Tro. 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 subject for my fword.

But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Creffid, but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo,
As she is stubborn-chaste against all fuit.
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.

Alarum. Enter NEAS.

Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield? Tro. Because not there; This woman's anfwer forts, For womanish it is to be from thence.

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

Ene. That Paris is returned home,' and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Æneas?

ne.

Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a fear to fcorn;

Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarum. Ene. Hark! what good sport is out of town to-day! Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were may.— But, to the fport abroad;-Are you bound thither?

Ene.

Whose height commands as fubject all the vale,
To fee the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and ftruck his armourer;
And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the fun rofe, he was harness'd light,
And to the field goes he; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it forefaw
In Hector's wrath.

Cref.

What was his cause of anger? Alex. The noife goes, this: There is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;

They call him, Ajax.

Cref.

Good; And what of him?

Alex. They fay he is a very man per se,

And ftands alone.

Cref. So do all men; unless they are drunk, fick, or have no legs.

Alex. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish

as the bear, flow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours, that his valour is cruth'd into folly, his folly fauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue, that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: He hath the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no ufe; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no fight.

Cref. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?

Alex. They fay, he yesterday coped Hector in the battle, and struck him down; the disdain and shame whereof hath ever fince kept Hector fafting and waking.

Enter PANDÁRUS.

Cref. Who comes here?

Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

Cref. Hector's a gallant man.

Alex. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?

Cref. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow, coufin Creffid: What do you talk of? Good morrow, Alexander.-How do you, cousin ? When were you at Ilium?

Cref. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came? Was Hector arm'd, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was the ?

up.

Cref. Hector was gone; but Helen was not
Pan. E'en fo; Hector was stirring early.
Cref. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?

Cref.

Cref. So he fays here.

Pan. True, he was fo; I know the cause too; he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that: and there is Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cres. What, is he angry too?

Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.

Cref. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man, if you fee him?

Cref. Ay; if I ever faw him before, and knew him.
Pan. Well, I fay, Troilus is Troilus.

Cref. Then you fay as I fay; for, I am fure, he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in fome degrees. Cref. 'Tis juft to each of them; he is himself.

Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would, he

were,

Gref. So he is.

Pan. -'Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India. Cref. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himfelf? no, he's not himself.-'Would 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above; Time must friend, or end: Well, Troilus, well,-I would, my heart were in her body!-No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus. Cref. Excufe me.

Pan. He is elder.

Cref. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. The other's not come to't; you fhall tell me another tale, when the other's come to't. Hector fhall not have his wit this year.

Cref. He fhall not need it, if he have his own.

Pan. Nor his qualities ;

В 4

Cref

Cref. No matter.

Pan. Nor his beauty.

Cref. 'Twould not become him, his own's better.

Pan. You have no judgement, niece: Helen herself fwore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,)—Not brown neither.

Cref. No, but brown.

Pan. 'Faith, to fay truth, brown and not brown.

Cref. To say the truth, true and not true.

Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Crej. Why, Paris hath colour enough.

Pan. So he has.

Cref. Then, Troilus fhould have too much: if the prais'd him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flam-' ing a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief, Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper

nose.

Pan. I fwear to you, I think, Helen loves him better than Paris.

Cref. Then he's a merry Greek, indeed.

Pan. Nay, I am fure the does. She came to him the other day into the compafs'd window,-and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin.

Cref. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetick may foon bring his particulars therein to a total.

Pan. Why, he is very young and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector.

Cref. Is he fo young a man, and fo old a lifter? Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him ;-she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin,

Cref. Juno have mercy!-How came it cloven? Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I think, his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.

Cref.