Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck:
Fam'd 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 yields
To finewy Ajax; I'll not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Nestor,
Inftru&ted by the Antiquary times ;
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise :
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain so temper’d,
You should not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.

Ajax. Shall I call you father ?
UlyJ. Ay, my good son.
Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax.

Uyl. There is no tarrying here ; the Hart Achilles.
Keeps thicket; please it our great General
To call together all his State of war ;
Fresh Kings are come to Troy : to-morrow, friends,
We'must with all our main of pow'r stand fast:
And here's a lord, come Knights from East to West,
And cull their flow'r, Ajax shall cope the best.

Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles sleep; Lightboats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.

[Exeunt.

A C T III. SCENE I.

Paris's Apartments in the Palace, in Troy.
Enter Pandarus, and a Servant.

[Music within. PANDA RUS. FRJEN RIEND! you! pray you, a word : do not you follow the young lord Paris ?

Ser.

are my

Ser. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.
Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?
Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

Pan. You do 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, superficially.
Pan. Friend, know me better ; I am the lord

Pandarus.
Ser. I hope, I shall know your honour better.
Pan. I do defire it.
Ser. You are in the state of Grace.
Pan. Grace ? not so, friend: honour and lordship,

titles : What music is this? Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is music in

parts.
Pan. Know you the musicians ?
Ser. Wholly, Sir.
Pan. Wbo play they to?
Ser. To the hearers, Şir.
Pan. At whose pleasure, friend?
Ser. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love music.
Pan. Command, I mean, friend.
Ser. Who shall I command, Sir ?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another : Iam 100 courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose request do these men play?

Ser. That's to't, indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who's there in person; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's vilble soul.

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ?

Ser. No, Sir, Helen ; could you not find out That by her attributes ?

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the lady Crefida. I come to speak with Paris from

the

the Prince Troilus : I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business feethes. Ser. Sodden business! there's a stew'd phrase,

indeed.

S CE N E II.

Enter Paris and 'Helen, attended. Pan. [FAIR be to you, my lord, and to all this fair

company! fair Desires in all fair measure fairly guide them ; especially to you, fair Queen, fair thoughts be your fair pillow.!

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet Queen: fair Prince, here is good broken music.

Par. You have broken it, cousin, and, by my life, you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of harmony:

Pan. Truly, lady, no,
Helen. 0, Sir-
Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.
Par. Well said, my lord ; well, you say so in fits.

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear Queen; my lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ?

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

Pan. Well, sweet Queen, you are pleasant with me : but marry thus, my lord ;---my dear lord, and moft esteemed Friend, your brother Troilus

Helen. My lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord, ---

Pan. Go to, sweet Queen, go toCommends himself most affectionately to you.

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody: If you do, our melancholy upon your head!

Pan. Sweet Queen, sweet Queen, that's a sweet Queen, l'faithHelen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a four

offence.

offence. Nay, that shall not serve your turn, that shall it not in truth, la. Náy, I care not for such 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 says my sweet Queen, my very very sweet Queen ?

Par. What exploit's in hand, where fups he to night?

Helen. Nay, but my lord,—

Pan. What says my fweet Queen? my cousin will fall out with

you. Helen. You must not know where he sups. Par. I'll lay my life, with my dispouser Cressida.

Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come, your dispouser is fick.

Par. Well, I'll make excufe:

Pan. Ay, good my lord; why should you say, Creffida? no, your poor dispouser's fick.

Par. I spy

Pan. You spy, what do you spy? come, give me an instrument now, sweet Queen.

Helen. Why, this is kindly done.

Pan. My neice is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet Queen.

Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.

Pan. He? no, she'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 sing you a song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, pr’ythee now; by my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine fore-head.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may

Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid !

Pan.

e;

Pan. Love !-ay, that it shall, i' faith.
Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
Pan. In good troth, it begins fo.

Love, love, nothing but love, Nill more :
For 0, love's bow
Shoots buck: and doe
The fraft confounds
Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the fore.
These lovers cry, oh! oh! they die :
Yet That, which seems the wound to kill,
Doth turn, oh! oh! to ha, ha, he :
So dying love lives still.
Dho, a while; but ha, ha, ha;

O ho groans out for ha, ha, ha—hey ho !
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. 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 a-field to-day?

Par. He&tor, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain have arm'd to-day, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not ?

Helen. He hangs the lip at something; you know all, lord Pandarus.

Pan. Not I, haney sweet Queen: I long to hear how they sped to-day. You'll remember your

bro. ther's excuse ?

Par. To a hair.
Pan. Farewel, sweet Queen.
Helen. Commend me to your neice.

Pan.