Become a churchman better than ambition:
Win straying souls with modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience,
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary ;
That's the plain truth: your painted gloss discovers,
To men that understand you, words and weakness.
Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect

For what they have been: 'tis a crucity
To load a falling man.

Gar. Good master secretary,

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst

Of all this table, say so.

Crom. Why, my lord?

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer

Of this new sect? ye are not sound.

Crom. Not sound?

Gar. Not sound, I say.

Crom. Would you were half so honest!

Men's prayers then would seek you, not their f. irs, Gar. I shall remember this bold language.

Crom. Do.

Remember your bold life too.

Chan. This is too much,

Forbear, for shame, my lords

Gar. I have done.

Crom. And I.

Chan. Then this for you, my lord:-It stands agreed,

I take it, by all voices, that forthwith

You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;
There to remain till the king's fürcher pleasure

Be known unto us:-are you all agreed, lords?
All. We are.

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy,

But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?
Gar. What other

Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome. —
Let some o' the guard be ready there.

Nor. Do you think, my lords,

The king will suffer but the little finger

Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham. 'Tis now too certain:

How much more is his life in value with him?
Would I were fairly out on 't.

Crom. My mind gave me,

In seeking tales and informations

Against this man, (whose honesty the devil

And his disciples only envy at,)

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye.

Enter the KING, frowning on them; takes his seat.
Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to

In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
Not only good and wise, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church

The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen

That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal self in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

[heaven

K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden cominendaBishop of Winchester. But know, I come not [tions, To hear such flattery now, and in my presence; They are too thin and base to hide offences, To me you cannot reach: you play the spaniel, And think with wagging of your tongue to win me; But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st ine for, I am sure Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.

[TO CRANMER.] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest

He that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
By all that's holy, he had better starve

Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
Sur. May it please your grace-

K. Hen. No, Sir, it does not please me.

I had thought I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom of my council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man.
This good man, (few of you deserve that title,)
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy

At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Power as he was a counsellor to try him,
Not as a groom: there's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean,
Which ye shall never have while I live.

Chan. Thus far,

My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed Concerning his imprisonment, was rather

(If there be faith in men) meant for his trial And fair purgation to the world, thau malice,-I am sure, in me.

K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him,
Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him,-if a prince
May be beholden to a subject, I

[bury,

Am, for his love and service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him,
Be friends, for shame, my lords.-My lord of Canter-
I have a suit which you must not deny me;
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour: how may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you?

K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your

spoons: you shall have

Two noble partners with you; the old duchess of NorAnd lady marquis Dorset: will these please you? [folk Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace and love this man.

Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: do you take the court for Paris-garden? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder. Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue! Is this a place to roar in?-Fetch me a dozen crabtree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to them. I'll scratch your heads: you must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?

Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible
(Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons)
To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep
On May-day morning; which will never be:
We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them.
Port. How got they in, and be hang'd?

Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot
(You see the poor remainder) could distribute,
I made no spare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, to mow them down before me: but if I spared any that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again; and that I would not for a cow, God save her! [Within.] Do you hear, master porter?

Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy. Keep the door close, sirrahı.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come t

court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, Sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face; for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dogdays now reign in's nose: all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance. That firedrake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me: he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed upon me till her pinked porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out, "Clubs!" when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place at length they came to the broomstaff with me; I defied them still when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebpies, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work. The devil was amongst them, I think, surely.

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but the Tribulation of Tower hill, or the Limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is to come.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain.

Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves?-Ye have made a fine hand, fellows: There's a trim rabble let in: are all these

Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, When they pass back from the christening.

Port. An't please your honour,

We are but men; and what so many may do,
Not being torn a pieces, we have done:
An army cannot rule them.

Cham. As I live,

If the king blame me for 't, I'll lay ye all
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: you are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when

Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
They are come already from the christening:
Go, break among the press, and find a way out

To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find

A Marshalsea shall hold you play these two months.

Port. Make way there for the princess.

Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or

I'll make your head ache.

Port. You i' the camblet, get up o' the rail; I'll peck you o'er the pales else.

SCENE IV.-The Palace.

[Exeunt.

Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, DUKE OF NORFOLK, with his marshal's staff, DUKE OF SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, godmother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, &c. Train borne by a Lady; then follows the MARCHIONESS OF DORSET, the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks.

Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send pros perous life, long and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth!

Flourish. Enter KING and train.

Cran. [Kneeling.] And, to your royal grace and the My noble partners and myself thus pray: [good queen, All comfort, joy, in this inost gracious lady, Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, May hourly fall upon ye!

K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop;

What is her name?

Cran. Elizabeth.

K. Hen. Stand up, lord.- [The KING kisses the child.

Cran. Let me speak, Sir,

For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth.
This royal infant, (heaven still move about her!)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be
(But few now living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed: Saba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,
With all the virtues that attend the good,
Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her,
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:

[her:

She shall be loved and fear'd: her own shall bless her;
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with
In her days every man shall eat in safety
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new create another heir,

As great in admiration as herself;

So shall she leave her blessedness to one

[ncss)

(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of dark-
Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour,
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix'd: peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him:
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honour and the greatness of his name

Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
To all the plains about him:-our children's children
Shall see this, and bless heaven.

K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders.

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England,
An aged princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had known no more! but she must die,-
She must, the saints must have her,-yet a virgin;
A most unspotted lily shall she pass

To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
K. Ilen. O lord archbishop,

Thou hast made me now a man! never, before

This happy child, did I get anything:

This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,
That when I am in heaven I shall desire

To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.-
I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much beholden;
I have received much honour by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful.-Lead the way, lords:
Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye;
She will be sick else. This day, no man think
He has business at his house; for all shall stay:
This little one shall make it holiday.

EPILOGUE.

[Exrunt.

'Tis ten to one, this play can never please All that are here: some come to take their ease, And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear. They'll say 'tis naught: others to hear the city Abused extremely, and to cry, That's witty!" Which we have not done neither; that, I fear, All the expected good we are like to hear For this play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good women; For such a one we shew'd them: if they smile And say 'twill do, I know within a while All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap, If they hold when their ladies bid them clap.

PROLOGUE.

In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia: and their vow is made
To ransack Troy: within whose strong immures
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come;

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage: now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-ga ed city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr up the sons of Troy.

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek.
Sets all on hazard:-and hither am I com
A prologue arm'd,-but not in confidence
Of author's pen or actor's voice; but suite
In like conditions as our argument,-
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are ;
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

Pan. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the word hereafter," the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.

At Priam's royal table do I sit;

And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,-
So, traitor!-when she comes!-When is she thenee?
Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I
saw her look, or any woman else.

Tro. I was about to tell thee,-when my heart,
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm)
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:

But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more comparison between the women,-but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her,-but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit;

but

Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,-
When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love: thou answer'st, she is fair;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheeks, her gait, her voice;
Handiest in thy discourse, 0, that her hand,

In whose comparison all whites are ink,

Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure

The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense

Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me,
As true thou tell'st me, when I say-I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,

Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in 't. Let her be as she is: if she be fair. 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Tro. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus! Pan. I have had my labour for my travail; ill-thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

Tro. Sweet Pandarus,

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me; I will leave

all as I found it, and there an end.

[Exit PANDARES. An alarum. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude

sounds!

Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument;

It is too starved a subject for my sword.

But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium and where she resides
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourself the merchant; and this sailing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Alarum. Enter ENEAS.

Ene. How now, prince Troilus! wherefore not afield? Tro. Because not there; this woman's answer sorts, For womanish it is to be from thence.

What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?

Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Æneas?

Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus.

Tro. Let Paris bleed; 'tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarum. Ene. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day! Tro. Better at home, if "would I might" were "may."But to the sport abroad;-are you bound thither? Ene. In all swift haste.

Tro. Come, go we then together.

SCENE II-The same. A Street.

Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER

Cres. Who were those went by?
Alex. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cres. And whither go they?
Alex. Up to the eastern tower,

[Exeunt.

Whose height commands as subject all the vale
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is as a virtue fix'd, to-day was moved:

He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;
And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light,
And to the field goes he; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.

Cres. What was his cause of anger?

Alex. The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;

They call him Ajax.

Cres. Good; and what of him?

Alex. They say he is a very man per se, And stands alone.

Cres. So do all men; unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours, that his valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: he hath the joints of everything; but everything so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?

Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the battle, and struck him down; the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

Cres. This morning, uncle,
Pan. What were you talking of when I came? Was
Hector armed and gone ere ye came to Ilium? Helen
was not up, was she?

Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early.
Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?

Cres. So he says here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that: and there is Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cres. What, is he angry too?

Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.

Cres. O Jupiter! there's no comparison.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?

Cres. Ay; if ever I saw him before, and knew him. Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.

Cres. Then you say as I say; for I am sure he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees. Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself. Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were,

Cres. So he is.

Cres. 'Twould not become him; his own's better. Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen herself swore the other day that Troilus, for a brown favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,)-not brown neither. Cres. No, but brown.

Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cres. To say the truth, true and not true.
Pan. She praised his complexion above Paris.
Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough.
Pan. So he has.

Cres. Then Troilus should have too much: if she praised him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.

Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris.

Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed.

Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him the other day into the compassed window,-and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin.

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to a total.

Pan. Why, he is very young and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector. Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter? Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him ;— she came and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin,

Cres. Juno have mercy!-How came it cloven? Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.

Cres. O, he smiles valiantly.

Pan. Does he not?

"One

Pan. That's true; make no question of that. and-fifty hairs," quoth he, "and one white: that white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons." "Jupiter!" quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris, my husband?" "The forked one," quoth he; "pluck | it out and give it him." But there was such laughing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed.

Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by.

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on't.

Pan. Is'a not? It does a man's heart good.-Look you what hacks are on his helmet! look you yonder, do you see? look you there! There's no jesting: there's laying on; take 't off who will, as they say: there be hacks!

Cres. Be those with swords?

Pan. Swords? anything, he cares not: an the devil come to him, it's all one. By God's lid, it does one's heart good.-Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: look ye yonder, niece.

that's Helenus;-I think he went not forth to-day

that's Helenus.

Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle?

Pan. Helenus? no;-yes, he'll fight indifferent well: -I marvel where Troilus is!-Hark!-do you not hear the people cry, Troilus?-Helenus is a priest. Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder? TROILES passes over.

Pan. Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus:-'tis Troilus! there's a man, niece!-Hem!-Brave Troilus! the prince of chivalry!

Cres. Peace, for shame, peace!

Pan. Mark him; note him;-0 brave Troilus!look well upon him, niece; look you, how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than Ilector's: and how he looks, and how he goes!-0 admirable youth he ne'er saw three-and-twenty.-Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were a grace, or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice O admirable man! Paris?-Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye to boot.

Forces pass over the stage.

Cres. Here come more.

Pan. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran porridge after meat!-I could live and die i' the eyes of Troilus.-Ne'er look, ne'er look; the eagles are gone; crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon and all Greece.

Cres. There is among the Greeks Achilles; a better man than Troilus.

Pan. Achilles! a drayman, a porter, a very camel Cres. Well, well.

Is

Pan. Well, well!-Why, have you any discretion? have you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man?

Cres. Ay, a minced man; and then to be baked with no date in the pie,--for then the man's date is out. Pan. You are such a woman! one knows not at what ward you lie.

Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and you, to defend all these: and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand watches.

Pan. Say one of your watches.

Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one

of the chiefest of them too: if I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how 1 took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it is past watching.

Pan. You are such another!

Enter TROILUS' Boy.

Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. Pan. Where?

Boy. At your own house; there he unarms him.
Pan. Good boy, tell him I come-
[Exit Boy.

I doubt he be hurt.-Fare ye well, good niece.
Cres. Adieu, uncle.

Pan. I'll be with you, niece, by and by.

Cres. To bring, uncle.

Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus.

Cres. By the same token-you are a bawd. —

[Exit PANDAREA

Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice,
He offers in another's enterprise:

But more in Troilus thousand fold I see

Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be;
Yet hold I off, Women are angels, wooing:
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing:
That she beloved knows naught that knows not this. ———
Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is:
That she was never yet, that ever knew
Love got so sweet as when desire did sue:
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach,-
Achieved, men us command; ungain'd, beseech:
Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear,
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.

[Exit.

SCENE II1.-The Grecian Camp. Before AGAMEMNON'S Tent.

Trumpets. Enter AGAMEMNON, NESTOR, ULYSSES, MENELAUS, and others.

Agam. Princes,

What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?
The ample proposition, that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below,