old Lombard Author, and

fince by Chaucer.

T R 0

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

ALL here my varlet, I'll unarm again,
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within ?
Each Trojan that is master of his heart,
Let him to field, Troilus alas hath none.

Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended : " Troi. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, · Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant. ( But I am weaker than a woman's tear, · Tamer than Neep, fonder than ignorance; · Less valiant than the virgin in the night, · And skil-less as unpractis’d infancy.

+ Before this Play of Troilus and Cressida printed in 1609 is a Bookseller's preface, Jhowing that first impresion to have been before the Play had been acted, and that it was published without Shakespear's knowledge from a copy that bad fallen into the Bookseller's hands. Mr. Dryden thinks this one of the first of our Author's plays: But on the contrary, it may be judg’d from the foremention'd Preface that it was one of his laft; and the great number of observations, both moral and politick, (with which this piece is crowded more than any other of his) seems to confirm my opinion.



Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this : for my part, I'll not meddle nor make any farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding.

Troi. Have I not tarried ?
Pan. Ah, the grinding; but you must tarry the boulting.
Troi. Have I not tarried :
Pan. Ay, the boulting; but you must tarry the leav'ning.
Troi. Still have I tarried.

Pan. Ay, to the leav’ning: but here's yet in the word hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Troi. Patience her self, what Goddess e'er she be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do:
At Priam’s royal table I do fit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, ----
So traitor !---- when she comes? when is the thence?

Pan. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.

Troi. I was about to tell thee, when my heart
As wedged with a sigh would rive in twain,
Left Hector or my father should perceive me
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm)
Buried this figh in wrinkle of a smile:
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's---well, go to, there were no more comparison between the wo

But for my part she is my kinswoman, I would not (as they term it) praise her---- but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did : I will not difpraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but --Troi. o Pandarus. I tell thee, Pandarus---



: :::

« AnteriorContinua »