With wings more momentary-fwift than thought. Cre. Pr'ythee, tarry-you men will never tarry. O foolish Creffida! I might have still held off, And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's one up. Pan. [within.] What's all the doors open here? Enter Pandarus. Cre. A peftilence on him! now will he be mocking. 1 fhall have fuch a life Pan. How now, how now? How go maiden-heads? Hear you! maid! Where's my coufin Creffida? Cre. Go hang yourself, 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, befhrew your heart! you'll never be good, nor fuffer others. Pan. Ha ha! alas, poor wretch! 3 a poor Capocchia !-haft not slept to-night? Would he not, a naughty man let it fleep? a bugbear take him! [One knocks, Cre. Did not. I tell you ?-'would he were knock'd o' the head! Who's that at door?-Good uncle, go and fee. 3 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. He would fay, I think, in English-Poor innocent! Poor fool! haft not fept to-night? Thefe appellations are very well anfwered by the Italian word capocchio: for capocchio fignifies the thick head of a club; and thence metaphorically, a head of not much brain, a fot, dullard, heavy gull. THEOBALD. Troi. Ha, ha Cre. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no fuch thing. How earnestly 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 Æneas. Ene. Good-morrow, lord, good-morrow. 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. Pan. Is he here, fay you? 'tis more than I know, I'll be fworn. For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here? Ene. Who!nay, then Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are aware: Do not you know of him, but yet fetch him hither; As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus. Troi. How now? what's the matter? Ene. My Lord, I fcarce have leifure to falute Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 5 Deliver❜d to us; and for him forthwith, you, matter is fo rab.-] My bufinefs is fo hafty and fo abrupt. JOHNSON. 5 Deliver'd to us, &c.] So the folio. The quarto thus, Ere Ere the firft facrifice, within this hour, Troi. Is it concluded fo? 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, Have not more gift in taciturnity. Enter Creffida. [Exeunt. 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 is the matter? Who was here? Pan. Ah, ah! Cre. Why figh you fo profoundly? where's my lord? gone? matter? Tell me, fweet uncle, what's the the fecrets of nature, Have not more gift in taciturnity.] This is the reading of both the elder folio's 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 various 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 verse thus: The fecret'ft things of nature, &c. i. e. the arcana natura, the myfleries of nature, of occult philofophy, or of religious ceremonies. Our poet has allufions of this fort in feveral other paffages. THEOBALD. Mr. Pope's reading is in the old quarto. So great is the neceffity of collation. JOHNSON. VOL. IX. G Pan. Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth, as I am above! Cre. 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 beseech you, on my knees 'Befeech you, what's the matter? Pan. Thou must be gone, wench; thou must be gone; thou art chang'd 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. Pan. Thou must. Cre. I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father, I know no touch of confanguinity; No kin, no love, no blood, no foul fo near me, If ever the leave Troilus! Time, force, and death, But the ftrong bafe and building of my love Drawing all things to it.-I'll go in and weep. Pan. Do, do. Cre. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks; Crack my clear voice with fobs, and break my heart With founding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. [Exeunt. Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Diomedes, &c. Par. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 2 Comes Comes fast upon: good my brother Troilus, Troi. Walk into her house: I'll bring her to the Grecian prefently: And 'would, as I fhall pity, I could help! An apartment in Pandarus's houfe. Enter Pandarus and Creffida. Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. Cre. Why tell you me of moderation? The grief is fine, full, perfect that I taste, And violenteth in a fenfe as ftrong [Exeunt. As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it? If I could temporize with my affection, Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, The grief, &c.] The folio reads, The grief is fine, full perfect, that I tafte, As that which caufeth it.. The quarto otherwise, The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I tafte, As that which caufeth it. Violenteth is a word with which I am not acquainted, yet perhaps it may be right. The reading of the text is without authority. I have followed the quarto. JOHNSON. The modern reading was, And in its fenfe is no lefs ftrong, than that Which caufeth it. STEEVENS. |