Than it could manage; any thing, with which he could procure
Laughter, he never could containe. He should have yet been sure
To touch no kings. T'oppose their states, becomes not jesters parts.
But he, the filthiest fellow was, of all that had deserts
In Troyes brave siege: he was squint-eyd, and lame of either foote:
So crooke-backt, that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoote
(Here and there sperst) thin mossie haire. He most of all envide
Ulysses and acides, whom still his splene would chide;
Nor could the sacred king himselfe, avoide his saucie vaine,
Against whom, since he knew the Greekes, did vehement hates sustaine
(Being angrie for Achilles wrong) he cride out; railing thus:
Atrides! why complainst thou now? what wouldst thou more of us?
Thy tents are full of brasse, and dames; the choice of all are thine:
With whom, we must present thee first, when any townes resigne
To our invasion. Wantst thou then (besides all this) more gold
From Troyes knights, to redeeme their sonnes? whom, to be dearely sold,
I, or some other Greeke, must take? or wouldst thou yet againe,
Force from some other Lord his prise; to sooth the lusts that raigne
In thy encroching appetite? it fits no Prince to be
A Prince of ill, and governe us; or leade our progenie
By rape to ruine. O base Greekes, deserving infamie,
And ils eternall: Greekish girls, not Greekes, ye are; Come flie
Home with our ships; leave this man here, to perish with his preys,
And trie if we helpt him, or not: he wrong'd a man that weys
Farre more then he himselfe in worth: he forc't from Thetis sonne
And keepes his prise still: nor think I, that mightie man hath wonne
The stile of wrathfull worthily; he's soft, he's too remisse,
Or else Atrides, his had bene, thy last of injuries.'
Thus he the peoples Pastor chid; but straight stood up to him
Divine Ulysses; who with lookes, exceeding grave and grim,
This bitter checke gave: Ceasse, vaine foole, to vent thy railing vaine
On kings thus, though it serve thee well; nor think thou canst restraine,
With that thy railing facultie, their wils in least degree,
For not a worse, of all this hoast, came with our king then thee
To Troys great siege.'"-The Iliads of Homer, &c. Done according to the
Greeke, by Geo. Chapman, &c. Book II.
(2) SCENE II.-Enter CASSANDRA, raving.] Of this circumstance, we find no hint either in Chapman's Homer or in Chaucer; it was probably taken, as Steevens conjectured, from a passage in Lydgate's "Auncient Historie," &c. 1555:—
"This was the noise and the pyteous crye
Of Cassandra that so dredefully
She gan to make aboute in every strete
Through ye towne," &c.
(3) SCENE III.-The death-tokens of it.] "Dr. Hodges, in his "Treatise on the Plague,' says:-'Spots of a dark complexion, usually called tokens, and looked on as the pledges or forewarnings of death, are minute and distinct blasts, which have their original from within, and rise up with a little pyramidal protuberance, the pestilential poison chiefly collected at their bases, tainting the neighbouring parts, and reaching to the surface.""-REID.
(1) SCENE II.-So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress.] The small bowl aimed at in the game of Bowling, it has before been mentioned, was occasionally termed the Mistress. See note (), p. 371, Vol. IV. Perhaps the best illustration of this popular amusement and its technical phraseology, as practised in our author's day, is that given in Quarles' "Emblems" (Emb. 10, b. 1):
"Here's your right ground; wag gently o'er this black:
'Tis a short cast; y' are quickly at the jack.
Rub, rub an inch or two; two crowns to one
On this bowl's side; blow wind, 't is fairly thrown:
The next bowl's worse that comes; come, bowl away:
Mammon, you know the ground, untutor'd play:
Your last was gone, a yard of strength well spar'd
Had touch'd the block; your hand is still too hard.
Brave pastime, readers, to consume that day,
Which, without pastime, flies too swift away!
See how they labour; as if day and night
Were both too short to serve their loose delight:
See how their curved bodies wreath, and screw
Such antic shapes as Proteus never knew:
One raps an oath, another deals a curse;
He never better bowl'd; this never worse:
One rubs his itchless elbow, shrugs and laughs,
The other bends his beetle brows and chafes:
Sometimes they whoop, sometimes their Stygian cries
Send their black Santo's to the blushing skies:
Thus mingling humours in a mad confusion,
They make bad premises, and worse conclusion:
But where's a palm that fortune's hand allows
To bless the victor's honourable brows?
Come, reader, come; I'll light thine eye the way
To view the prize, the while the gamesters play:
Close by the jack, behold, jill Fortune stands
To wave the game: see in her partial hands
The glorious garland's held in open show,
To cheer the lads, and crown the conqu'ror's brow.
The world's the jack; the gamesters that contend,
Are Cupid, Mammon that judicious fiend,
That gives the ground, is Satan: and the bowls
Are sinful thoughts; the prize, a crown for fools.
Who breathes that bowls not? What bold tongue can say
Without a blush, he has not bowl'd to-day?
It is the trade of man, and ev'ry sinner
Has play'd his rubbers: every soul's a winner.
The vulgar proverb's crost, lie hardly can
Be a good bowler and an honest man.
Good God! turn thou my Brazil thoughts anew;
New-sole my bowls, and make their bias true.
I'll cease to game, till fairer ground be given;
Nor wish to win, until the mark be Heav'n."
(2) SCENE II.-To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love.] Here, as in other passages where Troilus exhibits a presentiment of his lady's inconstancy, we can trace the influence of the "Troylus and Cryseyde:
"But natheles, myn owene ladi bright!
Yit were it so that I wist utterly,
That I youre humble servaunt and your knyght
Were in youre herte yset so fermely,
As ye in myn, the whiche thing truly
Me lever were than this worldis tweyne,
Yit schulde I the better endure al my peyne."
"Ye shal ek seen so many a lusti knyght,
Amonge the Grekes, ful of worthynesse;
And ech of hem, with herte, wit, and myght,
To plesen yow don alle his bisynesse,
That ye shal dullen of the rudenesse
Of us sely Troians, but if routhe
Remorde you, or vertu of your trouthe."
* The bowls were formerly made of what was called Brazil wood.
(3) SCENE II.-As false as Cressid.] The protestations of the fickle beauty in the old poem are not less confident; compare the following:
"To that Cryseyde answerid right anoone,
And with a sigh sche seide, "O herte dere!"
The game, ywis, so ferforthe now is gone,
That furste schal Phebus falle from his spere,
And hevene egle be as the douves fere,
And every rock out of his place sterte,
Er Troylus out of Cryseydis herte.''
And her declaration subsequently :
"For thylke day that I for cherisynge,
Or drede of fader, or of other wight,
Or for estat, delit, or for weddynge,
Be fals to yow, my Troylus, my knygthe,
Saturnes doughter Juno, thorugh hyre myghte,
As wood as Athamante do me dwelle
Eternaliche, in Stix, the put of Helle!
"And this, on every god celestial
I swere it yow, and ek on ech goddesse,
On every nymphe, and deyte infernal,
On satiry and fawny more and lesse,
That halve goddes ben of wildernesse;
And Attropos my thred of life to-breste,
If I be fals! Now trowe me if yow leste."
(4) SCENE III.-Which, you say, live to come in my behalf.] This appeal of Calchas to the Greeks recalls the corresponding circumstance in Chaucer :
"Then seyd he thus, Lo! lordis myn,
A Troyan, as it is knowe, out of drede;
And, if that yow remembre, I am Calcas,
That altherferst yaf comfort to your nede,
And tolde wele how ye sholdyn spede;
For, dredeles, thurgh you, shall, in a stound,
Ben Troy ybrent, and drewyn doun to ground.
"And in what forme, and yn what maner wise
This toun to shent, and al your lust acheve,
Ye have, or this, wele herd me yow devise:
This knowyn ye, my lordis, as I leve;
And, for the Grekys weryn me so leve;
I come my self, in my proper persone,
To teche yow what you was best to done.
"Havyng unto my tresour, ne my rent,
Right no regard in respect of your ese;
Thus al my good I lost, and to yow went,
Wenyng in this, my lordis, yow to plese;
But al my losse ne doth me no dissese,-
I vouchesaaf, al so wisely have I joy,
For yow to lese al that I had in Troy,-
"Save of a doghter that I left, alas!
Slepyng at home, whan out of toun I stert.
O sterne, O cruel fadir, that I was!
How myght I in that have so hard an hert?
Alas! that I ne had her broght in her shert!
For sorow of which I wole not lyve to-morow,
But if ye, lordis, wole ruwe on my sorow.
"For by that cause I sawe no tyme or now
Her to delivere, iche holden have my pees;
But now or nevere, if it likith you,
I may her have, for that is douteles:
O, help and grace! among all this pres,
Rewith on this old caytif in distresse,
Thurgh yow seth I am brought in wrecchidnes!'
"Tellyng his tale alwey, this olde gray,
Humblely in his speche and loking eke,
The salte teris from his eyen tway,
Ful faste ronnen doun on either cheke;
So longe of mercy he gan hem byseke,
That, for to help hym of his sorowis sore,
They than gave hym Antenore without more."
(1) SCENE II. A bugbear take him!] In the banter of Pandarus here, we have arch reminiscences of his prototype in "Troylus and Cryseyde: "
"Pandare, on morwe whiche that comen was
Unto his nece, gon hir faire to grete,
And seide, Al this night so reyned it, allas!
That al my drede is, that ye, nece swete,
Have litel leyser hade to slepe and mete:
Al night,' quod he, hath rain so do me wake,
That some of us, I trowe, her hedis ake.'
"And nigh he come and seid, How stant it now?
This Mey morwe, nece, how kunne ye fare?'
Cryseide answerde, 'Never the bet for yow!
Fox that ye ben, God yeve yow hertis care!
God helpe me so, yow causeth al this fare,
Trowe I,' quod sche, for alle youre wordis white;
O, ho so seeth you, knoweth you but alite!'"
(2) SCENE IV.-To our own selves bend we our needful talk.] The parting of the Lovers, if not more natural, is managed with more pathos and delicacy in the elder poet :
"Cryseyde, when she redy was to ride,
Ful sorwfully she sighte, and seyde, 'Allas!'
But forth she mot for ought that may betide,
And forth she rite ful sorwfully a pas;
There is non other remedy in this cas.
What wonder is, though that hyre soore smerte,
When she forgothe hire owne swete herte?
"This Troylus, in gise of curteysie,
With hauke on hond, and with an huge route
Of knyghtes, rood, and dide hyre compaynye,
Passynge alle the valeye fer withoute;
And ferther wold han riden, out of doute,
Ful fayne, and wo was hym to gon so soone,
But tourné he moote, and it was eke to done.
"And right with that was Antenor ycome
Oute of the Grekes oste, and every wight
Was of it glad, and seyde he was welcome;
And Troylus, al nere his herte lighte,
He peyned hym with al his fulle myght
Hym to with holde of wepynge at the leeste,
And Antenor he kyste, and made feeste.
"And therwithal he moot his leve take,
And caste his eye upon hire pitously,
And nerre he rode, his cause for to make,
To take hire by the honde al sobrely:
And, Lorde! so she gan wepen tendrely!
And he ful soft and sleighely gan hire seye,
'Now hold youre day, and do me not to doye.'
"With that his courser turned he about,
With face pale, and unto Dyomede
No worde he spak, ne non of al his route;
Of whiche the sone of Tideus tooke hede,
As he that konthe moore than the crede
In swiche a craft, and by the reyne hire hente,
And Troylus to Troye homwarde wente."
(3) SCENE V.-HECTOR and AJAX fight.] In Chapman's Homer, the combat is described with uncommon pomp and spirit :
66 This said, in bright armes shone
The good strong Ajax: who, when all his warre attire was on,
Marcht like the hugely figur'd Mars, when angry Jupiter,
With strength, on people proud of strength, sends him forth to inferre
Wreakfull contention; and comes on, with presence full of feare;
So th' Achive rampire, Telamon, did twixt the hoasts appeare:
Smil'd; yet of terrible aspect; on earth with ample pace,
He boldly stalkt, and shooke aloft his dart with deadly grace.
It did the Grecians good to see; but heartquakes shooke the joynts
Of all the Troians; Hectors selfe felt thoughts, with horrid points,
Tempt his bold bosome; but he now, must make no counterflight;
Nor (with his honour) now refuse, that had provokt the fight
Ajax came neare; and like a towre his shield his bosome bard;
The right side brasse, and seven oxe hides within it quilted hard.
Old Tychius the best currier, that did in Hyla dwell,
Did frame it for exceeding proofe, and wrought it wondrous well.
With this stood he to Hector close, and with this Brave began.
Now Hector thou shalt clearly know, thus meeting man to man,
What other leaders arme our hoast, besides great Thetis sonne:
Who, with his hardie Lions heart, hath armies overunne.
But he lies at our crookt-sternd fleet a Rivall with our king
In height of spirit: yet to Troy, he many knights did bring,
Coequall with Eacides; all able to sustaine
All thy bold challenge can import: begin then, words are vaine.
The Helme-grac't Hector answerd him: Renowned Telamon,
Prince of the souldiers came from Greece; assay not me like one,
Yong and immartiall, with great words, as to an Amazon dame;
I have the habit of all fights; and know the bloudie frame
Of every slaughter: I well know the ready right hand charge;
I know the left, and every sway, of my securefull targe;
I triumph in the crueltie of fixed combat fight,
And manage horse to all designes; I think then with good right,
I may be confident as farre as this thy challenge goes,
Without being taxed with a vaunt, borne out with emptie showes
But (being a souldier so renownd) I will not worke on thee,
With least advantage of that skill, I know doth strengthen me;
And so with privitie of sleight, winne that for which I strive:
But at thy best (even open strength) if my endevours thrive.
Thus sent he his long Javelin forth; it strooke his foes huge shield,
Neere to the upper skirt of brasse, which was the eighth it held.
Sixe folds th' untamed dart strooke through, and in the seventh tough hide
The point was checkt; then Ajax threw his angry lance did glide
Quite through his bright orbicular targe, his curace, shirt of maile;
And did his manly stomachs mouth with dangerous taint assaile :
But in the bowing of himselfe, black death too short did strike.
Then both to pluck their Javelins forth, encountred Lion-like;
Whose bloudie violence is increast, by that raw food they eate:
Or Bores, whose strength, wilde nourishment, doth make so wondrous great.
Againe Priamides did wound, in midst, his shield of brasse,
Yet pierc't not through the upper plate, the head reflected was:
But Ajax (following his Lance) smote through his target quite,
And stayd bold Hector rushing in; the Lance held way outright,
And hurt his necke; out gusht the bloud; yet Hector ceast not so,
But in his strong hand tooke a Flint (as he did backwards go)
Blacke, sharpe and big, layd in the field; the sevenfold targe it smit,
Full on the bosse; and round about the brasse did ring with it.
But Ajax a farre greater stone lift up, and (wreathing round
With all his bodie layd to it) he sent it forth to wound,
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