Par.
See ho, who is that there?

Dei.
It is the Lord Æneas.

Æne.
Is the Prince there in Person?
Had I so good occasion to lie long,
As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business
Should rob my Bed-mate of my Company.

Dio.
That's my Mind too: Good Morrow, Lord Æneas.

Par.
A valiant Greek, Æneas, take his Hand,
Witness the process of your Speech within;
You told, how Diomede, in a whole Week, by Days
Did haunt you in a Field.

Æne.
Health to you, valiant Sir,
During all question of the gentle Truce:
But when I meet you arm'd, as black Defiance
As Heart can think, or Courage execute.

Dio.
The one and th' other Diomede embraces.
Our Bloods are now in calm, and so long, health;
But when Contention and Occasion meet,
By Jove, I'll play the Hunter for thy Life,
With all my Force, Pursuit and Policy.

Æne.
And thou shalt hunt a Lion that will flie
With his Face backward in humane gentleness:
Welcome to Troy—now by Anchises's Life,
Welcome indeed—By Venus Hand I swear,
No Man alive can love in such a sort,
The thing he means to kill, more excellently.

Dio.
We sympathize. Jove, let Æneas live
(If to my Sword his Fate be not the glory)
A thousand compleat courses of the Sun:
But in mine emulous Honour let him die,
With every Joint a wound, and that to Morrow.

Æne.
We know each other well.

Dio.
We do; and long to know each other worse.

Par.
This is the most despightfull'st, gentle Greeting;
The noblest, hateful Love, that e'er I heard of.
What Business, Lord, so early?

Æne.
I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.

Par.
His purpose meets you; it was, to bring this Greek
To Calchas's House, and there to render him,
For the enfreed Anthenor, the fair Cressid.
Let's have your Company; or, if you please,
Haste there before us. I constantly do think
(Or rather call my Thought a certain Knowledge)
My Brother Troilus lodges there to Night.
Rouse him, and give him note of our approach,
With the whole Quality whereof, I fear
We shall be much unwelcome.

Æne.
That I assure you.
Troilus had rather Troy were born to Greece,
Than Cressid born from Troy.

Par.
There is no help;
The bitter disposition of the time, will have it so.
On, Lord, we'll follow you.

Æne.
Good Morrow all. [Exit Æneas.

Par.
And tell me, Noble Diomede; faith tell me true,
Even in the Soul of good sound Fellowship,
Who in your thoughts merits fair Helen most?
My self, or Menelaus?

Dio.
Both alike.
He merits well to have her that doth seek her,
Not making any scruple of her Soilure,
With such a Hell of pain, and world of Charge.
And you as well to keep her that defend her,
Not palating the taste of her Dishonour,
With such a costly loss of Wealth and Friends;
He, like a puling Cuckold, would drink up
The Lees and Dregs of a flat tamed Piece;
You, like a Letcher, out of whorish Loins,
Are pleas'd to breed out your Inheritors:
Both merits pois'd, each weighs no less nor more,
But he as he, with heavier for a Whore.

Par.
You are too bitter to your Country-woman.

Dio.
She's bitter to her Country: Hear me, Paris,
For every false drop in her baudy Veins

A Grecian's Life hath sunk; for every Scruple
Of her contaminated Carrion weight,
A Trojan hath been slain. Since she 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. [Exeunt. Enter Troilus and Cressida.

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 soft 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 Cressida! 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.

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

Cre.
Prithee tarry—you Men will never tarry—
O foolish Cressida—I 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. Enter Pandarus.

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?

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, hast not slept to Night? Would he not (a naughty Man) let it sleep; a Bug-bear take him.

Cre.
Did I not tell you?—Would he were knock'd i'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. [Knock.
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?

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 doth import him much to speak with me.

Pan.

Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I know, I'll be sworn; for my own part, I came in 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.

Troi.
How now? what's the matter?

Æne.
My Lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
My master 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 first Sacrifice, within this Hour,

We must give up to Diomedes Hand
The Lady Cressida.

Troi.
Is it concluded so?

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

Troy.
How many Atchievments 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 Cressida.

Pan.

Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost: 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 matter?

Pan.

Prithee get thee in; would thou had'st ne'er been born; I knew thou would'st be his Death. O poor Gentleman! A Plague upon Anthenor.

Cre.

Good Uncle, I beseech you, on my Knees, I beseech 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 Troilus: O you Gods divine!
Make Cresid's name the very Crown of Falshood,
If ever she leave Troilus: Time and Death,
Do to this Body what extremity you can;
But the strong Base and building of my Love
Is, as the very centre of the Earth,

Drawing all things to it. I will go in and Weep.

Pan.
Do, do.

Cre.
Tear my bright Hair, and scratch my praised Checks,
Crack my clear Voice with Sobs, and break my Heart
With sounding 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.
VValk into her House:
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 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 Cressid.

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 Affection,
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 sweet Duck.—

Cre.

O Troilus, Troilus!

Pan.

VVhat a pair of Spectacles is here! let me embrace too: Oh Heart, as the goodly saying is; O Heart, heavy Heart, why sittest 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 cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a Verse; we see it, we see it: how now, Lambs?

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, A, Ay, 'tis too plain a Case.

Cre.
And is it true, that I must go from Troy?

Troi.
A hateful Truth.

Cre.
What, and from Troilus too?

Troi.
From Troy, and Troilus.

Cre.
Is it possible?

Troi.
And suddenly: while injury of Chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our Lips
Of all rejoyndure; 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 sighs
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 distinct Breath, and consign'd Kisses to them,
He fumbles up all in one loose adieu;
And scants us with a single famish'd Kiss,
Distasted with the Salt of broken Tears.

Æneas within.
My Lord, is the Lady ready?

Troi.
Hark, you are call'd. 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?

Trri.
No remedy.

Cre.
A woful Cressid, 'mongst the merry Greeks.

Troi.
When shall we see again?

Hear me, my Love; be thou but true of Heart—

Cre.
I true? how now? what wicked deem is this?

Troi.
Nay, we must use Expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us:
I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee:
For I will throw my Glove to Death himself,
That there's no maculation in thy Heart;
But be thou true, say I, to fashion in
My sequent Protestation: Be thou true,
And I will see thee.

Cre.
O you shall be expos'd, my Lord, to dangers
As infinite, as iminent: But I'll be true.

Troi.
And I'll grow Friend with danger;
Wear this Sleeve.

Cre.
And you this Glove.
When shall I see you?

Troi.
I will corrupt the Grecian Centinels
To give thee nightly Visitation:
But yet be true.

Cre.
O Heavens! be true again.

Troi.
Hear while I speak it, Love:
The Grecian Youths are full of subtle Qualities,
They're loving, well compos'd, with gift of Nature,
Flowing and swelling o'er with Arts and Exercise;
How Novelties may move, and Parts with Person—
Alas, a kind of godly Jealousie,
Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous Sin,
Makes me afraid.

Cre.
O Heavens, you love me not!

Troi.
Die I a Villain then:
In this I do not call your Faith in question
So mainly as my Merit: I cannot Sing,
Nor heel the high Lavolt; nor sweeten Talk;
Nor play at subtle Games; fair Virtues all—
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant:
But I can tell, that in each Grace of these,
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive Devil,
That tempts most cunningly: But be not tempted.

Cre.
Do not think, I will.

Troi.
No, but something may be done that we will not:
And sometimes we are Devils to our selves,

When we will attempt the frailty of our Powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.

Æneas within.
Nay, good my Lord.

Troi.
Come kiss, and let us part.

Paris within.
Brother Troilus.

Troi.
Good Brother, come you hither,
And bring Æneas and the Grecian with you.

Cre.
My Lord, will you be true?

Troi.
VVho I? Alas, it is my Vice, my fault:
While others fish with Craft for great Opinion,
I, with great truth, catch meer Simplicity:
While some with cunning gild their Copper Crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. Enter Æneas, Paris, and Diomedes.
Fear not my Truth; the Moral of my Wit
Is plain and true, there's all the reach of it.
Welcome, Sir Diomede, here is the Lady,
Which for Anthenor we deliver you.
At the Port (Lord) I'll give her to thy Hand,
And by the way possess thee what she is.
Entreat her fair, and by my Soul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my Sword,
Name Cressid, and thy Life shall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilion.

Diom.
Fair Lady Cressid,
So please you, save the Thanks this Prince expects:
The lustre in your Eye, Heaven in your Cheek,
Pleads your fair usage, and to Diomede
You shall be Mistress, and command him wholly.

Troi.
Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously:
To shame the Seal of my Petition towards thee
By praising her. I tell thee, Lord of Greece,
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy Praises,
As thou unworthy to be call'd her Servant:
I charge thee use her well, even for my Charge:
For by the dreadful Pluto, if thou do'st not,
(Tho' the great bulk Achilles be thy Guard)
I'll cut thy Throat.

Diom.
Oh be not mov'd, Prince Troilus;
Let me be privileg'd by my Place and Message,
To be a Speaker free: When I am hence,

I'll answer to my Lust: And know, my Lord,
I'll nothing do on charge; to her own worth
She shall be priz'd: But that you say, be't so;
I'll speak it in my Spirit and Honour—No.

Troi.
Come to the Port—I'll tell thee, Diomede,
This Brave shall oft make thee to hide thy Head:
Lady, give me your Hand—And as we walk,
To our own selves bend we our needful Talk. [Sound Trumpet.

Par.
Hark, Hector's Trumpet!

Æne.
How have we spent this Morning?
The Prince must think me tardy and remiss,
That swore to ride before him in the Field.

Par.
'Tis Troilus fault. Come, come to Field with him.

Dio.
Let us make ready strait.

Æne.
Yea, with a Bridegroom's fresh alacrity
Let us address to tend on Hector's Heels:
The Glory of our Troy doth this day lye
On his fair Worth, and single Chivalry. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Grecian Camp. Enter Ajax Armed, Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, Calchas, &c.

Aga.
Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,
Anticipating Time, With starting Courage.
Give with thy Trumpet a loud note to Troy,
Thou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled Air
May pierce the Head of the great Combatant,
And hale him hither.

Ajax.
Thou Trumpet, there's my Purse;
Now crack thy Lungs, and split thy Brasen Pipe:
Blow Villain, 'till thy sphered bias Cheek
Out-swell the Cholick of puft Aquilon:
Come stretch thy Chest, and let thy Eyes spout Blood:
Thou blowest for Hector.

Ulyss.
No Trumpet answers.

Achil.
'Tis but early days.

Enter Diomede and Cressida.

Aga.
Is't not young Diomede with Calchas Daughter?

Ulys.
'Tis he, I ken the manner of his Gate,
He rises on his Toe; that Spirit of his
In Aspiration lifts him from the Earth.

Aga.
Is this the Lady Cressida?

Dio.
Even she.

Aga.
Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet Lady.

Nest.
Our General doth salute you with a Kiss.

Ulys.

Yet is your Kindness but particular; 'twere better she were kist in general.

Nest.

And very courtly Counsel: I'll begin. So much for Nestor.

Achil.

I'll take that Winter from your Lips; fair Lady, Achilles bids you welcome.

Men.
I had good Argument for kissing once.

Patr.
But that's no Argument for kissing now;
For thus pop'd Paris in his Hardiment.

Ulys.
Oh deadly Gall, and theme of all our Scorns,
For which we lose our Heads to gild his Horns.

Patr.
The first was Menelaus kiss—this mine—
Patroclus kisses you.

Men.
O this is trim.

Patr.
Paris and I kiss evermore for him.

Men.
I'll have my kiss, Sir: Lady, by your leave.

Cre.
In kissing do you render, or receive?

Patr.
Both take and give.

Cre.
I'll make my match to give,
The kiss you take is better than you give; therefore no kiss.

Men.
I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one.

Cre.
You are an odd Man, give even, or give none.

Men.
An odd Man, Lady? every Man is odd.

Cre.
No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis true,
That you are odd, and he is even with you.

Men.
You fillip me o'th' head.

Cre.
No, I'll be sworn.

Ulys.
It were no match, your Nail against his Horn:
May I, sweet Lady, beg a kiss of you?

Cre.
You may.

Ulys.
I do desire it.

Cre.
Why beg then.

Ulys.
Why then, for Venus sake give me a kiss:
When Helen is a Maid again, and his—

Cre.
I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.

Ulys.
Never's my Day, and then a kiss of you.

Dio.
Lady, a word—I'll bring you to your Father—

Nest.
A Woman of quick Sense. [Diomedes leads out Cressida, then returns.

Ulys.
Fie, fie upon her:
There's Language in her Eye, her Cheek, her Lip:
Nay, her Foot speaks, her wanton Spirits look out
At every joint, and motive of her Body:
Oh these Encounters, are so glib of Tongue,
That give a coasting welcome e'er it comes;
And wide unclasp the Tables of their Thoughts,
To every tickling Reader: Set them down,
For sluttish spoils of Opportunity,
And Daughters of the Game. Enter Hector, Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Helenus, and Attendants.

All.
The Trojans Trumpet.

Aga.
Yonder comes the Troop.

Æne.
Hail all you state of Greece; what shall be done
To him that Victory commands? or do you purpose,
A Victor shall be known: Will you, the Knights
Shall to the edge of all extremity
Pursue each other, or shall be divided
By any Voice, or order of the Field: Hector bad ask?

Aga.
Which way would Hector have it?

Æne.
He cares not, he'll obey Conditions.

Aga.
'Tis done like Hector, but securely done,
A little proudly, and great deal despising
The Knight oppos'd.

Æne.
If not Achilles, Sir, what is your Name?

Achil.
If not Achilles, nothing.

Æne.
Therefore Achilles; but whate'er, know this,
Is the extremity of great and little:
Valour and Pride excel themselves in Hector;
The one almost as infinite as all,
The other blank as nothing; weigh him well;
And that which looks like Pride, is Curtesie;
This Ajax is half made of Hector's Blood,

In love whereof, half Hector stays at home:
Half Heart, half Hand, half Hector, comes to seek
This blended Knight, half Trojan and half Greek.

Achil.
A Maiden Battel then? O, I perceive you.

Aga.
Here is Sir Diomede: Go, gentle Knight,
Stand by our Ajax; as you and Lord Æneas
Consent upon the order of their Fight,
So be it; either to the uttermost,
Or else a breach, the Combatants being kin,
Half stints their Strife before their strokes begin.

Ulys.
They are oppos'd already.

Ajax.
What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?

Ulys.
The youngest Son of Priam,
And a true Knight; they call him Troilus;
Not yet mature, yet matchless, firm of Word,
Speaking in Deeds, and deedless in his Tongue;
Not soon provok'd, nor being provok'd, soon calm'd.
His Heart and Hand both open, and both free;
For what he has he gives, what thinks he shews;
Yet gives he not 'till Judgment guide his Bounty,
Nor dignifies an impair Thought with Breath;
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous,
For Hector in his blaze of Wrath subscribes
To tender Objects; but he in heat of Action
Is more vindicative than jealous Love.
They call him Troilus, and on him erect
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector.
Thus says Æneas, one that knows the Youth,
Even to his Inches; and with private Soul,
Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. [Alarum.

Aga.
They are in Action. [Hector and Ajax fight.

Nest.
Now Ajax hold thine own.

Troi.
Hector thou sleep'st, awake thee.

Aga.
His Blows are well dispos'd; there Ajax. [Trumpets cease.

Dio.
You must no more.

Æne.
Princes, enough, so please you.

Ajax.
I am not warm yet, let us fight again.

Dio.
As Hector pleases.

Hect.
Why then, will I no more
Thou art, great Lord, my Father's Sister's Son;
A Cousin German to great Priam's Seed:

The obligation of our Blood forbids
A gory Emulation 'twixt us twain;
Were thy Commixion Greek and Trojan so,
That thou could'st say, this Hand is Grecian all,
And this is Trojan; the Sinews of this Leg
All Greek, and this all Troy: My Mother's Blood
Runs on the dexter Cheek, and this Sinister
Bounds in my Father's: By Jove multipotent,
Thou should'st not bear from me a Greekish Member
Wherein my Sword had not impressure made
Of our rank feud; but the just Gods gainsay,
That any drop thou borrow'st from thy Mother,
My sacred Aunt, should by my mortal Sword
Be drain'd. Let me embrace thee, Ajax:
By him that Thunders, thou hast lusty Arms;
Hector would have them fall upon him thus—
Cousin, all honour to thee.

Ajax.
I thank thee, Hector:
Thou art too gentle, and too free a Man:
I came to kill thee, Cousin, and bear hence
A great addition earned in thy Death.

Hect.
Not Neoptolemus so mirable,
On whose bright Crest, Fame with her loud'st O yes,
Cries, This is he could promise to himself
A thought of added Honour torn from Hector.

Æne.
There is expectance here from both the sides:
What further you will do.

Hect.
We'll answer it:
The issue is Embracement: Ajax, farewel.

Ajax.
If I might in Entreaties find success,
As seld I have the chance; I would desire
My famous Cousin to our Grecian Tents.

Dio.
'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles
Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.

Hect.
Æneas, call my Brother Troilus to me:
And signifie this loving Interview
To the expectors of the Trojan part:
Desire him home. Give me thy Hand, my Cousin:
I will go eat with thee, and see your Knights.

Agamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward.

Ajax.
Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.

Hect.
The worthiest of them, tell me name by name;
But for Achilles, mine own searching Eyes
Shall find him by his large and portly size.

Aga.
Worthy of Arms; as welcome as to one
That would be rid of such an Enemy.
But that's no welcome: Understand more clear,
What's past, and what's to come, is strew'd with husks
And formless ruin of Oblivion:
But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias drawing,
Bids thee with most divine Integrity,
From Heart of very Heart, great Hector, welcome.

Hect.
I thank thee, most Imperious Agamemnon. [To Troi.

Aga.
My well fam'd Lord of Troy, no less to you.

Men.
Let me confirm my Princely Brother's Greeting,
You brace of warlike Brothers, welcome hither.

Hect.
Whom must we answer?

Æne.
The Noble Menelaus.

Hect.
O—you my Lord—by Mars his Gauntlet, thanks,
Mock not, that I affect th' untraded Oath,
Your quandom Wife swears still by Venus Glove,
She's well, but bad me not commend her to you.

Men.
Name her not now, Sir, she's a deadly Theme.

Hect.
O pardon—I offend.

Nest.
I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft
Labouring for Destiny, make cruel way
Through ranks of Greekish Youth; and I have seen thee,
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian Steed,
And seen thee scouring Forfeits and Subduements,
When thou hast hung thy advanc'd Sword i'th' Air,
Not letting it decline on the declined:
That I have said unto my Standers-by,
Lo, Jupiter is yonder dealing Life.
And I have seen thee pause, and take thy Breath,
When that a Ring of Greeks have hem'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling. Thus I have seen,
But this thy Countenance, still stock'd in Steel,
I never saw 'till now. I knew thy Grandsire,
And once fought with him; he was a Soldier good,

But by great Mars, the Captain of us all,
Never like thee. Let an old Man embrace thee,
And, worthy Warrior, welcome to our Tents.

Æne.
'Tis the old Nestor.

Hect.
Let me embrace thee, good old Chronicle,
That hast so long walk'd Hand in Hand with time:
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.

Nest.
I would my Arms could match thee in Contention,
As they contend with thee in Courtesie.

Hect.

I would they could.

Nest.

Ha? by this white Beard I'd fight with thee to Morrow. Well, welcome, welcome; I have seen the time—

Ulys.
I wonder now how yonder City stands,
When we have here the Base and Pillar by us.

Hect.
I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.
Ah, Sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,
Since first I saw your self and Diomede
In Ilion, on your Greekish Embassie.

Ulys.
Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue,
My Prophesie is but half his Journey yet,
For yonder Walls that partly front your Town;
Yond Towers, whose wanton tops do buss the Clouds,
Must kiss their own Feet.

Hect.
I must not believe you:
There they stand yet; and modestly I think,
The fall of every Phrygian Stone will cost
A drop of Grecian Blood; the end crowns all,
And that old common Arbitrator, Time,
Will one Day end it.

Ulys.
So to him we leave it.
Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome;
After the General, I beseech you next
To feast with me, and see me at my Tent.

Achil.
I shall forestal thee, Lord Ulysses, thou:
Now Hector, I have fed mine Eyes on thee,
I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector,
And quoted joint by joint.

Hect.
Is this Achilles?

Achill.
I am Achilles.

Hect.
Stand fair, I prithee, let me look on thee.

Achil.
Behold thy fill.

Hect.
Nay, I have done already.

Achil.
Thou art too brief, I will the second time,
As I would buy thee, view thee, limb by limb.

Hect.
O, like a Book of Sport thou'lt read me o'er:
But there's more in me than thou understand'st.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine Eye?

Achil.
Tell me, you Heavens, in which part of his Body
Shall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there,
That I may give the local Wound a name,
And make distinct the very breach, where-out
Hector's great Spirit flew. Answer me, Heavens.

Hect.
It would discredit the blest Gods, proud Man,
To answer such a Question: Stand again,
Think'st thou to catch my Life so pleasantly,
As to prenominate in nice Conjecture,
Where thou wilt hit me dead?

Achil.
I tell thee, yea.

Hect.
Wert thou the Oracle to tell me so,
I'd not believe thee: Henceforth guard thee well,
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there,
But by the Forge that stythied Mars his Helm,
I'll kill thee every where, yea o'er and o'er.
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His Insolence draws folly from my Lips,
But I'll endeavour Deeds to match these Words,
Or may I never—

Ajax.
Do not chafe thee, Cousin;
And you, Achilles, let these Threats alone
'Till accident or purpose bring you to't.
You may have ev'ry day enough of Hector,
If you have Stomach. The general State, I fear,
Can scarce intreat you to be odd with him.

Hect.
I pray you, let us see you in the Field,
We have had pelting Wars since you refus'd
The Grecian's Cause.

Achil.
Dost thou intreat me, Hector?
To Morrow do I meet thee, fell as Death,
To Night, all Friends.

Hect.
Thy Hand upon that match.

Aga.
First, all you Peers of Greece go to my Tent,
There in the full convive you; afterwards,

As Hector's Leisure, and your Bounties shall
Concur together, severally intreat him.
Beat loud the Taborins, let the Trumpets blow;
That this great Soldier may his welcome know. [Exeunt. Manent Troilus and Ulysses.

Troi.
My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the Field doth Calchas keep?

Ulys.
At Menelaus Tent, most Princely Troilus;
There Diomede doth feast with him to Night;
Who neither looks on Heav'n, nor on Earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
On the fair Cressid.

Troi.
Shall I, sweet Lord, be bound to thee so much,
After we part from Agamemnon's Tent,
To bring me thither?

Ulys.
You shall command me, Sir:
As gently tell me, of what Honour was
This Cressida in Troy; had she no Lover there,
That wails her absence?

Troi.
O Sir, to such as boasting shew their Scars,
A mock is due: Will you walk on, my Lord?
She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth.
But still, sweet Love is Food for Fortune's tooth. [Exeunt.

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