DRAMATIS PERSONÆ Priam, King of Troy. Hector, his son. Troilus, his son. Paris, his son. Deiphobus, his son. Helenus, his son. Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam. Aeneas, Trojan commander. Antenor, Trojan commander. Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks. Pandarus, uncle to Cressida. Agamemnon, the Greek general. Menelaus, his brother. Achilles, Greek commander. Ajax, Greek commander. Ulysses, Greek commander. Nestor, Greek commander. Diomedes, Greek commander. Patroclus, Greek commander. Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Greek. Helen, wife to Menelaus. Andromache, wife to Hector. Cassandra, daughter to Priam, a prophetess. Cressida, daughter to Calchas. Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. Alexander, Boy, Servant, Soldier, Greek

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The Prologue.
In Troy there lyes the Scene: From Iles of Greece
The Princes Orgillous, their high blood chaf'd
Haue to the Port of Athens sent their shippes
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruell Warre: Sixty and nine that wore
Their Crownets Regall, from th' Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia, and their vow is made
To ransacke Troy, within whose strong emures
The rauish'd Helen, Menelaus Queene,
With wanton Paris sleepes, and that's the Quarrell.
To Tenedos they come,
And the deepe-drawing Barke do there disgorge
Their warlike frautage: now on Dardan Plaines
The fresh and yet vnbruised Greekes do pitch
Their braue Pauillions. Priams six-gated City,
Dardan and Timbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
And Antenonidus with massie Staples
And corresponsiue and fulfilling Bolts
Stirre vp the Sonnes of Troy.
Now Expectation tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Troian and Greeke,
Sets all on hazard. And hither am I come,
A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence
Of Authors pen, or Actors voyce; but suited
In like conditions, as our Argument;
To tell you (faire Beholders) that our Play
Leapes ore the vaunt and firstlings of those broyles,
Beginning in the middle: starting thence away,
To what may be digested in a Play:
Like, or finde fault, do as your pleasures are,
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of Warre.

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