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A Grecian's Life hath funk; for every Scruple
Par. Fair Diomede, you do as Chapmen do,
Enter Troilus and Crellida.
Cre. Then, sweet my Lord, I'll call my Uncle down: He shall unbolt the Gates.
Troi. Trouble him not
Cre, Good Morrow then.
Troi. O Cresida! but that the busie Day
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
Men will never tarry-
Pan. within.] What's all the Doors open here?
Pan., How now, how now? how go Maiden-heads?
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.
Ttoi. Ha, ha.--
[Exeunt. Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the Door? How now? what's the matter?
Pan. Who's there, my Lord Æneas? By my troth, I knew you not ;
What News with you so early?
Æne. Come, he is here, my Lord, do not deny him:
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 so true to him, to be false to him: Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch
him hither, go.
Æne. My Lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
We must give up to Diomedes Hand
Troie Is it concluded fo?
Troi. How many Atcheivements mock me!
Æne. Good, good, my Lord; the secrets of Nature Have not more Gift in taciturnity.
Cre. How now? what's the matter? who was here?
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.
Cre. I will not, Uncle: I have forgot my Father.
Drawing all things to it. I will go in and Weep.
Pan. Do, do.
Par. It is great Morning, and the Hour prefixt
Troi. Walk into her House:
Par. I know what 'tis to Love,
Cre. Why tell you me of moderation ?
Pan. Here, here, here he comes —a fweet Duck.
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, 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;
Cre. Have the Gods Envy?
Troi. And suddenly : while injury of Chance
Æneas within. My Lord, is the Lady ready ?
Troi. Hark, you are called. Some say, the Genius so
Pan. Where are my Tears ? Rain, to lay this Wind, or