A Grecian's Life hath funk; for every Scruple
Of her contaminated Carrion weight,

A Trojan hath been flain. Since the could fpeak,
She hath not given fo many good Words breath,
As, for her, Greeks and Trojans suffer'd Death.
Par. Fair Diomede, you do as Chapmen do,
Difpraise the thing that you defire to buy:
But we in filence hold this Virtue well;
We'll not commend what we intend to fell.
Here lyes our way.

Enter Troilus and Creffida.

[Exeunt.

Troi. Dear, trouble not your felf; the Morn is cold. Cre. Then, fweet my Lord, I'll call my Uncle down: He fhall unbolt the Gates.

Troi. Trouble him not

To Bed, to Bed- fleep kill thofe pretty Eyes.
And give as foft attachment to thy Senfes,
As Infants empty of all thought.

Cre. Good Morrow then.

Troi. I prithee now to Bed.

Cre. Are you a weary of me?

Troi. O Creffida! but that the bufie Day
Wak'd by the Lark, has rous'd the Ribald Crows,
And dreaming Night will hide our Eyes no longer,
I would not from thee.

Cre. Night hath been too brief.

Troi. Belhrew the Witch! with venomous weights fhe stays, As hideously as Hell; but flies the grafps of Love, With Wings more momentary, fwifter than Thought: You will catch cold, and curse me.

Cre. Prithee tarry-you Men will never tarryO foolish Crefida- -I might have ftill held off, And then you would have tarried. Hark, there's one up. Pan. within.] What's all the Doors open here? Troi. It is your Uncle.

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. A Peftilence on him; now will he be mocking; I fhall have fuch a Life

Pan. How now, how now? how go Maiden-heads? Hear, you Maid; where's my Coufin Greffid?

Cre

Cre. Go hang your felf, 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 ne'er be good; nor fuffer others..

Pan. Ha, ha! alas poor Wretch; a poor Chipochia, haft not slept to Night? Would he not (a naughty Man) let it fleep; a Bug-bear take him. [One knocks. Would he were knock'd i'th' Head. Who's that at Door?---Good Uncle, go and fee..... My Lord, come you again into my Chamber:

Cre. Did I not tell you?

You fmile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

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. Who's there, my Lord Æneas? By my troth, I knew you not; What News with you fo early? Ane. Is not Prince Troilus here?

Pan. Here! what fhould he do here?

Ane. 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 late: What should he do here?

Ane. Who-nay, then :----Come, come, you'll do him wrong, e'er y' are aware: You'll be fo true to him, to be falfe to him: Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither, go.

Enter Troilus.

Troi. How now? what's the matter?

Ane. My Lord, I fcarce have leifure to falute you,
My matter is fo harfh: there is at hand,
Paris your Brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomede, and our Anthenor
Deliver'd to us, and for him forthwith,
E'er the first Sacrifice, within this Hour,

We

We must give up to Diomedes Hand

The Lady Creffida.

Trei. Is it concluded fo?

Ane. By Priam, and the general State of Troy.
They are at band, and ready to effect it.

Troi. How many Atcheivements mock me!
I will go meet them; and my Lord Æneas,
We met by chance, you did not find me here.

Ane. Good, good, my Lord; the fecrets of Nature Have not more Gift in taciturnity.

Enter Pandarus and Crefida.

[Exeunt.

Pan. Is't poffible? no fooner got, but loft: The Devil take Anthenor; the young Prince will go mad: a Plague upon Anthenor; I would they had broke's Neck.

Cre. How now? what's the matter? who was here?
Pan. Ah, ah!-

Cre. Why figh you fo profoundly? where's my Lord? gone? Tell me, fweet Uncle, what's the matter?

Pan. Would I were as deep under the Earth, as I am above.

Cre. O the Gods! what's the matter?

Pan. Prethee get thee in; would thou had'ft ne'er been born: I knew thou would't be his Death. O poor Gentleman! A Plague upon Anthenor.

Cre. Good Uncle, I beseech you, on my Knees, I beseech you what's the matter?

Pan. Thou must be gone, Wench, thou must be gone: thou art chang'd for Anthenor; 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 muft.

Cre. I will not, Uncle: I have forgot my Father.
I know no touch of Confanguinity:

No Kin, no Love, no Blood, no Soul fo near me,
As the fweet Troilus: O you Gods divine!
Make Creffid's name the very Crown of Falfhood,
If ever the leave Troilus: Time and Death,
Do to this Body what extremity you can;
But the ftrong Bafe and building of my Love
Is, as the very centre of the Earth,

Drawing

Drawing all things to it. I will go in and Weep.

Pan. Do, do.

Cre. Tear my bright Hair, and fcratch my praised
Cheeks,

Crack my clear Voice with Sobs, and break my Heart
With founding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. [Exit.

Enter Paris, Troilus, Aneas, Deiphobus, Anthenor, and Diomedes.

Par. It is great Morning, and the Hour prefixt
Of her delivery to this valiant Greek

Comes faft upon: Good my Brother Troilus,
Tell you the Lady what the is to do,
And hafte her to the purpose.

Troi. Walk into her Houft:

I'll bring her to the Grecian prefently;
And to his Hand when I deliver her,
Think it an Altar, and thy Brother Troilus
A Prieft, there offering to it his Heart.
Par. I know what 'tis to Love,

And would, as I fhall pity, I could help.
Please you walk in, my Lords.

Enter Pandarus and Creffid.
Pan. Be moderate, be moderate.

Cre. Why tell you me of moderation?
The Grief is fine, full perfect that I tafte,
And no lefs in a fenfe as ftrong, as that
Which caufeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my Affection,
Or brew it to a weak and colder Palate,
The like allayment could I give my Grief;
My Love admits no qualifying cross,

Enter Troilus

No more my Grief in fuch a precious lofs.

[Exeunt.

Pan. Here, here, here he comes,-a fweet Duck.Cre. O Troilus, Troilus!

Pan. What a pair of Spectacles is here! let me embrace too: Oh Heart, as the goodly faying is; O Heart, heavy Heart, why fitteft thou without breaking? Look where he anfwers again;-Because thou can'ft not eafe thy fmart by

Friendship

Friendship, nor by fpeaking; there was never a truer time;
let us calt away nothing, for we may live to have need of
fuch a Verfe; we fee it, we fee it: how now, Lambs?
Troi. Creffid, I love thee in fo ftrange a purity;
That the bleft Gods, as angry with my Fancy,
More bright in Zeal, than the Devotion which,
Cold Lips blow to their Deities, take thee from me.
Cre. Have the Gods Envy?

Pan. Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay, 'tis too plain a Cafe.
Cre. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?

Troi. A hateful Truth.

Cre. What, and from Troilus tóc?
Troi. From Troy, and Troilus.
Cref. Is it poffible?

Troi. And fuddenly while injury of Chance
Puts back leave-taking, juftles roughly by
All time of paufe, rudely beguiles our Lips
Of all rejoyadure; forcibly prevents

Our lock'd Embrafures; ftrangles our dear Vows,
Even in the birth of our own labouring Breath.
We two, that with fo many thousand fighs
Did buy each other, muft poorly fell our felves,
With the rude brevity and discharge of one;
Injurious time; now, with a Robber's hafte,
Cram is rich Thievery up, he knows not how.
As my farewels as be Stars in Heaven,
Within Breath, and confign'd Kiffes to them,
He fun is up all in one loofe adieu;
And ts us with a fingle famifh'd Kifs,

Difted with the Salt of broken Tears.

Eneas within. My Lord, is the Lady ready?
Troi. Hark, you are call'd. Some fay, the Genius fo
Cries, Come, to him that inftantly muft die.

Bid them have Patience; fhe fhall come anon.

Pan. Where are my Tears? Rain, to lay this Wind, or my Heart will be blown up by the Root.

Cre. I must then to the Grecians?

Troi. No remedy.

Cre. A woful Crefid, 'mongst the merry Greeks!
Troi. When fhall we fee again?