Let him that will a scrietch-owl ay be call'd,
Go into Troy, and say there, Hector's dead :
That is a word will Priam turn to ftone ;
Make welling Niobes of the maids and wives;
Cold ftatues of the youth; and, in a word,
But march away,
Scare Troy out of itself

Hector is dead : there is no more to say.

Stay yet, you vile abominable tents,

Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains.
Let Titan rife as early as he dare,

[coward! I'll through and through you. And thou, great-fiz'd No space of earth fhall funder our two hates;

I'll haunt thee like a wicked confcience still,
That mouldeth goblins fwift as frenzy's thoughts,
Strike a free march to Troy with comfort go.
fhall hide our inward woe.
Hope of

revenge

Enter Pandarus.

Pan. But hear you, hear you?

Troi. Hence, brother-lacquey; ignominy, fhame, [Strikes him. Purfue thy life, and live ay with thy name! [Exeunt.

Pan. A goodly medicine for my aking bones! Oh world! world! world! thus is the poor agent defpised. Oh, traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you fet at work, and how ill requited? why should our endeavour be so lov'd, and the performance fo loth'd? what verse for it? what inftance for it ?Let me feeFull merrily the humble bee doth fing, Till he hath loft his honey and his fting: But being once fubdu'd in armed tail, Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.

Good traders in the flesh, fet this in your painted As many as be here of Pandar's hall,

[clothsYour eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall; Or if you cannot weep, yet give fome groans; Though not for me, yet for your aking bones. Brethren and fifters of the hold-door trade, Some two months hence my will fhall here be made. It should be now; but that my fear is this, Some galled goofe of Winchester would hifs; Till then, I'll fweat, and feek about for eafes; And at that time bequeath you my diseases.

The End of the SEVENTH VOLUME.

[Exit