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 Chipechia, haft not flept to Night? Would he not (a naughty Man) let it fleep; a Bug-bear take him.

[One knocks. Cre. Did I not tell you?-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:

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 him hither, go.

Enter Troilus.

Troi. How now? what's the matter?

Ane. My Lord, I fcarce have leisure 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,

fetch

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 hand, 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 Creffida.

[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 befeech 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 must.

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 scratch 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 deliv'ry 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 Houfe:

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 causeth 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,-afweet 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 cafe thy fmart by

Friendship

Friendship, nor by speaking; there was never a truer time;
let us caft 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 too?
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 rejoyndure; 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 difcharge of one;
Injurious time, now, with a Robber's hafte,
Crams his rich Thievery up, he knows not how.
As many farewels as be Stars in Heaven,
With diftin& Breath, and confign'd Kiffes to them,
He fumbles up all in one loofe adieu;

And fcants us with a fingle famifh'd Kifs,
Diftafted with the Salt of broken Tears.

Aneas 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 muft then to the Grecians?

Troi. No remedy.

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

Hear me, my Love; be thou but true of Heart-
Cre. I true? how now? what wicked deem is this?
Troi. Nay, we must use Expoftulation kindly,
For it is parting from us:

I fpeak not, be thou true, as fearing thee:
For I will throw my Glove to Death himself,
That there's no maculation in thy Heart;
But be thou true, fay I, to fashion in
My fequent Proteftation: Be thou true,
And I will fee thee.

Cre. O you shall be expos'd, my Lord, to dangers "As infinite, as imminent: But I'll be true.

Troi. And I'll grow Friend with danger:

Wear this Sleeve.

Cre. And you this Glove.

When fhall I fee you?

Troi. I will corrupt the Grecian Centinels To give thee nightly Vifitation:

But yet be true.

Cre. O Heav'ns ! be true again.

Troi. Hear while I fpeak it, Love:

The Grecian Youths are full of fubtle Qualities,
They're loving, well compos'd, with gift of Nature,
Flowing and fwelling o'er with Arts and Exercise;
How Novelties may move, and Parts with Perfon-
Alas, a kind of godly Jealoufie,

Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous Sin,
Makes me afraid.

Cre. O Heav'ns, you love me not!
Troi. Die I a Villain then:

In this I do not call your Faith in queftion
So mainly as my Merit: I cannot Sing,
Nor heel the high Lavolt; nor fweeten Talk;
Nor play at fubtle Games; fair Virtues all-

To which the Grecians are moft prompt and pregnant:
But I can tell, that in each Grace of thefe,
There lurks a ftill and dumb-difcourfive Devil,
That tempts moft cunningly: But be not tempted.
Cre. Do not think, I will.

Troi. No, but fomething may be done that we will not: And fometimes we are Devils to our felves,

When