Dio. Or ftrange, or self-affected.

(pofure;

Vlyf. Thank the Heav'ns, Lord, thou art of a fweet Com

Praife him that got thee, fhe that gave thee fuck:

Fame be thy Tutor, and thy parts of Nature

Thrice fam❜d beyond, beyond all Erudition;

But he that disciplin'd thy Arms to fight,
Let Mars divide Eternity in twain,
And give him half; and for thy Vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield

To Sinewy Ajax; I will not praise thy Wisdom
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a fhore, confines
Thy fpacious and dilated parts; here's Neftor
Inftructed by the Antiquary times:

He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife.
But pardon, Father Neftor, were your Days
As green as Ajax, and your Brain fo temper'd,
You should not have the eminence of him
But be as Ajax.

Ajax. Shall I call

you Father?

Vlyf. Ay, my good Son.

Dio. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax.

Vlyf. There's no tarrying here, the Hart Achilles Keeps thicket; please it our General,

To call together all this State of War;

Fresh Kings are come to Troy; to Morrow

We must with all our main of Power ftand faft:
And here's a Lord (come Knights from Eaft to Weft,
And cull their Flower) Ajax fhall cope the beft.
Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles Aleep;

Light Boats may fail fwift, though great bulks draw deep.
[Exeunt. Mufick sounds within..

ACT III.

SCENE I.

SCENE Troy.

Enter Pandarus, and a Servant.

Pan. Friend! you! pray you a word: Do not you follow

the young Lord Paris?

Ser. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.

Pan.

Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?

Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the Lord.

Pan. You depend upon a Noble Gentleman: I must needs praise him.

Ser. The Lord be praised,

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Ser. Faith, Sir, fuperficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better, I am the Lord Pandarus, Ser. I hope I fhall know your Honour better.

Pan. I do defire it.

Ser. You are in the ftate of Grace?

Pan. Grace, not fo, Friend, Honour and Lordship are my Titles: What Mufick is this?

Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is Mufick in parts. Pan. Know you the Muficians?

Ser. Wholly, Sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Ser. To the hearers, Sir.

Pan. At whofe pleasure, Friend?

Ser. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love Mufick.

Pan. Command, I mean, Friend.

Ser. Who fhall I command, Sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whofe requeft do these Men play?

Ser. That's to't indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the requeft of Paris, my Lord, who's there in Perfon; with him the mortal Venus, the Heart-blood of Beauty, Love's invifible Soul. Pan. Who, my Coufin Creffida?

Ser. No, Sir, Helen; could you not find out that by her Attributes?

Pan. It should feem, Fellow, that thou haft not seen the Lady Creffida. I come to fpeak with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make a Complemental Affault upon him, for my Bufinefs feethes.

Ser. Sodden Bufinefs, there's a ftew'd Phrafe indeed.

Enter Paris and Helen.

Pan. Fair be to you, my Lord, and to all this fair Company: Fair defires in all fair meafure fairly guide them, efpecially to you, fair Queen, fair Thoughts be your fair Pillow.

Helen

Helen, Dear Lord, you are full of fair Words.

Pan. You fpeak your fair pleasure, fweet Queen: fair Prince, here is good broken Mufick.

Par. You have broken it, Coufin, and by my Life you fhall make it whole again, you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nel, he is full of Harmony.

Pan. Truly, Lady, no,

Helen. O, Sir

Pan. Rude in footh, in good footh very rude.

Par. Well faid, my Lord; well, you fay fo in fits. Pan. I have Bufinefs to my Lord, dear Queen; my Lord, will you vouchfafe me a Word?

Helen. Nay, this fhall not hedge us out, we'll hear you fing certainly.

Pan. Well, fweet Queen, you are pleasant with me; but, marry thus, my Lord, my dear Lord, and moft efteemed Friend, your Brother Troilus

Helen. My Lord Pandarus, honey-fweet Lord.
Pan. Go to, fweet Queen, go to

Commends himself most affectionately to you.
Helen. You fhall not bob us out of our melody:
If you do, our Melancholy upon your Head.

Pan. Sweet Queen, fweet Queen, that's a fweet Queen, I' faith

Helen. And to make a fweet Lady fad, is a fower Offence. Nay, that fhall not ferve your turn, that fhall it not in truth la. Nay I care not for fuch Words, no, no

Pan. And, my Lord, he defires you, that if the King call for him at Supper, you will make his excuse.

Helen. My Lord Pandarus

Pan. What fays my sweet Queen, my very, very fweet

Queen?

Par. What Exploit's in hand, where fups he to Night? Helen. Nay, but my Lord.

Pan. What fays my fweet Queen? my Coufin will fall out with you.

Helen. You must not know where he fups.

Par. With my difpofer Creffida.

Pan, No, no, no fuch matter, you are wide, come, your difpofer is fick.

Par. Well, I'll make excufe.

Pan.

Pan. Ay, good my Lord; why fhould you fay Creffida? No, your poor difpofer's fick.

Par. I fpy

i

Pan. You fpy, what do you spy? Come, give me an Inftrument now, fweet Queen.

Helen. Why this is kindly done.

Pan. My Neice is horrible in love with a thing you have, fweet Queen.

Helen. She fhall have it, my Lord, if it be not my Lord

Paris.

Pan. He? no, fhe'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 fing you a Song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now; by my troth, fweet Lord, thou haft a fine Fore-head.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may

Hel. Let thy Song be Love: This Love will undo us all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid.

Pan. Love! ay, that it fhall, i' faith.

Par. Ay, good now, Love, Love, nothing but Love. Pan. In good troth it begins fo.

Love, Love, nothing but Love, ftill more:

For O, Love's Bow

Shoots both Buck and Doe:

The Shaft confounds not that it wounds,

But tickles ftill the Sore:

Thefe Lovers cry, oh ho they dye;

Yet that which feems they wound to kill,
Doth turn oh ho, to ha ha be:

So dying Love lives ftill,

O ho a while, but ha ha ha;

O ho groans out for ha ha ha-hey bo.

Helen. In Love i'faith to the very tip of the Nose. 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 are Love.

Pan

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 afield to Day?

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Anthenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain have arm'd to Day, but my Nell would not have it fo.

How chance my Brother Troilus went not?

Helen. He hangs the Lip at fomething; you know all, Lord Pandarus.

Pan. Not I, honey fweet Queen: I long to hear how they fped to Day:

You'll remember your Brother's excuse?

To

Par. To a Hair.

Pan. Farewel, fweet Queen.

Helen. Commend me to your Neice.

Pan. I will, fweet Queen.

[Exit. Sound a Retreat.

Par. They're come from Field; let us to Priam's Hall, greet the Warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you,

To help unarm our Hector: His stubborn Buckles,
With these your white enchanting Fingers toucht,
Shall more obey, than to the edge of Steel,
Or force of Greekish Sinews, you shall do more
Than all the Island Kings, difarm great Hector.

Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be your Servant, Paris; Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty,

Gives us more palm in Beauty than we have:

Yea, over-fhines our felf.

Sweet, above thought, I love thee.

[Exeunt.

Enter Pandarus, and Troilus's Man. Pan. How now, where's thy Mafter, at my Coufin Creffida's?

Ser. No, Sir, he ftays for you to conduct him thither.
Enter Troilus.

Pan. O, here he comes; How now, how now?
Troi. Sirrah, walk off.

Pan. Have you feen my Coufin?

Trei. No, Pandarus: I ftalk about her Door

Like a ftrange Soul upon the Stygian Banks
Staying for waftage. O be thou my Charon,
And give me fwift tranfportance to thofe Fields,

Where