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Cre, O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers As infinite, as imminent : but, I'll be true. Troi. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this
Troi. I will corrupt the Grecian Centinels
Cre. O heav'ns! be true, again?
Cre. O heav'ns, 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 Deyil, That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted.
Cre. Do you think, I will ?
Æneas within.] Nay, good my lord,
Crk. My lord, will You be true ?
Troi. Who I? alas, it is my Vice, my fault:
wit Is plain and true, there's all the reach of it.
Enter Æneas, Paris, and Diomedes.
Diom. Lady Crelid,
Troi, Grecian, thou doft not use me courteously,
(35) To foame the Seal of my Petition tow'rds thee By praising ber. There is great Room for hesitating at this Expression. To same the Seal of a Petition, carries no sensible Idea that I can find out.' The Change of a single Letter makes Troilus's Complaint apt and reasonable ; and the Sense is this : " Grecian, you use me discourteously;
you see, I am a passionate Lover, by my Petition to you; and there“ fore
should not hame the Zeal of it, by promising to do, what I “ require of you, for the Sake of her Beauty: when, if you had good “ Manners, or a Sense of a Lover's Delicacy, you would have promised “ to do it in Compassion to his Pangs and Sufferings." Mr. Warburton,
Diom. Oh, be not mov'd, Prince Troilus.
Troi. Come, to the Port--I'll tell thee, Diomede,
[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
Æne. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity
SCENE changes to the Grecian Camp.
Enter Ajax armed, Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus,
Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, &c.
. (36) Here art thou in Appointment free and fair, Anticipating Time. With starting Courage, Give with thy Trumpet, &c.] I have alter'd the Pointing of this Passage for this Reason: The Poet seems to mean, that Ajax shew'd his starting Courage in coming into the Field before the Challenger.
May pierce the head of the great Combatant,
Ajax. Trumpet, there's my purse ;
Ulys. No trumpet answers.
. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gate ;
Enter Diomede, witb Cressida. Aga. Is this the lady Cressida ? Dio. Evin The. Aga. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady: (37) Nest
. Our General doth salute you with a kiss. Ulys. Yet is the kindness but particular ; ?Twere better, she were kiss'd in general.
Neft. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin. So much for Nestor.
Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady: Acbilles bids
(37) Mot dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet Lady.) From this Line Mr. Pope has thought fit to degrade, or throw out of the Text, the Quantity of a whole Page. But is it not very absurd, that Diomede should bring Creid on, where so many Princes are present, and preparing to give her a Welcome, and then lead "her off abruptly, so soon as ever Agamemnon has said a single Line to her? An ideš tantùm venerat, ut exiret ? as Martial lays of Cato’s coming into the Theatre. But is it not ftill more absurd for Cressid to be led off without uttering one single Syllable, and fór Neftor and Ulxges to observe that she is a Woman of quick Sense, and glib of Tongue, as if she had faid several witty Things ? Mexhinks, Neftor's Character of her Wit
, from her saying Nothing, is as extraordinary as the two Kings of Brentford hearing the Whisper, tho they are not present, in the REHEARSAL.
For thus pop'd Paris in his hardiment,
Uly). O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns,
Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss this mine-
Men. O, this is trim.
Cre. I'll make my match to live,
Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one.
Cre. No, Paris is not ; for you know, 'tis true,
Men. You fillip me o'ch' head.
Ulys. It were no match, your nail against his horn:
Cre. You may
Ulys. Why then, for Venus' fake, give me a kiss,
Cre. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.
you. Neft. A woman of quick sense! Dio. Lady, a word I'll bring you to your Father
[Diomede leads out Crellida. Ulyf. Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip: Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out Ac every joint, and motive of her body: Oh, these Encounċerers ! So glib of tongue, They give a Coafting welcome ere it comes; And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts