Pri.
After so many hours, lives, speeches spent,
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
Deliver Helen, and all damage else
(As honour, loss of time, travel, expence,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd
In hot digestion of this cormorant war)
Shall be struck off. Hector, what say you to't?

Hect.
Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
As far as touches my particular; yet
There is no lady of more softer bowels,
More spungy to suck in the sense of fear,
More ready to cry out, who knows what follows?
Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wise; the tent that searches
To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
Ev'ry tithe soul 'mongst many thousand † ^notedismes
Hath been as dear as Helen. I mean of ours.
If we have lost so many tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us
(Had it our name) the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reason, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Troi.
Fie, fie, my brother:
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king
(So great is our dread father) in a scale
Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
The vast proportion of his infinite?
And buckle in a waste, most fathomless,
With spans and inches so diminutive
As fears and reasons? fie for godly shame!

Hel.
No marvel, tho' you bite so sharp at reasons,
You're empty of them. Should not our father Priam
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
Because your speech hath none that tells him so?

Troi.
You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest,
You fur your gloves with reasons. Here are your reasons.
You know an enemy intends you harm,
You know, a sword imploy'd is perillous,
And reason flies the object of all harm.
Who marvels then when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels,
† ^noteAnd fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
† ^noteOr like a star dis-orb'd.—Nay if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: manhood and honour
Should have ^{g note}hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect
Make ^{h note}livers pale, and lustyhood deject.

Hect.
Brother, she is not worth
What she doth cost the holding.

Troi.
What's ought, but as 'tis valu'd?

Hect.
But Value dwells not in particular will,
It holds its estimate and dignity
As well wherein 'tis precious of it self,
As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry,

To make the service greater than the god;
And the will dotes, that is † ^noteinclinable
To what infectiously it self affects,
Without some image of th' affected merit.

Troi.
I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
(Two trading pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment.) How may I avoid
(Although my will distaste what is elected)
The wife I chuse? there can be no evasion
To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour.
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant
When we have spoil'd them; nor th' remainder viands
We do not throw in unrespective place,
Because we now are full. It was thought meet
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath of full consent bellied his sails;
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce,
And did him service: he touch'd the ports desir'd;
And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive,
He brought a Grecian queen whose youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes ^{i note} pale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl,
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants—
If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd, go, go:)
If you'll confess he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clap'd your hands
And cry'd, inestimable;) why d' you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,

And do a deed that fortune never did,
Beggar that estimation which you priz'd
Richer than sea and land? O theft most base!
That we have stoln what we do fear to keep!
But thieves, unworthy of a thing so stoln,
Who in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place.

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