Achil. Go call Therfites hither, fweet Patroclus,
I'll fend the Fool to Ajax, and defire him
T'invite the Trojan Lords, after the Combat,

To fee us here unarm'd: I have a Woman's longing,
An Appetite that I am fick withal,

To fee great Hector in the weeds of Peace,

Enter Therfites.

To talk with him, and to behold his Visage,
Even to my full of view. A labour fav'd-
Ther. A wonder!

Achil. What?

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the Field, asking for himfelf.

Achil. How fo?

Ther. He muft fight fingly to Morrow with Hector, and is fo prophetically proud of an heroical Cudgelling, that he raves, in faying nothing.

Achil. How can that be?

Ther. Why, he ftalks up and down like a Peacock, a ftride and a ftand; ruminates like an Hoftefs that hath no Arithmetick, but her Brain to fet down her Reckoning; bites his Lip with a politick regard, as who fhould fay, there were Wit in his Head, and 'twou'd out; and fo there is, but it lies as coldly in him as Fire in a Flint, which will not fhew without knocking. The Man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his Neck i'th' Combat, he'll break't himfelf in Vain-glory. He knows not me: I faid, Good morrow, Ajax. And he replies, Thanks Agamemnon. What think you of this Man, that takes me for the General? He's grown a very Land-fifh---language lefs---a Monfter; a plague of Opinion, a Man may wear it on both fides, like a Leather Jerkin.

Achil. Thou must be my Ambaff dor to him, Therfites. Ther. Who? I?---why he'll ar fwer no Body; he profeffes not answering; fpeaking is for Beggars; he wears his Tongue in's Arms; I will put on his p efence; let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall fee the Pageant of Ajax.

Achil. To him, Patroclus-tell him, I humbly defire the valiant Ajax, to invite the m ft valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my Tent, and t procure fafe Condu& for his Perfon, of the Magnanimous and moft Illuftrious, fix or fe

ven times honour'd Captain, General of the Grecian Army, Agamemnon, &c. Do this.

Patr. Jove blefs great Ajax.

Ther. Hum—

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

Patr. Who moft humbly defires you to invite Hector to his Tent.

Ther. Hum

Patr. And to procure fafe Coduct from Agamemnon.
Ther. Agamemnon!

Patr. Ay, my Lord.

Ther. Ha!

Patr. What fay you to't?

Ther. God be wi'you, with all my Heart.

Patr. Your answer, Sir.

Ther. If to Morrow be a fair Day, by eleven a Clock, it will go one way or other; how foever, he shall pay for me e'er he has me.

Patr. Your answer, Sir.

Ther. Fare ye well with all my Heart.

Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

Ther. No, but he's out a tune thus; what Mufick he will be in, when Hector has knockt out his Brains, I know not. But I am fure none; unless the Fidler Apollo get his Sinews to make Catlings on.

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a Letter to him ftraight. Ther. Let me carry another to his Horfe; for that's the more capable Creature.

Achil. My Mind is troubled like a Fountain ftirr'd, And I my felf fee not the bottom of it.

[Exit.

Ther. Would the Fountain of your Mind were clear again, that I might water an Afs at it; I had rather be a Tick in a Sheep, than fuch a valiant Ignorance.

[Exeunt.

ACT

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Enter at one Door Æneas with a Torch, at another, Paris, Deiphobus, Anthenor, and Diomede with Torches

SE

Dei. It is the Lord Æneas, Ene. Is the Prince there in Perfon?

Had I fo good occafion to lie long,

As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heav'nly business
Should rob my Bed-mate of my Company.

Dio. That's my Mind too: Good Morrow, Lord Æneas.
Par. A valiant Greek, Eneas, take his Hand,

Witness the process of your Speech within,

You told, how Diomede, a whole Week, by Days
Did haunt you in the Field.

Ane. Health to you, valiant Sir,
During all queftion 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 th' other Diomede embraces.
Our Bloods are now in calm, and fo long, health
But when Contention and Occafion meet,
By Jove, I'll play the Hunter for thy Life,
With all my Force, Purfuit, and Policy.

Ene. And thou fhalt hunt a Lion that will flie With his Face backward in human gentleness: Welcome to Troy

Welcome indeed

now by Anchifes's Life,

By Venus Hand I fwear,

No Man alive can love in fuch a fort,

The thing he means to kill, more excellently.
Dio. We fympathize. Jove, let Æneas live
(If to my Sword his Fate be not the glory)
A thousand compleat courfes 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.

Par. This is the most defpightfull'ft, gentle Greeting; The nobleft, hateful Love, that e'er I heard of. What Business, Lord, fo early?

Ane. I was fent for to the King; but why, I know not. Par. His purpose meets you; it was, to bring this Greek To Galchas's Houfe, and there to render him,

For the enfreed Anthenor, the fair Creffid.
Let's have your Company; or, if you please,
Hafte there before us. I conftantly do think
(Or rather call my Thought a certain Knowledge)
My Brother Troilus lodges there to Night.
Roufe him, and give him note of our approach,
With the whole Quality whereof, I fear
We shall be much unwelcome.

Ane. That I affure you.

Troilus had rather Troy were born to Greece,
Than Creffid born from Troy.

Par. There is no help;

The bitter difpofition of the time will have it fo.

On, Lord, we'll follow you.

Ene. Good Morrow all.

[Exit Aneas.

Par. And tell me, Noble Diomede; faith tell me true,

Even in the Soul of good found Fellowship,

Who in your thoughts merits fair Helen moft?

My felf, or Menelaus?

Dio. Both alike.

He merits well to have her that doth feek her,
Not making any fcruple of her Soilure,
With fuch 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 fuch a coftly lofs of Wealth and Friends;
He, like a puling Cuckold, would drink up
The Lees and Dregs of a flat tamed Piece;
You, like a Letcher, out of whorish Loins,
Are pleas'd to breed out your Inheritors:
Both merits pois'd, each weighs no less nor more,
But he as he, with heavier for a Whore.

Par. You are too bitter to your Country-woman.
Dio. She's bitter to her Country: Hear me, Paris,
For every falfe drop in her baudy Veins

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 those 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. Befhrew the Witch! with venomous weights fhe ftays.
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 tarry-
O foolish Creffida- 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 Pestilence 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 Creffid?

Cre

4