me for the general? He is grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin. Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not answering; speaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his presence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax.

Achil. To him, Patroclus: Tell him,-I humbly desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times-honoured captain-general of the Grecian army, Aga

memnou.

Do this.

Patr. Jove bless great Ajax.

Ther. Humph!

Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles,-
Ther. Ha!

Patr. Who most humbly desires you, to invite Hector to his tent!

Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall for me ere he has me.

Patr. Your answer, sir.

pay

Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? Ther. No, but he's out o'tune thus. What musick will be in him when Hector has knocked out his

Act IV. brains, I know not: But, I am sure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings

on.

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.

Ther. Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more capablet creature.

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain

stirr'd;

And I myself see not the bottom of it.

[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant igno

rance.

ACT IV.

[Exit.

SCENE I. Troy. A street.

Enter, at one side, Æneas and Servant, with a torch; at the other, Paris, Deiphobus, Antenor, Diomedes, and others, with torches.

Par. See, ho! who's that there?

Dei.

'Tis the lord Æneas.

Ene. Is the prince there in person?—

Had I so good occasion to lie long,

As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business Should rob my bed-mate of my company.

Dio. That's my mind too.-Good morrow, lord Æneas.

Par. A yaliant Greek, Æneas; take his hand : Witness the process of your speech, wherein You told-how Diomed, a whole week by days, Did haunt you in the field.

Lute-strings made of catgut. + Intelligent.

Ene.

Health to you, valiant sir,

During all question of the gentle truce:

But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance,
As heart can think, or courage execute.

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces.
Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health:
But when contention and occasion meet,

By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life,
With all my force, pursuit, and policy.

Ene. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly
With his face backward.-In humane gentleuess,
Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life,
Welcome, indeed! By Venus' hand I swear,
No man alive can love, in such a sort,
The thing he means to kill more excellently.
Dio. We sympathise:-Jove, let Eneas live,
If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
A thousand cómplete courses of the sun!
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die,
With every joint a wound; and that to-morrow!
Ene. We know each other well.

Dio. We do; and long to know each other worse. Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting, The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of.What business, lord, so early?

Ene. I was sent for to the king; but why, I know

not.

Par. His purpose meets you; 'Twas to bring this
Greek

To Calchas' house; and there to render him,
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid:
Let's have your company; or, if you please,
Haste there before us: I constantly do think
(Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge),
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night;
Rouse him, and give him note of our approach,
With the whole quality wherefore I fear,
We shall be much unwelcome.

* Conversation.

Ene.

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece,

Than Cressid borne from Troy.

Par.

That I assure you;

There is no help;

[Exit.

The bitter disposition of the time

Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you.

Ene. Good morrow, all.

Par. And tell me, noble Diomed; 'faith, tell me

true,

Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,-
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best,
Myself, or Menelaus?

He merits well to have her, that doth seek her
(Not making any scruple of her soilure),
With such a hell of pain, and world of charge;
And you as well to keep her, that defend her
(Not palating the taste of her dishonour),
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends:
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors:
Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more;
But he as he, the heavier for a whore.

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. Dio. She's bitter to her country: Hear me, Paris,

For every false drop in her bawdy veins

A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,

A Trojan hath been slain: since she could speak,
She hath not given so many good words breath,
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.
Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy:
But we in silence hold this virtue well,-
We'll not commend what we intend to sell.
Here lies our way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. Court before the house of Pandarus.

Enter Troilus and Cressida.

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold. Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle

down;

He shall unbolt the gates.

Tro.

Trouble him not;

To bed, to bed: Sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses,
As infants' empty of all thought!

Cres.

Tro. Pr'ythee now, to bed.

Cres.

Good morrow then,

Are you aweary of me?

Tro. O Cressida! but that the busy day,

Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from thee.

Cres.

Night hath been too brief.

Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights

she stays,

As tediously as hell; but flies the grasps of love, With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will catch cold, and curse me.

Cres.

You men will never tarry.

Pr'ythee, tarry;

O foolish Cressid !-I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's

one up.

Pan. [Within.] What, are all the doors open here? Tro. It is your uncle.

Lewd, noisy.