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Pan. Well

, I have told you enough of this : Formy pare, I'll not meddle nor make any farther. He that will have a Cake out of the Wheat, must needs : tarey the Grinding.

Troi. Have I not tarried?
Pan. Ay, the Grinding; but you must carry the Boulting.
Troi. Have I not tarried?

Hiide
Pan. Ay, the Boulcing; but you must tarry the Leav'ning.
Troi. Still have I tarried.

Pan. Ay, to the Leav'ning : but here's yet in the word hereafter, the Kneading, the making of the Cake, the Heating of the Over, and the Baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your Lips.

Troi. Patience her felt, what Goddefs e'er she be,
Doth leffer blanch at Sufferance, than I do :
At Priam's Royal Table I do fit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my Thoughts,
So, Traitor! When the comes, when she is thence

Pan. Well,
She look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look,
Or any Woman elle.

Troi. I was about to tell thec, when my Heart,
As wedged with a figh, would give in twain,
Lelt Hedtor, or my Father should perceive me,
I have (as when the Sun doth light a Storm)
Buried this figh, in wrinkle of a smile :
But Sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming Gladness,
Is like that Mirth Fate turns to sudden Sadnefs.

Pan. And her Hair were not somewhat darker than He. len's well-go to, there were no more Comparison between the Women. But for my part she is my Kinfwoman, I would not (as they term it) praise it but I would fóma Body had heard her talk yesterday, as I did : I will not dispraise your Sister Cassandra's Wit, but

Trol. O Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus
When I do tell thee, there my Hopes lye drown'd, .
Reply not in how many Fathoms deep
They lye ir trench’d. I tell thee, I am mad
In Crellid's Love. Thou answerst, he is Fair,
Pour'it in the open Ulcer of my Heart,
Her Eyes, her Hair, her Cheek, her Gate, her Voice,

Handleft

Handleft in thy Discourse that! her Hand I.
(In whose Comparison, all Whites are Ink
Writing their own Reproach) to whose soft seizure
The Cignets Down is harsh, and Spirit of Sense
Hard as the Palm of Ploughman. This thou tellst me 3
As true thou cell'lt me; when I say I love her :
But saying thus, instead of Oil and Balm,

Thou lay' It iä every gashi that Love hath given me, • The Knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than Truth.
Troi. Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in'. Let hier bé as me is, if she be fair; 'is the better for her; and the be not, the has the mends in her own hands.

Troi. Good Pandaras; how now, Pandarus?

Pan. I have had my labour, for my travel, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you : Gone between and bea tween, but small thanks for my labour. , .

Troi. What art thou angry, Pandars? what, with me?

Pan, Because the is Kinco me, therefore she's not fo fait as Helen; and 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 and she were a Black-a-More, 'tis all one to me.

Troi. Say I, she is not fair?

Par. I do not care whether you do or nó. She's a fool to stay behind her Father : Lét her to the Greeks, and lo I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i'ch' matier.

Troi. Pandarus
Pan. Not ).
Troi. Swiet Pandaris

Pan. Pray you speak no more to me, I will leave all as t found it, and there's an end.

(Exit Pandarus.

Sound Alarim. Troi. Peace, you ungracious Clamours, peace rude Sounds. Fools on both sides, Helen must needs be fair, When with your Blood you daily paint her thusa I cannot fight upon this Argument, It is too starv'da Subject for my Sword : But Pandarts- Gods! how do you plague me ! I cannot come to Crefid, but by Pandarus,

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And he's as teachy to be wood to woca son T,
As she is stubborn, chast, against all sure

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Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's Love, por lo 1:39
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we stiisi
Her Bed is India, there me lyes, a Pearl jeitorii
Between our Ilium, and where the resides: vstved I
Let it be call'd the mild and wandring Flood obce
Our self the Merchant, and this failing Pandar
Our doubtful Hope, our Convoy, and our Barke i7
Alarum.

Enter Æneasa iba pa.
Ant. How now, Prince Troilus ? 2: Write 2
Wherefore not i'th' Field?

Hibot).
Troi. Because not there; this Woman's answer forts,
For womanish it is to be from thence :
What News, Æneas, from the Field to day?

Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt,
Troi. By whom, Æneas ?
Ane. Troilás, by Menelaus,

Troi. Let Paris bleed, ’ris but a scar to Scorn.
Paris is gor’d with Menelaus Horn.

[Alarvu.
Ane. Hark, what good Sport is out of Town to day?
Troi. Better at home, if Would I might, were May
But to the Sport abroad are you bound thither?
Æmi. In all swift halte.
Troi, Come, go we then together.

[Excunt.
Enter Crellida and Servant.
Cre, Who were those went by?
Ser. Queen Hesuba and Helen.
Cre. And whither go they?

Ser. Up to the Eastern Tower,
Whose height commands as fubje& all the Vals,
To see the Battel; Hector, whose Patience
Is as a Virtue fixd, to day was moy'd :
He chid Andromache, and struck his Armorer, at
And like as there were Husbandry in War

i
Before the Sun rose, he was barnet light,
And to the Field goes he; where ev'ry Flower
Did as a Prophet weep what it foresaw,
In Hector's Wrath.

Cre. What was his cause of Angers

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Ser. The noise goes this;
There is among the Greeks,
A Lord of Trojani Blood, Nephew to Hełtor,
They call him Ajax.

Cre, Good; and what of him?
Ser. They say he is a very Man per fe, and stands alone.

Cre. So do al Men, unless they are drunk, fick, or have no Legs.

Ser. This Man, Lady, hath robb'd many Beasts of their particular Additions, he is as valiant as the Lyon, churlish as the Bear, Now as the Elephant ; a Man into whom Nature hath so crowded Humors, ibat his Valour is crutht 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' fome Stain of it. He is melancholy without Cause, and merry against the Hair; he hath the Joints of every thing, but every thing so out of Joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many Hands and no ule; or puis blinded Argus, all Eyes and no Sight.

Cre. Bue how should this Min (that makes me smile) make He&tor angry?

Ser. They say, he YeAterday cop'd Hector in the Battel and struck him down, the Difdain and Shame whereof hach ever since kept He&tor fasting and waking.

Enter Pandarus.
Cre. Who comes here?
Ser. Madam, your Unkle Paridarus.
Cre. Hector's a gallant Man.
Ser. As may be in the World, Lady.
Pan, What's that? what's that?
Cre, Good morrow, Uncle Pandarms.

Pan. Good morrow, Cofin Gresid: what do you talk of? good morrow, Alexander ; how do you, Cousin when were you at Ilium?

Cre. This Morning, Unkle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came? Was Heitor arm'd and gone, e're ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up was the ?

Cre. He&tor was gone, but Helen was not up.
Par. E’n so; Hector was stirring early.
Cro. That were we talking of, and of his Anger.

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Pan. Was he angry?
Cre. So he says here.

Pan. True, he was fo; I know the Caufe too, he'll lam
about him to Day I can tell them that ;' and there's Troilers
will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Trova
lus; I can tell them that too.
Cre. What is he angry too?

!
Pan. Who, Troilus?
Troliøs is the better Man of the ewo.

Cre. Oh Jupiter; there's no comparison.

Pan. What not between Troilas and Hector? do you
know a Man if you see him?

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

Cre. Then you fay; as I say,
For I am sure he is not Hector,

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees.
Cre. 'Tis just to each of them, he is himself.
Pan. Himself? alas poor Troitus! I would he were.
Cre. So he is
Pan, Condition I had gone bare-foot to India.
Cre. He is not Heitor.

Pan. Himself no? he's not himself, would a were hima
self; well, the Gods are above; time must friend or end;
well, Troilus, well, I would my Heart were in her Bo-
dy no, Hector is not a better Man than Troilas.

Cre. Excuse me.
Pan. He is Elder.
Cre. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. Th’other's not come to’t, you shall tell me another
Tale when th'others come to't : Hector shall not have his
Wit this Year.

Cré. He shall not need it, if he have his own.
Pan. Nor his Qualities.
Cre. No matter.
Pan. Nor his Beauty.
Cre. 'Twould not become him, bis own's better.

Pan. You have no Judgment, Neice; Heler her self swore
th'other Day, that Troilus for a brown Favor, (for fo'ris
Í must confess) not brown neither -

Cre. No, but browns

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