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Writing their own reproach) to whose foft seizure
Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is, if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; and she be not, she has the mends in her own hands,
Troi. Good Pandarus; how now, Pandarus ?
Pan. I have had my labour for my travel, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.
Troi. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with
Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; and the were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-amoor ; 'is all one to me.
Troi. Say I, she is not fair ?
Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father: let her to the Greeks, and so I'll tell her the next time I see her : for
my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i'th' matter.
I will leave
-and Spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughman.--) Read, and (Spite of Jense) in a Parenthesis. The Meaning is, tho' our Senses contradid it never so much, yet the cignet's down is not only harsh, when compared to the Softness of Cresid's Hand, but hard as the Hand of Ploughman. VOL. IX. B
all as I found it, and there's an end. [Exit Pandarus.
[Sound Alarm. Troi. Peace, you ungracious clamours ! peace,
rude founds! Fools on both sides.--Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument, It is too fary'd a subject for my sword : But Pandarus-O Gods ! how do you plague me! I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar ; And he's as' teachy to be woo'd to woo, As she is stubborn-chafte against all suit. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, What Cresid is, what Pandar, and what we: Her bed is India, there she lies, a pearl : Between our Ilium, and where the resides, Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood; Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar, Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
S CE N E II.
[Alarm.] Enter Æneas. Æn. How now serince Troilus ? wherefore not
OW now, Prince Troilus ? wherefore not
Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Troi. Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a scar to scorn:
(Alarm. Æne. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day?
Troi. Better at home, it would I might, were mayBut to the sport abroad—are you bound thither?
Æne. In all swift haste.
Changes to a public Street, near the Walls if Troy.
Enter Creffida, and her Servant. Cre. HO those ?
Ser. Queen Hecuba and Helen. '
Ser. Up to th' eastern tower,
Cre. What was his cause of anger ?
Ser.The noise goes thus; There is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to He&tor, They call him Ajax.
Cre. Good; and what of him?
Ser. They say, he is a very man per fe, and lands alone.
Cre. So do all men, unless they are drunk, fick, or have no legs.
Ser. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions ; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, flow as the elephant; a man
-He&or, whose patience Is, as a Virtue, fix'd, -] Patience sure was a Virtue, and therefore cannot, in Propriety of Expression, be said to be like one. We should read, Is as the Virtue fix'do-i. c. his Patience is as fixed as the Goddess Patience herself. So we find Troilus a little tefore saying,
Patience herself what Goddess i'er the be,
into whom Nature hath so crouded humours, * that his valour is crusted into folly, his folly fauced with discreiion : there is no man hath a virtue, that he has not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries fome stain of it. He is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair ; he hath the joints of every thing, but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use ; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no fight.
Cre. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make He&tor angry?
Ser. They say, he yesterday cop'd He&tor in the battle and struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.
S CE N E IV.
Cre. WHO comes here?
Ser. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Tan. Good-morrow, cousin Crefid; what do you talk of? Good-morrow, Alexander ;-how do you, coulin ? when were you at Ilium ?
Cre. This morning, uncle.
Pan. What were you talking of, when I came ? was Hector arm'd and gone, ere you came to Ilium ? Helen was not up
? * that his valour is crusht into folly, his folly fauced with discretion :] Valour crusht into Folly is Nonsense ; but it is of the first Editor's making ; who seeing crouded go before, concluded that crusht (which is oft indeed the Consequence) must needs follow. He did not observe that the Poet here employs a Kitchen-metaphor, which would have led luim to the true Reading, His Valour is crufted into Folly, his Folly fauced with Discretion.
Cre. He&tor was gone ; but Helen was not up:
Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too: he'll lay about him to day, I can tell them that; and there's Troilus will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.
Cre. What is he angry too ?
Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hedor ? do you know a man, if you see him ?
Cre. Ay, if I ever saw him before, and knew him. Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.
Cre. Then you say, as I say; for I am sure, he is not Hector.
Pan. No, nor He&or is not Troilus in some degrees.
Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself; 'would, he were himself! well, the Gods are above ; time must friend, or end; well, Troilus, well, I would, my heart were in her body !----no, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.
Cre. Excuse me.
Pan. Th' other's not come to't ; you shall tell me another tale, when the other's come to't: Hector sball not have his wit this
year. Gre. He shall not need it, if he have his own. Pan. Nor his Qualities.