(Not making any fcruple of her foilure),
With fuch a hell of pain, and world of charge:
And you as well to keep her, that defend her,
(Not palating the taste of her dishonour,)
With fuch a coftly lofs of wealth and friends.
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
You, like a letcher, out of whorish. Joins
Are pleafed to breed out

your inheritors: Both merits poifed, each weighs no lefs nor more, But he as he, which heavier for a whore.

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. Dio. She's bitter to her country. Hear me, Faris, For every falfe drop in her baudy veins

A Grecian's life hath funk: for every fcruple
Of her contaminated earrion weight,

A Trojan hath been flain. Since the could fpeak,
She hath not given fo many good words breath,
As, for her, Greeks and Trojans fuffered death.
Par. Fair Diomede, you do as chapmen, do,
Difpraife the thing that you defire to buy:
But we in filence hold this virtue well;
We'll not commend what we intend to fell.
Here lyes our way..

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Pandarus's Houfe.

Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA.

Troi. Dear, trouble not your felf; the morn is cold.

Cre. Then, fweet my Lord, I'll call my uncle

He shall unbolt the gates.

Troi. Trouble him not-------

To bed, to bed------fleep feal those pretty eyes,

And give as foft attachment to thy fenfes,
As infants empty of all thought!
Gre. Good morrow then..

Troi. I pr'ythee now, to bed.

Gre. Are you a-weary of me?

Troi. O Creffida! but that the bufy day, Waked by the lark, has rouzed the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide dur joys no longer,. I would not from thee.

Gre. Night hath been too brief.

Troi. Befhrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays,

Tedious as hell; but flies the grasps of love, With wings more momentary-fwift than thought You will catch cold, and curfe me.

Gre. Pr'ythee, tarry---you men will never tarry--foolifh Creffida- -I might have ftill held off, And then you would have tarried. Hark, there's

one up.

Pan. within.] What's all the doors

Troi. It is your uncle.

Enter PANDARUS.

open here?

Gre. A peftilence on him! now will he be mocking; I fhall have fuch a life

Pan How now, how now? how go. maiden "heads?

Hear you, maid; where's my cousin Creffida?
Cre. Go hang yourfelf, you naughty mocking.

uncle:

You bring me to do---and then you flout me too. Pan. To do what? to do what? let her fay, what: What have I brought you to do?

Cre. Come, come, bethrew your heart; you'll never be good, nor fuffer others.

Pan. Ha, ha! alas, poor wretch; a poor Capoc

chio, (32) haft not flept to-night? would he not (a naughty man) let it fleep? a bugbear take; him! [One knocks

Gre. Did not I tell you?-----'would he were knocked o' th' head!. who's that at door?------. good uncle, go and fee!---My Lord, come you again into my chamber :---you finile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

Troi. Ha, ha-----

Cre. Come, you are deceived, I think of no fuch thing.

How carneitly they knock!---pray you, come in. [Knock I would not for half Troy have you feen here.

[Exeunt, Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the door? how now? what's the matter?

Enter ANEAS.

Ene. Good morrow, Lord, good morrow. Pan. Who's there? my Lord Æneas? by my troth I knew you not; what news with you fo early? Ene. Is not Prince Troilus here?

Pan. Here! what fhould he do here?

Ene. Come, he is here, my Lord, do not deny him. It doth import him much to fpeak with me.

(32) A poor chipochia,] This word, I am afraid, has fuffered under the ignorance of the editors, for it is a word in no living language that I can find. Pandarus fays it to his niece, in a jeering fort of tendernefs, upon her having made wanton the night with Troilus, as our Author expreffes it in his Othello. He would fay, I think, in English,- -Poor

innocent! poor fol! haft not slept to-night? These appella tions are very well anfwered by the Italian word capobo for capocchi fignifies the thick head of a club; and thence metaphorically, a head of not much brain, a fot, dullard, heavy gull; un balordo, lourdant, tête fans cervelle, or cabeça fin ff, as the Spaniards exprefs it.

Pan. Is he here, fay you? 'tis more than I know, I'll be fworn; for my own part, 1 came in late: what fhould he do here?

Æne. Pho!----nay, then :----come, come, you'll do him wrong, ere y'are aware: you'll be fo true to him, to be falfe to him: do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither, go.

[As Pandarus is going out,

Enter TROILUS.

Troi. How now? what's the matter?

Ene. My Lord, I fcarce have leifure to faluté My matter is fo rafh: there is at hand

Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,

The Grecian Diomede, and our Antenor
Delivered to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first facrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Creffida.

Troi. Is it concluded fo?

[you,

Ene. By Priam, and the general state of Troy. They are at hand, and ready to effect it. Troi. How my atchievements mock me! I will go meet them; and (my Lord Æneas) We met by chance, you did not find me here. Ene. Good, good, my Lord; the fecreteft things of nature (33)

Have not more gift in taciturnity.

(33)

-The fecrets of nature

[Exeunt.

Have not more gift in taciturnity.] This is the reading of both the elder Folios; but the first verfe manifeftly halts, and betrays its being defective. Mr Pope fubftitutes,

The fecrets of neighbour Pandar.

If this be a reading ex fide codicum (as he profeffes all his va rious readings to be) it is founded on the credit of fuch copies as it has not been my fortune to meet with. I have ventured to make out the verfe thus;

The fecreteft things of nature, &c.

Enter CRESSIDA to PANDARUS.

Pan. Is't poffible? no fooner got but loft: the devil take Antenor! the young Prince will go mad: a plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke's neck.

Cre. How now? what's the matter? who was here?
Pan. Ah, ah!

Cre. Why figh you fo profoundly? where's my Lord? gone! tell me, fweet uncle, what's the matter?

Pan. Would I were as deep under the earth I am above!

Gre. O the gods! what's the matter?

Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in; 'would thou hadft ne'er been born: I knew thou wouldst be his death, O poor gentleman! a plague upon Antenor !-----Cre. Good uncle, I befeech you, on my knees, I befeech you, what's the matter?

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone thou art changed for Antenor; thou must go to thy father, and be gone from Troilus: 'twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

Cre. O you immortal gods! I will not go.

i

i. e. the arcana nature, the mysteries of Nature, or occult philofophy, or of religious ceremonies. Our Poet has alluons of this fort in feveral other paffages.

-Plutus himself,

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,

Hath not in Nature's mystery more science, &c.

Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth,
As I can of the fe myteries which Heaven
Will not have Earth to know.

All's Well, &c.

Coriolanus.

Hamlet.

There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philofophy.