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.

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