Had it our name, the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reason, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Tro.

Fie, fie, my brother!
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as our dread father, in a scale

Of common ounces? will you with counters fum
The paft-proportion of his infinite?

And buckle-in a waist most fathom.lefs,
With spans and inches fo diminutive

As fears and reasons? fie, for godly thame!

Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons,
You are fo empty of them. Should not our father
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
Because your speech hath none, that tells him fo?
Tro. You are for dreams and flumbers, brother priest,
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reafons:
You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a sword employ'd is perilous,
And reason flies the object of all harm :
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his fword, if he do fet
The very wings of reafon to his heels;
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Or like a ftar dis-orb’d?—Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's fhut our gates, and fleep: Manhood and honour
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts

With this cramm'd reason: reafon and respect

Make livers pale, and luftihood deject.

Hed. Brother, fhe is not worth what she doth coft The holding.

Tro.

What is aught, but as 'tis valued? Hect. But value dwells not in particular will; It holds his estimate and dignity

As

As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry,
To make the service greater than the god;
And the will dotes, that is attributive
To what infectiously itfeif affects,
Without fome image of the affected merit.
Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous fhores
Of will and judgement: How may I avoid,
Although my will diftafte what it elected,
The wife I chofe? there can be no evafion

To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour:
We turn not back the filks upon the merchant,
When we have foil'd them; nor the remainder viands
We do not throw in unrefpective fieve,

Because we now are full. It was thought meet,
Paris fhould do fome vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath with full confent belly'd his fails;
The feas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce,
And did him fervice: he touch'd the ports defir'd;
And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive,
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
Is the worth keeping? why, fhe is a pearl,
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants.
If you'll avouch, 'twas wifdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd-Go, go,)
If you'll confefs, he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands,
And cry'd-Ineftimable!) why do you now

The iffue of your proper wifdoms rate;
And do a deed that fortune never did,
Beggar the estimation which you priz'd
Richer than fea and land? O theft most base;
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep!
But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen,
That in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place!

Caf. [Within.] Cry, Trojans, cry!
Pri.

What noise? what fhriek is this?

Tro. 'Tis our mad fifter, I do know her voice.

Caf. [Within.] Cry, Trojans !

Heft. It is Caffandra.

Enter CASSANDRA, raving.

Caf. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetick tears.

Hect. Peace, fister, peace.

Caf. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled elders,
Soft infancy, that nothing can'st but cry,
Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come.

Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears!
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen, and a woe:
Cry, cry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go.

[Exit. Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains Of divination in our fifter work

Some touches of remorfe? or is

your blood

So madly hot, that no discourse of reason,
Nor fear of bad fuccefs in a bad cause,
Can qualify the fame?

Tre.

Porter del.

Troilus & Crefsido

Platt si

Act 3 Scen

30