C

ACT I. SCENE I.

The Palace in Troy.

Enter Pandarus and Troilus.

TROILUS.

ALL here my varlet. I'll unarm again.

Why should I war without the walls of Troy,

That find fuch 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 ftrength,

Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant.

But I am weaker than a woman's tear,

Tamer than fleep, fonder than ignorance;
Lefs valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skill-lefs as unpractis'd infancy.

PAN. Well, I have told you enough of this. For my part, I'll not meddle or make any further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must needs tarry the grinding. TROI. Have I not tarried?

PAN. Ay, 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 herfelf, what goddefs ere the be, Doth leffer blench at fufferance than I do.

At Priam's royal table do I fit,

And when fair Creffid comes into my thoughts,
So traitor!-

--when the comes! When is the thence? PAN. Well, the look'd yefternight fairer than ever I faw her look, or any woman else.

TROI. I was about to tell thee, when my heart,
As wedg'd with a figh, would rive in twain,
Left Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have, as when the fun doth light a storm,
Buried the figh in wrinkle of a smile;

But forrow, that is couch'd in feeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to fudden sadness.

PAN. And her hair were not fomewhat darker than Helen's well, go to, there were no more comparison between the women. -But, for my part, she is my kinfwoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her. But I would, fomebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not difpraise your sister Caffandra's wit, but,—

TROI. O Pandarus! I tell, thee, Pandarus!
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep

They lye indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Creffid's love. Thou anfwer'ft, she is fair;
Pour'ft in the open ulcer of my heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handleft in thy difcourfe -O that! her hand!

In whose comparison, all whites are ink
Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure
The cignet's down is harsh, and spirit of fenfe

Hard as the palm of ploughman. This thou tell'st me,
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 speak no more than truth.

TROI. Thou doft not speak fo much.
PAN. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't,

Let her be as fhe is,

if he be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fhe be not, the 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 i thought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

TROI. What art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? PAN. Becaufe fhe is kin to me, therefore fhe's not fo fair as Helen; and she were not kin to me, fhe would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an fhe were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

TROI. Say I, fhe is not fair?

PAN. I do not care whether you do or no; he's a fool to stay 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.

TROI. Pandarus

PAN. Not I.

TROI. Sweet Pandarus

PAN. Pray you, speak no more to me. as I found it, and there's an end.

I will leave all

[Exit Pan. [Sound alarm.

TROI. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude

founds!

Fools on both fides.

-Helen must needs be fair,

When with your blood you daily paint her thus.

I cannot fight upon this argument,

It is too starv'd a fubject for my sword.
But Pandarus

gods! how do you plague me !

I cannot come to Creffid, but by Pandar;
And he's as teachy to be woo'd to wooe,
As fhe is stubborn-chaste against all fute,
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Creffid is, what Pandar, and what we.
Her bed is India, there fhe lies, a pearl;
Between our Ilium, and where she refides,
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.

SCENE II. [Alarm.] Enter Æneas.

ENE. How now, Prince Troilus? wherefore not a field? TROI. Because not there. This woman's answer forts, For womanish it is to be from thence.

What news, Eneas, from the field to-day?

ENE. That Paris is return'd 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.

[Alarm,

ENE. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day?
TROI. Better at home, if would I might, were may-

But to the fport abroad-are you bound thither?

ENE. In all fwift hafte.

TROI. Come, go we then together.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Changes to a public street, near the walls

of Troy.

Enter Creffida, and Alexander, her Servant.

CRE. Who were those went by?

SERV. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
CRE. And whither go they?

SERV. Up to th' eastern tower,
Whofe height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the fight. Hector, whose patience
Is as a 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'd 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 ?

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 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.

SERV. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beafts of their particular addition; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, flow as the elephant; a man into whom nature hath fo crowded humours, that his valour is crusht into folly,