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The princes orgillows, their high blood chaf'd,
• To fpere, or Spar, from the old Teutonic word, Usperren) fignifies to fout up, defend by barrs, &c. Theobald.
'F A prologue arm’d, -] I come here to speak the prologue, and come in armour; not defying the audience, in confidence of either the author's or actor's abilities but merely in a character suited to the fubject, in a dress of war, before a warlike play. Johnforcon
In like conditions as ohlr. argument;!
Enter Pandarus and Troilus.
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That finid such cruel battle here within?
Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended ?
Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this. For my part, I'll not middle nor make any further. He that will have a cake out of the wheat, must need's tarry the grinding
Troi: Have I nor 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.
* The story was originally written by Lollius, an old Lombard author, and since by Chaucer Pope.
"It is also found in an old story book of the three dem Aructions of Troy, from which many of the circumAances of this play are borrowed, they being to be found no where else. Tbeobaldo
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 herself, what goddess ere the be, Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do, At Priam's royal table do I fit, And when fair Crellid comes into my thoughts, So,t raitor ! --when she comes! When is she thence?
Pan. Well, sie look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman elle.
Troi. I was about to tell thee, when my heart, As wedged with a ligh, would rive in twain, Left Hector or my father fhould perceive me I have, as when the sun doth light a ftorm, Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a imile; But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladnels, Is like that mirih fate turns to sudden ladness,
Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's-well, go to, there were no more comparison between the women.-But, for my part, The is my kinswoman;, I would not, as they tern it praise her But I would, fomebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not difpraise your Gifter Cassandra's wit, but
Troj. O Papdarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus ! When I do tell thee, there my hopes ly drown'de Reply not in how many fathoms deep They ly indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad In Crellid's love Thou answer'st, she is fair; Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart Her eyes, her hair; her cheek, her gait, her voice, Handleft in thy discourse 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 sense
• Spirit of fease; that is, the moft refined quinteffence of fenre, the most delicate touch of it, was, in compari son of Creffid's tand, as hard as the palm of the plougle. olan. Revisab.
Hard as the palm of ploughman. This thou tell'ft me
Pam. I speak no more than truth.
Pan. 'Faith, l'll not meddle in't. Let her be as Mhe is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fho be not, she has the mends in her own hands t. Tros. 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 my la. bour.
Troi. What, are thou angry,. Panidarus ? whats, with me?
Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not fo fair as Helen;, and the were not kin to me, shs vould be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Saturday, But what care I? I care not, an the were a black2-inoor ; 'tis all one to me.
Troi. Say 1, she is not fair?
Pan. I do not care whether you do or no, Me's a fool to stay behind her father. Let her to the Greeks 1 And so I'll tell her the next time I see her. For mye. part, l'!! meddle nor make no more is th' matter,
Par. Pray you, speak no more to me. I will leave *all as I found it, and there's an end. [Exit Pand.
[Sound alarm. Troi. Peate, you ungracious clamours ! peace,
rude founds! Fools on both sides. Helen must needs be faire When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I caạnot fight upon this argument, It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
+ She may mend her complexion by the affidance 03 cofracticks. Johnsonna,