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fair Faith. Troilus fhall be fuch to Creffida, as what Envy can say worst, shall be a mock for his Truth; and what Truth can speak trueft, not truer than Troilus.

Cre. Will you walk in, my Lord?

Enter Pandarus.

Pan. What, blushing ftill? have you not done talking yet?

Cre. Well, Uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.

Pan. I thank you for that; if my Lord get a Boy of you, you'll give him me; be true to my Lord, if he flinch, chide me for it.

Trei. You know now your Hoftages; your Uncle's Word and my firm Faith.

Pan. Nay, I'll give my Word for her too; our Kindred, though they be long e'er they are woo'd, they are conftant being won: They are Burs, I can tell you, they'll ftick where they are thrown.

Cre. Boldnefs comes to me now, and brings me Heart:
Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you Night and Day,
For many weary Months.

Troi. Why was my Creffid then fo hard to win?
Cre. Hard to feem won: But I was won, my Lord,
With the first glance that ever-Pardon me-
If I confefs much, you will play the Tyrant:
I love you now, but not 'till now, fo much
But I might mafter it- -in faith I lye-
My thoughts were like unbridled Children, grown
Too head-ftrong for their Mother; fee we Fools,
Why have I blabb'd? who fhall be true to us
When we are fo unfecret to our felves?
But though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not,
And yet good faith I wifht my felf a Man:
Or that the Women had Mens privilege
Of fpeaking firft. Sweet, bid me hold my Tongue,
For in this Rapture I fhall furely fpeak

The thing I fhall repent; fee, your filence
Coming in dumbness, for my weakness draws

My Soul of Counfel from me. Stop my Mouth.

Troi. And fhall, albeit fweet Mufick iffues thence. [Kiffing. Pan. Pretty, i'faith.


Cre. My Lord, I do befeech you pardon me ; 'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a Kiss :

I am afham'd ;

O Heav'ns, what have I done! —

For this time will I take my leave, my Lord.
Trei. Your leave, fweet Creffid?

Pan. Leave! and you take leave 'till to Morrow Morn


Cre. Pray you, content you.

Troi. What offends you, Lady?
Cre. Sir, mine own Company.
Troi. You cannot fhun your felf.
Cre. Let me go and try:

I have a kind of self refides with you:
But an unkind felf, that it felf will leave,
To be another's Fool. Where is my Wit?
I would be gone: I fpeak I know not what.

Troi. Well know they what they speak, that fpeak wifely.

Cre. Perchance, my Lord, I fhew more Craft than Love, And fell fo roundly to a large Confeffion,

To angle for your Thoughts: But you are wife.
Or elfe you love not; for to be wife and love,
Exceeds Man's might, and dwells with Gods above.
Troi. O that I thought it could be in a Woman;
And if it can, I will prefume in you,

To feed for ay her lamp and flames of Love,
To keep her Conftancy in plight and youth,
Out-living Beauties outward, with a Mind
That doth renew swifter than Blood decays.
Or that Perfwafion could but thus convince me,
That my integrity and truth to you,

Might be affronted with the match and weight
Of fuch a winnowed purity in Love:

How were I then up-lifted! But alas,

I am as true as Truth's Simplicity,
And simpler than the Infancy of Truth.
Cre. In that I'll war with you.

Troi. O virtuous Fight,

When right with right wars, who should be moft right?
True Swains in Love, fhall in the World to come
Approve their truths by Troilus; when their Rhimes,



Full of proteft, of oath, and big compare,
Want fimilies: Truth tired with Iteration,
As true as Steel, as Plantage to the Moon,
As Sun to Day, as Turtle to her Mate,
As Iron to Adamant, as Earth to th' Center
Yet after all comparisons of truth,

(As Truth's Authentick Author to be cited)
As true as Troilus, fhall crown up the Verfe,
And fanctifie the Numbers.

Cre. Prophet may you be :

If I be falfe, or fwerve a hair from truth,
When time is old and hath forgot it self,
When Water-drops have worn the Stones of Troy,
And blind Oblivion fwallow'd Cities up,
And mighty States chara&erlefs are grated
To dufty nothing; yet let Memory,
From falfe to falfe, among falfe Maids in love,
Upbraid my Falfehood; when they've faid as falfe
As Air, as Water, as Wind, as fandy Earth;
As Fox to Lamb, as Wolf to Heifer's Calf;
Pard to the Hind, or Step-dame to her Son;
Yea, let them fay, to ftick the Heart of Falfc hood,
As falle as Crefid.

Pan. Go to, a Bargain made: Seal it, feal it, I'll be the Witness. Here I hold your Hand; here my Coufin's; if ever you prove falfe to one another, fince I have taken fuch Pains to bring you together, let all pitiful Goers-between, be call'd, to the World's end, after my Name: Call them all Panders; let all conflant Men be Troiluffes, all falfe Women Creffida's, and all Brokers between, Panders; fay, Amen. Troi. Amen.

Cre. Amen.

Pan. Amen.

Whereupon I will fhew you a Chamber, which Bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to Death Away.

And Cupid grant all Tongue-ty'd Maidens here,

Bed, Chamber, and Pander, to provide this geer.



SCENE II. The Grecian Camp.

Enter Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Diomedes, Neftor, Menelaus and Calchas.

Cal. Now, Princes, for the Service I have done
Th' advantage of the time prompts me aloud,
To call for recompence: Appear it to your Mind,
That through the fight I bear in things to come,
I have abandon'd Troy, left my Poffeffion,
Incurr'd a Traitor's Name, expos'd my self,
From certain and poffeft Conveniencies,

To doubtful Fortunes, fequeftring from me all
That Time, Acquaintance, Custom, and Condition,
Made tame, and moft familiar to my Nature:
And here to do you Service am become
As new into the World, ftrange, unacquainted.
I do befeech you, as in way of taste,
To give me now a little benefit,

Out of those many Regiftred in Promife,
Which you fay live to come in my behalf.


Aga. What wouldft thou of us, Trojan ? Make demand. Cal. You have a Trojan Prifoner, call'd Anthenor,

Yesterday took: Troy holds him very dear.

Oft have you (often have you, Thanks therefore)
Defir'd my Creffid in right great Exchange,
Whom Troy hath ftill deny'd: But this Anthenor,
I know, is such a wreft in their Affairs,
That their Negotiations all muft flack,.
Wanting this Manage; and they will almost
Give us a Prince o'th' Blood, a Son of Priam,
In change of him. Let him be fent, great Princes,
And he thall buy my Daughter: And her prefence
Shall quite ftrike off all Service I have done,
In moft accepted pain.

Aga. Let Diomedes bear him,

And bring us Creffid hither: Calchas shall have
What he requests of us: Good Diomede,
Furnish you fairly for this enterchange;

With all, bring Word, if Hector will to Morrow
Be answer'd in his Challenge. Ajax is ready.

Y 2


Dio. This fhall I undertake, and 'tis a burthen
Which I am proud to bear.

Enter Achilles and Patroclus, in their Tent.
Vlyf. Achilles ftands i'th' entrance of his Tent;
Please it our General to pass strangely by him,
As if he were forgot; and Princes all,

Lay negligent and loose regard upon


I will come laft, 'tis like he'll queftion me,


Why fuch unplaufive Eyes are bent? why turn'd on him?
If fo, I have Decifion medicinable,

To use between our Strangeness and his Pride,
Which his own Will fhall have defire to drink;
It may do good: Pride hath no other Glafs
To fhew it felf, but Pride; for fupple Knees
Feed Arrogance, and are the proud Man's Fees.
Aga. We'll execute your Purpose, and put on
A form of Strangeness as we pafs along,
So do each Lord, and either greet him not,
Or elfe difdainfully, which shall shake him more,
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the Way.

Achil. What, comes the General to speak with me?
You know my Mind. I'll fight no more 'gainft Troy.
Aga. What lays Achilles, would he ought with us?
Neft. Would you, my Lord, ought with the General ?
Achil. No.

Neft. Nothing, my Lord.

Aga. The better.

Achil. Good Day, good Day.

Men. How do you? How do you?

Achil. What, does the Cuckold fcorn me?

Aja. How now, Patroclus?

Achil. Good Morrow, Ajax.

Achil. Good Morrow.

Aja. Ha.

Aja. Ay, and good next Day too.


Achil. What mean thefe Fellows? Know they not Achilles?

Patr. They pals ftrangely: They were us'd to bend,

To fend their Smiles before them to Achilles:

To come as humbly as they us'd to creep to Holy Altars. Achil. What, am I poor of late?

Tis certain, Greatness once fall'n out with Fortune,


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