Cre. Come, come, befhrew your heart; you'll never be good; nor fuffer others.

Pan. Ha, ha! alas, poor wretch; a poor Capocchia,haft not flept to night? would he not (a naughty man) let it fleep? a bugbear take him ! [One knocks. Cre. Did not I tell you?—'would he were knock'd o' th' head!-who's that at door?-good uncle, go and fee!-my lord, come you again into my chamber; you smile and mock me, as if I meant 3-you naughtily.

Troi. Ha, ha

Cre. Come, you are deceived, I think of no fuch thing. How earnestly they knock-pray you, come in. [Knock. I would not for half Troy have you feen here. [Exeunt.

Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the door; how now? what's the matter?

S CE NE

Enter Æneas.

III.

Ene. 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? Ene. Is not Prince Troilus here?

Pan. Here! what fhould he do here?

Ene. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him. It doth import him much to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, fay you? 'tis more than I know, I'll be fworn; for my own part, I came in late: what fhould he do here?

Ene. Pho! nay, then :-come, come, you'll do him wrong, ere y'are aware: you'll be so true to him, to be falfe to him: do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither, go.

[As Pandarus is going out.

Enter

Enter Troilus.

Troi. How now? what's the matter?

Ene. My lord, I scarce have leisure to falute
My matter is fo rafh: there is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomede, and our Antenor
Deliver❜d to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first facrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Creffida.

Troi. Is it concluded fo?

you,

Ene. By Priam, and the general State of Troy, They are at hand, and ready to effect it.

Troi. How my atchievements mock me!

I will go meet them; and (my lord Æneas)
We met by chance, you did not find me here.

Ene. Good, good, my lord; (a) the fecreteft of

natures

Have not more gift in taciturnity.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

IV.

Enter Creffida to Pandarus.

Pan. Is't poffible? no fooner got, but loft: the Devil take Antenor! the young Prince will go mad: a plague upon Antenor! I would, they had broke's neck.

Cre. How now? what's the matter? who was here?
Pan. Ah, ah !

Cre. Why figh you fo profoundly? where's my lord? gone! tell me, fweet 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 matter?

[(a) the fecreteft of natures. Oxford Editor-Vulg. the jecrets of nature.】

Pan

Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in; 'would, thou hadft ne'er been born: I knew, thou would'st be his death. O poor gentleman! a plague upon Antenor!

Cre. Good uncle, I befeech 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 Antenor; 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've forgot my father,
I know no touch of Confanguinity:

No kin, no love, no blood, no foul fo near me,
As the fweet Troilus. O you Gods divine!

Make Crefid's name the very Crown of falfhood,
If ever the leave Troilus. Time, Force, and Death,
Do to this body what extreams you can;

But the strong Bafe and Building of my Love
Is as the very centre of the earth,

Drawing all to it.--I'll go and weep,

Pan. Do, do.

Cre. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks.

Crack my clear voice with fobs, and break my heart With founding Troilus. I'll not go from Troy. [Exeunt.

Before Pandarus's Houfe.

Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Deiphobus, Antenor, and Diomedes.

Par. T is great morning and the hour prefixt
Of her Delivery to this valiant Greek

Comes faft upon us : good my brother Troilus,

Tell

Tell you the Lady what fhe is to do,
And hafte her to the purpose.

Troi. Walk into her houfe:

I'll bring her to the Grecian presently;
And to his hand when I deliver her,
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus
A prieft, there offering to it his heart.
Par. I know, what 'tis to love;

And 'would, as I fhall pity, I could help!
Pleafe you, walk in, my lords.

[Exeunt.

An Apartment in Pandarus's House.

Enter Pandarus and Creffida.

E moderate, be moderate.

Pan. BE

Cre. Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect that I taste,
And in its fenfe is no lefs ftrong, than That
Which caufeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection,
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief:
My love admits no qualifying drofs:

Enter Troilus.

No more my grief, in fuch a precious lofs.
Pan. Here, here, here he comes,"

duck!-

Cre. O Troilus, Troilus!

-a, fweet

Pan. What a pair of fpectacles is here! let me

embrace too:

Ob heart, (as the goodly faying is ;)

O heart, O heavy heart,

Why fight thou without breaking?

where

where he answers again;

Becaufe thou can't not ease thy fmart,
By friendship, nor by speaking.

There was never a truer rhyme.

Let us caft away

"nothing, for we may live to have need of fuch a
"verfe; we see it, we fee it. How now, lambs?
Troi. Crefid, I love thee in fo ftrange a purity,
That the bleft 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, 'tis too plain a case.

Cre. And is it true, that I muft go from Troy?
Troi. A hateful truth!

Cre. What, and from Troilus too?
Troi. From Troy, and Troilus.
Cre. Is it poffible?

Troi. And fuddenly: while injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, juftles roughly by
All time of paufe, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoyndure, forcibly prevents

Our lock'd embraces, ftrangles our dear vows,
Ev'n in the birth of our own labouring breath.
We two, that with fo many thousand fighs
Each other bought, muft poorly fell our selves
With the rude brevity and difcharge of one.
Injurious Time now, with a robber's hafte,
Crams his rich thiev'ry up, he knows not how.
As many farewels as be ftars in heaven,
With diftinct breath and confign'd kiffes to them,
He fumbles up all in one loose adieu;
And fcants us with a fingle famifh'd kiss,
Diftafted with the falt of broken tears.

Eneas. [within.] My lord, is the lady ready?
Troi. Hark! you are call'd. Some fay, the Genius fo
Cries, come, to him that inftantly must die.
Bid them have patience; fhe fhall come anon.

Pane