[Exçinte

A Grecian's Life hath funk; for every Scruple
Of her contaminated Carrion weight,
A Trojan hath been lain. Since the could speak,
She hath not given so many good Words breath,
As, for her, Greeks and Trojans suffer'd Death.

Par. Fair Diomede, you do as Chapmen do,
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy:
But we in silence hold this Virtue well;
We'll not commend what we intend to sell.
Here lyes our way.

Enter Troilus and Crellida.
Troi. Dear, trouble not your self; the Morn is cold.
Cre. Then, sweet my Lord, I'll call my Uncle down:

. He shall unbolt the Gates.

Troi. Trouble him not
To Bed, to Bed -sleep kill those pretty Eyes.
And give as fufc attachment to thy Senses,
As Infants empty of all thought.

Cre, Good Morrow then.
Troi. I prithee now to Bed.
Cre. Are you a weary of me?

Troi. O Cresida! but that the busie Day
Wak’d by the Lark, has rous'd the Ribald Crows,
And dreaming Night will hide our Eyes no longer,
I would not from thee.

Cre, Night hath been too brief.

Trei. Beshrew the Witch! with venomous weights the stays, As hideously as Hell; but flies the grasps of Love, With Wings more momentary, swifter chan Thought: You will catch cold, and curse me. Cre. Prithee tarry

-you

Men will never tarry-
O foolish Cressidal might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark, there's one up.

Pan. within.] What's all the Doors open here?
Troi. It is your Uncle.

Exter Papdarus.
Cre. A Pestilence on him; now will he be mocking;
I shall have such a Life-

Pan., How now, how now? how go Maiden-heads?
Hear, you Maid; where's my Cousin Cressid?

Creo

Cre. Go hang your self, you naughty mocking Uncle: You bring me to do and then you flout me too.

Pan. To do what to do what? let her say, what: What have I brought you to do?

Cre. Come, come, beshrew your Heart; you'll ne'er be good; nor suffer others.

Pan. Ha, ha! alas poor Wretch; a poor Chipochia, haft not slept to Night? Would he not (a naughty Man) let it Sleep; a Bug-bear take him.

[One knocks.
Cre. Did I not tell you? Would he were knock'di'th'
Head. Who's that at Door-Good Uncle, go and see.----
My Lord, come you again into my Chamber :-
You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

Troi. Ha, ha. -
Cre. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing.
How earnestly they knock- -Pray you come in. [Knuck.
I would not for half Troy have you seen here.

[Exeunt. Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the Door? How now? what's the matter?

Enter Æneas,
Æne. Good morrow Lord, good morrow.

Pan. Who's there, my Lord Æneas? By my troth, I knew you not; What News with you so early?

? Æne. Is not Prince Troilus here? Pan. Here! what should he do here?

Æne. Come, he is here, my Lord, do not deny him: It doch import him much to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, say you? 'cis more than I know, I'll be sworn; for my own part, I came late: What should he do here?

Æne. Who...-nay, then :----Come, come, you'll do him wrong, e'er y'are aware: You'll be lo true to him, to be false to him: Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch

/

him hither, go.

Enter Troilus,
Troi. How now? what's the matter?

Æne. My Lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
My matter is so harsh: there is at hand,
Paris your Brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomede, and our Anthenor
Deliver'd to us, and for him forth with,
E'er the firft Sacrifice, within this Hour,

We

We must give up to Diomedes Hand
The Lady Cresida.

Troie Is it concluded fo?
Æne. By Priam, and the general State of Troy.
They are at hand, and ready to effe& 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.

Æne. Good, good, my Lord; the secrets of Nature Have not more Gift in taciturnity.

[Exeunt.
Enter Pandarus and Crellida.
Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner 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 sigh you so profoundly? where's my Lord? gone ? Tell me, sweet 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 matters

Pan. Prethee get thee in; would thou had'st 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 Consanguinity:
No Kin, no Love, no Blood, no Soul so near me,
As the sweet Troitus: O you Gods divine !
Make Cressid'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 ftreng 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, Æneas, Deiphobus, Anthenor,

and Diomedes..

Par. It is great Morning, and the Hour prefixt
Of her deliv'ry to this valiant Greek
Comes fast upon: Good my Brother Troilus,
Tell you the Lady what she is to do,
And haste her to the purpose.

Troi. Walk into her House:
I'll bring her to the Grecian presently ;
And to his Hand when I deliver her,
Think it an Alcar, and thy Brother Troilus
A Priest, there offering to it his Heart.

Par. I know what 'tis to Love,
And would, as I shall pity, I could help.
Please
you walk in, my Lords.

[Exeunt.
Enter Pandarus and Crellid.
Pan, Be moderate, be moderate.

Cre. Why tell you me of moderation ?
The Grief is fine, full perfect that I taste,
And no less in a sense as strong, as that
Which causeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my Affe&ion, ,
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 such a precious loss.
Pan. Here, here, here he comes —a fweet Duck.

", Cre. O Troilks, Troilus !

Pan. What a pair of Spe&acles is here! let me embrace too: Oh Heart, as the goodly saying is; o Heart, heavy Heart, why fitcest thou without breaking? Look where he answers again ;-Because thou can'st not ease thy smart by

Friendship

Friendship, nor by speaking; there was never a truer time; let us catt away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a Verse; we fee it, we see it : how now, Larnbs

Troi. Cressid, I love thee in so strange a purity;
That the blest 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 piain a Case.
Cre. And is it true that I must

go

from Troy?
Troi. A hareful Truth.
Cre. What, and from Troilus too?
Troi. From Troy, and Troilus.
Cref. Is it possible?

Troi. And suddenly : while injury of Chance
Pues back leave-taking, juit les roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our Lips
Of all rejoyudure ; forcibly prevents
Our lock'd Embrasures; strangles our dear Vows,
Even in the birth of our own labouring Breath.
We two, that with so many thousand lighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell our selves,
With the rude brevity and discharge of one ;,
Injurious time, now, with a Robber's haste,
Crams his rich Thievery up, he knows not how.
As many farewels as be Stars in Heaven,
With diflin& Breath, and consign'd Killes to them,
He fumbles up all in one loose adieu ;
And scants us with a single famish'd Kiss,
Distafted with the Salt of broken Tears.

Æneas within. My Lord, is the Lady ready ?

Troi. Hark, you are called. Some say, the Genius so
Cries, Come, to him that instantly must die.
Bid them have Patience; she shall come anon.

Pan. Where are my Tears ? Rain, to lay this Wind, or
my Heart will be blown up by the Root.
Cre. I must then to the Grecians?
Troi. No remedy.
Cre. A woful Cressid, 'mongst the merry Greeks?
Troi. When fhall we see again?

VOL. IV.

Z

Hear