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Ther. I fay, this Ajax

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not fo much wit-
Achil. Nay, I must hold you,

Ther. As will flop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, fool!

Ther. I would have peace and quietnefs, but the fool will not: he there, that he, look you there. Ajax. O thou damn'd cur, I shall

Achil. Will you fet your wit to a fool's ?

Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will fhame it.
Pat. Good words, Therfites.

Achil. What's the quarrel?

Ajax. I bad the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me,

Ther. I ferve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I ferve here voluntary.

Achil. Your laft fervice was fufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an imprefs. -a great deal of your wit too lies else there be liars. Hector fhall if he knock out either of your good crack a fufty nut with no

Ther. Evin foin your finews, or have a great catch, brains; he were as kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Therfites?

Ther. There's Ulyffes and old Neftor, (whofe wit was mouldy* ere your Grandfires had nails on their toes.) yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough the wair.

up

Achil. What! what!

Ther. Yes, good footh; to, Achilles ! to, Ajax! toAjax. I fhall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter, I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.

Ere their Grandfires] We should read, ere your Grandfires.

Pat.

Pat. No more words, Therfites.

Ther. I will hold my peace, when Achilles' brach bids me, fhall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will fee you hang'd like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your Tents. I will keep where there is wit ftirring, and leave the faction of fools.

Pat. A good riddance.

[Exit.

Achil. Marry, this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our Hoft,

That Hector, by the fifth hour of the Sun,

Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy,
To-morrow morning call fome Knight to arms,
That hath a ftomach, fuch a one that dare
Maintain I know not what: 'tis trash, farewel.
Ajax. Farewel! who fhall answer him?

Achil. I know not, 'tis put to lott'ry; otherwise He knew his man.

Ajax. O, meaning you: I'll go learn more of it. [Exeunt.

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Changes to Priam's Palace in Troy.

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus.

Pri.

AFTER fo many hours, lives, fpeeches spent,

Thus once again fays Neftor from the Greeks:

Deliver Helen, and all damage elfe

(As honour, lofs of time, travel, expence,

Wounds, friends, and what elfe dear that is confum'd

In hot digeftion of this cormorant war)

Shall be truck off. Hector, what fay you to't?

He&t. Though no man leffer fear the Greeks than I, As far as touches my particular, yet

There is no lady of more fofter bowels,

More fpungy to fuck in the sense of fear,

More ready to cry out, who knows what follows?

C 2

Than

Than Hector is. The Wound of Peace is Surety,
Surety fecure; but modeft Doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wife; the tent that fearches
To th' bottom of the worft. Let Helen go.
Since the firft fword was drawn about this question,
Ev'ry tithe foul 'mongst many thousand, difmes
Hath been as dear as Helen. I mean, of ours.
If we have loft fo many tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, not worth to us
(Had it our name) the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reafon which denies
The yielding of her up?

Troi. 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 vaft proportion of his infinite?

And buckle in a waste moft fathomless,
With spans and inches fo diminutive

As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame!

Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons, You are fo empty of them. Should not our father Bear the great fway of his affairs with reasons ; Because your speech hath none, that tells him fo? Troi. You are for dreams and flumbers, brother Priest,

You fur your gloves with reafons. Here are your reasons.

You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a fword employ'd is perillous;
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 disorb'd !—Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's fhut our gates, and fleep: manhood and honour

Should

Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts

With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect
Make livers pale, and luftyhood deject.

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

Troi. What is aught, but as 'tis valued?

Hed. But value dwells not in particular will;
It holds its eftimate and dignity

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 inclinable
To what infectiously itself affects,

* Without fome image of th' affected's merit.
Troi. 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 Judgment; how may I avoid
(Although my Will diftafte what is elected)
The wife I chufe? there can be no evasion
To blench from this, and to ftand firm by honour.
We turn not back the filks upon the merchant,
When we have spoil'd them; nor th' remainder viands
We do not throw in unrespective place,

Because we now are full. It was thought meet,
Paris fhould do fome vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath of full consent bellied 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, whofe youth and.
freshness

Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes ftale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:

Without fome image of th' affected Merit.] We fhould read,
-th' affe&ted's Merit.

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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 clap'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 that eftimation which you priz'd
Richer than fea and land? O theft moft base!
What we have ftoll'n that we do fear to keep! !..
*Bafe thieves, unworthy of a thing so stoll'n,
Who in their country did them that difgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place!
Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans, cry!

Pri. What noife, what fhriek is this?

Troi. 'Tis our mad fifter, I do know her voice. Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans !

Het. It is Caffandra...

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Enter Caffandra, with her hair about her ears.

Caf. CRX

RY, Trojans, cry; lend me ten thousand eyes,
And I will fill them with prophetic tears.

Het. Peace, fifter, peace.

Caf. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled old, Soft infancy, that nothing can but cry,

Add to my clamour! let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mafs of moan to come :
Cry, Trojans, cry, practise your eyes with tears.
Troy mult not be, nor goodly Ilion ftand:
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a woe ;
Cry, cry, Troy burns, or elfe let Helen go.
*But Thieves,] We fhould read, base Thieves.

[Exit.

Hed.

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