Troi. Still have I tarry'd.

Pan. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the word hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Troi. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth leffer blench at fufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I fit;

And when fair Creffid comes into my thoughts,-~~-~ So, traitor!-when fhe comes!-When is fhe thence? Pan. Well, fhe look'd yester-night fairer than ever I faw her look; or any woman elfe.

Troi. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart, As wedged with a figh, would rive in twain; Left Hector or my father fhould perceive me, I have (as when the fun doth light a ftorm) Bury'd this figh in wrinkle of a fmile:

But forrow, that is couch'd in feeming gladnefs, Is like that mirth fate turns to fudden fadnefs.

Pan. An her hair were not fomewhat darker than Helen's (well, go to), there were no more comparifon between the women,-But, for my part, the is my kinfwoman; I would not, as they term it, praife her, But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your fifter Caffandra's wit: but——————

Troi. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd, Reply not in how many fathoms deep

They lie indrench’d.

I tell thee, I am mad

In Creffid's love: Thou answer'ft, She is fair; Pour'ft in the open ulcer of my heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait; her voice

Handlest

Handleft in thy discourse :

-O that her hand! In whofe comparison all whites are ink,

Writing their own reproach; to whofe foft feizure The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'ft me, As true thou tell'ft me, when I fay-I love her; But, faying this, inftead of oil and balm,

Thou lay it in every gash that love has given me The knife that made it.

Pan. I fpeak no more than truth.

Troi. Thou doft not speak fo much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as fhe is if the be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fhe be not, fhe has the mends in her own hands.

:

Troi. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labour for my travel; illthought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but fmall thanks for my labour.

Troi. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not fo fair as Helen: an fhe were not kin to me, fhe would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an fhe were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

Troi. Say I, fhe 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 fo I'll tell her, the next time I fee her for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the matter.

Troi. Pandarus,——
Pan. Not I.

Troi. Sweet Pandarus,

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me; I will leave all as I found it, and there an end. [Exit PANDARus. [Sound Alarum.

Troi. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace,

rude founds!

Fools on both fides! Helen must needs be fair,
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;

It is too ftary'd a fubject for my fword.
But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me
I cannot come to Creffid, but by Pandar:
And he's as teachy to be woo'd to woo,
As fhe is ftubborn-chafte against all fuit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Creffid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there fhe lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where the refides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourself, the merchant; and this failing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

[Alarum.] Enter ENEAS.

Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield?

Troi. Because not there? This woman's answer For womanish it is to be from thence. [forts, What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?

Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. Troi. By whom, Æneas?

Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus.

Troi. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a fear to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum, Ene. Hark! what good fport is out of town today!

Troi.

Troi. Better at home, if would I might, were may.— But, to the sport abroad;-Are you bound thither? Ene. In all swift hafte.

Trai. Come, go we then together.

SCENE II. A Street.

[Exeunt.

Enter CRESSIDA, and ALEXANDER her Servant.

Cre. Who were those went by?

Serv. Queen Hecuba, and Helen..
Cre. And whither go they?

Serv. Up to the eastern tower,

Whose height commands as fubject all the vale,
To fee the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and ftruck his armourer 3
And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the fun rose, he was harness'd light,
And to the field goes he; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it forefaw
In Hector's wrath.

Cre. What was his cause of anger?

Serv. The noise

Greeks

goes, this: There is

among the

A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;

They call him Ajax.

Cre. Good; and what of him?

Serv. They fay he is a very man per fe, And ftands alone.

Cre. So do all men; unless they are drunk, fick, or have no legs.

Serv. 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

a man into whom nature hath fo crouded humours, that his valour is crushed into folly, his folly fauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue, that he hath not a glimpfe of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries fome ftain of it: he is melancholy without caufe, and merry against the hair: He hath the joints of every thing; but every thing fo out of joint, that he is a gouty Briarius, many hands and no ufe; or pur-blinded Argus, all eyes and no fight.

Cre. But how should this man, that makes me fmile, make Hector angry?

Serv. They fay, he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle, and ftruck him down; the diftain and fhame whereof hath ever fince kept Hector fafting and waking.

Enter PANDARUS.

Cre. Who comes here?

Serv. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cre. Hector's a gallant man.

Serv. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?

Cre. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow, coufin Creffid: What do you talk of?-Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, coufin? 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 ye çame to Ilium? Helen was not up, was the?

Cre. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en fo; Hector was stirring early.
Cre. That were we talking of, and of his anger,

Pan