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Dio. Or strange, or self-affected.

Ulys. Thank the Heav'ns, Lord, thou art of n sweet Com-
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee fuck:
Fame 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 haif; and for thy Vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
To Sinewy Ajax; I will not praise thy Wisdom
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts; here's Nestor
Instructed by the Antiquary times:
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise.
But pardon, Father Nestor, were your Days

green as Ajax, and your Brain fo temper'd,
You should not have the eminence of him
But be as Ajax.
Ajax. Shall I call you Father?

Ulys. Ay, my good Son.
Dio. Be ruld by him, Lord Ajax.

Ulys. There's no tarrying here, the Hart Achilles
Keeps thicket; please it our General,
To call together all this State of War;
Fresh Kings are come to Troy; to Morrow
We must with all our main of Power Stand fast:
And here's a Lord (come Knights from East to West,
And cull their Flower) Ajax Thall cope the best.

Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles Aeep;
Light Boats may fail swift, though great bulks draw deep.

[Exeunt. Mufick sounds within.



Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. . Riend! you! pray you a word: Do not you

the young Lord Paris? Ser. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.

Pan. follow

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Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?
Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the Lord.

Pan. You 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 are my
Titles: What Mufick is this?

Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is Mufick in parts.
Pan. Know you the Muficians? ?
Ser. Wholly, Sir.
Pan. Who play they to?
Ser. To the hearers, Sir..
Pan. At whose pleasure, Friend?
Ser. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love Musick.
Pan, Command, I mean, Friend.
Ser. Who shall I command, Sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another: Lam too courtly, and thou art too curning. At whofe 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 invisible 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 Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince - Troilus: I will make a Complemental Assault upon him, for my Bufness feethes, Ser. Sodden Business, there's a stew'd Phrafe indeed.

Enter Paris and Helen. Pan. Fair be to you, my Lord, and to all this fair Company: Fair desires in all fair meafure fairly guide them, especially to you, fair Queen, fair Thoughts be your

fair Pillow.


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Helen. Dear Lord, you are full of fair Words.

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, fweet Queen; fair
Prince, here is good broken Mufick.
Par. You have broken it, Cousin, and by my Life

you fhall make it whole again, you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. Nel, he is full of Harmony.

Pan. Truly, Lady, nb,
Helen. O, Sir
Pan. Rude in sooth, in good footh 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 vouchlafe 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 to Commends himself most affe&ionately to you.

Helen. You fhall not bob us out of our melody: If you do, our Melancholy upon your Head.

Pan. Sweet Queen, (weet Queen, that's a sweet Queen, I' faith

Helen. And to make a sweet Lady fad, is a sower Offence. Nay, that shall not serve your turn, that shall it not in truth la. Nay I care not for fuch 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

Par. What Exploit's in hand, where fups he to Night?
Helen. Nay, but my

Pan. What says my sweet Queen ? my Cousin will fall out
Helen. You must not know where he sups.
Par. With my disposer Cressida.

Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide, come, your
disposer is fíck.
Par. Well, I'll make excuse.



with you.

Par. Ay, good my Lord; why should you say Freffida? No, your poor disposer's sick.

Par. I spy

Pan. You spy, what do you soy? Come, give me an Instrument now, sweet Queen.

Helen. Why this is kindly done.

Pan. My Neice is horrible 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 fing you a Song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now; by my troth, sweet Lord, thou hast a fine Fore-head.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may

Hel. Let thy Song be Love: This Love will uodo us all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid.

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


Love, Love, nothing but Love, Still mort :
For , Love's Bows

Shoots both Buck and Doc:
· The Shaft confounds not that it wounds,
But tickles still the Sore:
These Lovers cry, ob ho they dye;
Yet that which seems they wound to kill,
Doth turn oh ho, to ba ba he:
So dying Love lives still,
O ho a while, but ha ha ha;

O bo 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 hor Thoughts, and hot Thoughts beget hot Deeds, and hot deeds are Love.

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Pan. Is this the Generation of Love? Hot Blood, bot Thoughts, and hot Deeds? why they are Vipers, Is Laye a Generation of Vipers ? Sweet Lord, who's afield to Day?

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Anthenor, 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 1, honey sweet Queen: I long to hear how they

I sped to Day: You'll remember


Brother's excuse Par. Toa Kairs Pan, Farewel, sweet Queen. Helen. Commend me to your Neice. Pan. I will, sweet Queen. [Exit. Sound a Retreat.

Par. They're come from Field; let' us to Priam's Hall, To greet

the Warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you, To help unarm our Hector: His stubborn Buckles, With these your white enchanting Fingers coucht, Shall more obey, than to the edge of Steel, Or force of Greekib Sinews, you shall do more Than all the Ifand Kings, disarm great Hektor.

Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be your Servant, Paris; Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty, Gives us more palm in Beauty than we have: Yea, over-thines our felf. Sweet, above thought, I love thee.

[Exeunt. Enter, Pandarus, and Troilus's Man. Pan. How now, where's thy Master, at my cousin Cref fida's ? Ser. No. Sit, he stays for you to condu& him thither.

The Enter Troilus.
Pan. O, here he comes, How now, how now?

Troi. Sirrah, walk off.
Pan. Have you seen my Cousin?

Troi. No, Pandarus: I stalk about her Door Like a strange Soul upon the Stygian Banks Staying for waftage. O be thou my Charon, And give me [wist transportance to those Fields,


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