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Sero. At mine, sir, and theirs that love musick.

Pan. Command, I mean, friend.
Serv. Who shall I command, sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning: At whose request do these men play?

Sero. That's to't, indeed, sir: Marry, sir, at the

request of Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul,

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida?

Serv. No, sir, Helen; Could you not find out that by her attributes?

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the prince Troilus: I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seeths. .

Sero. Sodden business! there's a stew'd phrase, indeed!

Enter Paris and Helen, attended. Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them! especially to you, fair queen! fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen.
-Fair prince, here is good broken musick.

Par. You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, you

shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance:-Nell, he is full of harmony.

Pan. Truly, lady, no.
Helen. O, sir,-
Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.
Par. Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits:

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen: My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll hear you sing, certainly.

Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me.—But (marry) thus, my lord, - My dear lord, and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus

Helen. My lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord, —

Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to:-commends himself most affectionately to you.

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody; If you do, our melancholy upon your head!

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet

queen, i'faith.

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour offence.

Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no.-And, my lord, he desires you, that, if the king call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.

Helen. My lord Pandarus,

Pan. What says my sweet queen?-my very very sweet queen?

Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups he tonight?

Helen. Nay, but my lord,

Pan. What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with you.

You must not know where

he sups.

Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.

Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come, your disposer is sick.

Par. Well, I'll make excuse.

Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you sayCressida? no, your poor disposer's sick.

Par. I spy.

Pan. You spy! what do you spy?-Come, give me an instrument.-Now, sweet queen.

Helen. Why, this is kindly done.

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you

have, sweet queen. Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.

Pan. He! no, she'll none of him; they two are twain.

Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.

Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing you a song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, prythee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may.

Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid !

Pan. Love! ay, that it shall, i'faith.
Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.

Pan. In good troth, it begius so:

Love, love, nothing but love, still more!

For, oh, love's bow
Shoots buck and doe:
The shaft confounds

Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore.

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These lovers cry-Oh! oh! they die!

Yet that which seems the wound to kill,
Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!

So dying love lives still:
Oh! oh! a-while, but ha! ha! ha!

Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha!
Hey ho!

Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the


Par. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.

Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds ? —Why, they are vipers: Is love a generation of vipers ? Sweet lord, who's a-field to-day?

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy: I would fain have arm’d to-day, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not?

Helen. He hangs the lip at something ;-you know all, lord Pandarus.

Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen.- I long to hear how they sped to-day.—You'll remember your brother's excuse?

Par. To a hair.
Pan. Farewel, sweet queen.
Helen. Commend me to your niece.
Pan. I will, sweet queen.


[A Retreat sounded. Par. They are come from field: let us to Priam's

hall, To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo

To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles,
With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd,
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel,
Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more
Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector.
Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant,

Paris :
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have;
Yea, overshines ourself.
Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee.





Enter Pandarus and a Servant, meeting. Pan. How now? where's thy master? at my cousin Cressida's?

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