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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, Coufin, and by my Life you fhall make it whole again, you fhall piece it out with a piece of your performance, Nel, he is full of Harmony.

Pan. Truly, Lady, no,

Helen. O, Sir

Pan. Rude in footh, in good footh very rude.

Par. Well faid, my Lord; well, you fay fo in fits. Pan. I have Bufinefs to my Lord, dear Queen; my Lord, will you vouchfafe me a Word?

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

Pan. Well, fweet Queen, you are pleasant with me; but, marry thus, my Lord, my dear Lord, and moft efteemed Friend, your Brother Troilus

Helen. My Lord Pandarus, honey-fweet Lord.
Pan. Go to, fweet Queen, go to

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

Pan. Sweet Queen, fweet Queen, that's a fwect Queen, I' faith

Helen. And to make a sweet Lady fad, is a fower Offence. Nay, that shall not ferve your turn, that fhall 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 excufe.

Helen. My Lord Pandarus→→→→

Pan. What fays my fweet Queen, my very, very fweet


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

Pan. What fays my fweet Queen ? my Coufin will fall out with you.

Helen. You must not know where he fups.

Par. With my difpofer Creffida.

Pan. No, no, no fuch matter, you are wide, come, your difpofer is fick.

Par. Well, I'll make excufe.



Pan. Ay, good my Lord; why should you fay Creffida? No, your poor difpofer's fick.

Par. I fpy

Pan. You fpy, what do you spy? Come, give me an Inftrument now, fweet Queen.

Helen. Why this is kindly done.

Pan. My Neice is horrible in love with a thing you have, fweet Queen.

Helen. She fhall have it, my Lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.

Pan. He? no, fhe'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, fweet Lord, thou haft a fine Fore-head.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may


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

Pan. Love! ay, that it fhall, i' faith.

Par. Ay, good now, Love, Love, nothing but Love.
Pan. In good troth it begins fo.


Love, Love, nothing but Love, ftill more:

For O, Love's Bow

Shoots both Buck and Doe:

The Shaft confounds not that it wounds,

But tickles ftill the Sore:

Thefe Lovers cry, oh ho they dye;

Yet that which feems they wound to kill,
Doth turn oh ho, to ha ba he:

So dying Love lives ftill,

O ho a while, but ha ha ha;

O ho groans out for ha ha habey bo.

Helen. In Love i'faith to the very tip of the Nofe.

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 Loye a Generation of Vipers?

Sweet Lord, who's afield to Day?

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Anthenar, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain have arm'd to Day, but my Nell would not have it fo.

How chance my Brother Troilus went not?

Helen. He hangs the Lip at fomething; you know all, Lord Pandarus.

Pan. Not I, honey sweet Queen: I long to hear how they fped to Day:

You'll remember your Brother's excufe?


Par. To a Hair.

Pan. Farewel, fweet Queen.

Helen. Commend me to your Neice.

Pan. I will, fweet Queen.

[Exit. Sound a Retreat.

Par. They're come from Field; let us to Priam's Hall, greet the Warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you, To help unarm our Hector: His ftubborn Buckles, With thefe your white enchanting Fingers toucht, Shall more obey, than to the edge of Steel, Or force of Greekish Sinews, you shall do more Than all the Island Kings, difarm great Hector.

Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be your Servant, Paris; Yea, what he fhall receive of us in duty,

Gives us more palm in Beauty than we have:

Yea, over-fhines our felf.

Sweet, above thought, I love thee..


Enter Pandarus, and Troilus's Man. Pan. How now, where's thy Mafter, at my Coufin Creffida's?

Ser. No, Sir, he ftays for you to conduct him thither.
Enter Troilus.

Pan. O, here he comes; How now, how now?
Troi. Sirrah, walk off.

Pan. Have you feen my Coufin?

Troi. No, Pandarus: I ftalk about her Door Like a ftrange Soul upon the Stygian Banks Staying for waftage. O be thou my Charon, And give me fwift tranfportance to thofe Fields,


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Where I will wallow in the Lilly Beds,

Propos'd for the deferver. O gentle Pandarus,
From Cupid's Shoulder pluck his painted Wings,
And fly with me to Creffid..:

Pan. Walk here i'th Orchard, I'll bring her ftraight.

Exit Pandarus.
Troi. I am giddy; Expectation whirles me round,
Th' imaginary relish is fo fweet,

That it enchants my Senfe; what will it be
When that the watry Palates tafte indeed
Love's thrice reputed Nectar? Death, I fear me;
Sounding Destruction, or fome Joy too fine,
Too fubtile, potent, and too fharp in fweetness,
For the Capacity of my ruder Powers;

I fear it much, and I do fear befides,
That I shall lofe diftinction in my Joys,
As doth a Battel when they charge on heaps
The Enemy dying.

Enter Pandarus.

Pan. She's making her ready, he'll come ftraight; you must be witty now, the does fo blufh, and fetches her Wind fo fhort, as if he were fraid with a Sprite: I'll fetch her; it is the prettiest Villain, the fetches her breath fo fhort as a new ta'en Sparrow. [Exit Pan. Trei. Even fucha Paffion doth embrace my Bofom: My Heart beates thicker than a feverous Pulse,

And all my Powers do their bestowing lofe,

Like Vaffalage at unawares encountring

The Eye of Majefty.

Enter Pandarus and Creffida.

Pan. Come, come, what need you blush?

Shame's a Baby; here fhe is now, for the Oaths now to her, that you have fworn to me. What, are you gone again, you muft be watch'd e'er you be made same, muft you? Come your ways, come your ways, and you draw backward we'll put you i'th' Files: Why do you not fpeak to her? Come draw this Curtain, and let's fee your Picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend day-light? and 'twere dark you'd clofe fooner. So, fo, rub on, and kifs the Miftrefs; how now, a kifs in Fee-farm build there, Carpenter, the Air is fweet. Nay, you shall fight your Hearts out e'er I part you. The



Faulcon has the Tercel, for all the Ducks i' th' River: Goto, go to.

Troi. You have bereft me of all Words, Lady.

Pan. Words pay no Debts, give her Deeds: But fhe'll be reave you o' th' Deeds too, if the call your Activity in queftion What, billing again? here's in witnefs whereof the Parties interchangeably-Come in, come in, I'll go get [Exit Pan.

a Fire.

Cre. Will you walk in, my Lord?

Troi. O Creffida, how often have I wifht me thus? Cre. Witht, my Lord! the Gods grant;-O, my Lord. Troi. What should they grant; what makes this pretty abruption; what too curious Dreg efpies my fweet Lady in the Fountain of our Love?

Cre. More Dregs than Water, if my Fears have Eyes. Troi. Fears make Devils of Cherubins, they never fee truly.

Cre. Blind fear, that feeing Reafon leads, finds fafer footing than blind Reason ftumbling without fear; to fear the worft, oft cures the worse.

Troi. O let my Lady apprehend no fear,

In all Cupid's Pageant there is prefented no Monster.
Cre. Not nothing monftrous neither ?

Troi. Nothing but their Undertakings, when we vow tổ weep Seas, live in Fire, eat Rocks, tame Tygers, thinking it harder for our Miftrefs to devife Impofition enough, than for us to undergo any Difficulty impofed. This is the monftrofity in Love, Lady, that the Will is infinite, and the Execution confin'd; that the Defire is boundlefs, and the A& a Slave to limit.

Cre. They fay all Lovers fwear more performance than they are able, and yet referve an Ability that they never perform: vowing more than the perfection of ten; and difcharging less than the tenth part of one. They that have the Voice of Lions, and the act of Hares, are they not Monsters?

Troi. Are there fuch? fuch are not we: Praife us as we are tafted, allow us as we prove: Our Head fhall go bare, 'till merit crown it; no Perfection in reverfion fhall have a Praise in prefent; we will not name Desert before his Birth, and being born, his addition fhall be humble; few Words to

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