TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, OR, TRUTH Found too Late. A TRAGEDY As it is Acted at the Duke's Theatre.  
To which is Prefixed, A Preface Containing the Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy.  
Written By JOHN DRYDEN Servant to his Majesty.  
Rectius, Iliacum carmen deducis in actus,  
Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus,  Hor. 
London, Printed for Abel Swall at the Unicorn at the West-end of S. Paul's. and Jacob Tonson at the Judge's Head in Chancery lane near Fleet street, 1679.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROBERT EARL OF Sunderland, Principal Secretary of State, One of His Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council, etc.  
My Lord,  
SInce I cannot promise you much of Poetry in my Play, 'tis but reasonable that I should secure you from any part of it in my Dedication. And indeed I cannot better distinguish the exactness of your taste from that of other men, than by the plainness and sincerity of my Address. I must keep my Hyperboles in reserve for men of other understandings: An hungry Appetite after praise: and a strong digestion of it, will bear the grossness of that diet: But one of so critical a judgement as your Lordship, who can set the bounds of just and proper in every subject, would give me small encouragement for so bold an undertaking. I more than suspect, my Lord, that you would not do common Justice to yourself: and therefore, were I to give that Character of you, which I think you truly merit, I would make my appeal from your Lordship to the Reader, and would justify myself from flattery by the public voice, whatever protestation you might enter to the contrary. But I find I am to take other measures with your Lordship; I am to stand upon my guard with you, and to approach you as warily as Horace did Augustus.  Cui male si palpere, recalcitrat undique tutus. 
An ill timed, or an extravagant commendation, would not pass upon you: but you would keep off such a Dedicator at arms end; and send him back with his Encomiums, to this Lord, or that Lady, who stood in need of such trifling merchandise. You see, my Lord, what an awe you have upon me, when I dare not offer you that incense, which would be acceptable to other Patrons: but am forced to curb myself, from ascribing to you those honours, which even an Enemy could not deny you. Yet I must confess I never practised that virtue of moderation (which is properly your Character) with so much reluctancy as now. For it hinders me from being true to my own knowledge, in not witnessing your worth; and deprives me of the only means which I had left to show the world that true honour and uninteressed respect which I have always paid you. I would say somewhat, if it were possible, which might distinguish that veneration have for you, from the flatteries of those who adore your fortune. But the eminence of your condition, in this particular, is my unhappiness: for it renders whatever I would say suspected. Professions of Service, submissions, and attendance, are the practice of all men to the great: and commonly they who have the least sincerity, perform them best; as they who are least engaged in love, have their tongues the freest to counterfeit a passion: for my own part, I never could shake off the rustic bashfulness which hangs upon my nature; but valluing myself, at as little as I am worth, have been afraid to render even the common duties of respect to those who are in power. The Ceremonious visits which are generally paid on such occasions, are not my talent. They may be real even in Courtiers; but they appear with such a face of interest, that a modest man would think himself in danger of having his sincerity mistaken for his design. My congratulations keep their distance, and pass no farther than my heart. There it is, that I have all the joy imaginable when I see true worth rewarded; and virtue uppermost in the world.  
If therefore there were one to whom I had the honour to be known; and to know him so perfectly, that I could say without flattery, he had all the depth of understanding that was requisite in any able Statesman, and all that honesty which commonly is wanting; that he was brave without vanity, and knowing without positiveness: that he was loyal to his Prince, and a lover of his Country; that his principles were full of moderation, and all his Councils such as tended to heal and not to widen the breaches of the Nation: that in all his conversation there appeared a native candour, and a desire of doing good in all his actions; if such an one whom I have described; were at the helm, if he had risen by his merits, and were chosen out in the necessity and pressure of affairs, to remedy our confusions by the seasonableness of his advice, and to put a stop to our ruin, when we were just rolling downward to the precipice, I should then congratulate the Age in which I lived, for the common safety; I should not despair of the Republic though Hannibal were at the gates; I should send up my vows for the success of such an action as Virgil did on the like occasion for his Patron, when he was raising up his country from the desolations of a civil war.  
Hunc saltem everso juvenem succurrere seclo,  
Ne superi prohibete.  
I know not whether I am running, in this ecstasy which is now upon me: I am almost ready to reassume the ancient rights of Poetry; to point out, and Prophecy the man, who was born for no less an undertaking: and whom posterity shall bless for its accomplishment. Methinks I am already taking fire from such a Character, and making room for him, under a borrowed name amongst the Heroes of an Epique Poem. Neither could mine, or some more happy Genius, want encouragement under such a Patron.  Pollio amat nostram, quamvis sit rustica Musam. 
But these are considerations afar off my Lord: the former part of the Prophecy must be first accomplished: the quiet of the Nation must be secured; and a mutual trust, betwixt Prince and people be renewed: and then this great and good man will have leisure for the ornaments of peace: and make our language as much indebted to his care, as the French is to the memory of their famous Richelieu. You know My Lord, how low he laid the foundations of so great a work: That he began it with a Grammar and a Dictionary; without which all those remarks and Observations, which have since been made, had been performed to as little purpose as it would be to consider the furniture of the Rooms before the contrivance of the House. Propriety must first be stated, ere any measures of elegance can be taken. Neither is one Vaugelas sufficient for such a work. 'Twas the employment of the whole Academy for many years, for the perfect knowledge of a Tongue, was never attained by any single person. The Court, the College, and the Town, must be joined in it. And as our English is a composition of the dead and living Tongues, there is required a perfect knowledge, not only of the Greek and Latin, but of the Old German, the French and the Italian: and to help all these, a conversation with those Authors of our own, who have written with the fewest faults in prose and verse. But how barbarously we yet write and speak, your Lordship knows, and I am sufficiently sensible in my own English. For I am often put to a stand, in considering whether what I write be the Idiom of the Tongue, or false Grammar, and nonsense couched beneath that specious Name of Anglieisme. And have no other way to clear my doubts, but by translating my English into Latin, and thereby trying what sense the words will bear in a more stable language. I am desirous if it were possible, that we might all write with the same certainty of words and purity of phrase, to which the Italians first arrived, and after them the French: At least that we might advance so far, as our Tongue is capable of such a standard. It would mortify an English man to consider, that from the time of Boccace and of Petrarche, the Italian has varied very little: And that the English of Chaucer their contemporary is not to be understood without the help of an Old Dictionary. But their Goth and Vandal had the fortune to be graffed on a Roman stock: Ours has the disadvantage, to be founded on the Dutch. We are full of Monosyllables, and those clogged with consonants, and our pronunciation is effeminate. All which are enemies to a sonnding language: 'Tis true that to supply our poverty, we have trafficqued with our Neighbour Nations; by which means we abound as much in words, as Amsterdam does in Religions; but to order them, and make them useful after their admission is the difficulty. A greater progress has been made in this, since his Majesty's return, than perhaps since the conquest to his time. But the better part of the work remains unfinished: And that which has been done already, since it has only been in the practice of some few writers, must be digested into Rules and Method; before it can be profitable to the General. Will your Lordship give me leave to speak out at last? and to acquaint the world, that from your encouragement and patronage, we may one day expect to speak and write a language, worthy of the English wit, and which foreigners may not disdain to learn. Your birth, your Education, your natural endowments, the former Employments which you have had abroad, and that which to the joy of good men you now exercise at home, seem all to conspire to this design: the Genius of the Nation seems to call you out as it were by name, to polish and adorn your native language, and to take from it the reproach of its barbarity. 'Tis upon this encouragement that I have adventured on the following Critic, which I humbly present you together with the Play: In which, though I have not had the leisure, nor indeed the encouragement to proceed to the Principal Subject of it, which is the words and thoughts that are suitable to Tragedy; yet the whole discourse has a tendency that way, and is preliminary to it. In what I have already done, I doubt not but I have contradicted some of my former opinions, in my loose Essays of the like nature: but of this, I dare affirm, that it is the fruit of my riper age and experience, and that self-love, or envy have no part in it. The application to English Authors is my own, and therein perhaps I may have erred unknowingly: But the foundation of the rules is reason, and the authority of those living Critics who have had the honour to be known to you abroad, as well as of the Ancients, who are not less of your acquaintance. Whatsoever it be, I submit it to your Lordship's Judgement, from which I never will appeal, unless it be to your good nature, and your candour. If you can allow an hour of leisure to the perusal of it, I shall be fortunate that I could so long entertain you; if not, I shall at least have the satisfaction to know, that your time was more usefully employed upon the public. I am,  
My Lord, Your Lordship's most Obedient Humble Servant, John Dryden.   

The PREFACE to the Play.  
THe Poet Aeschylus was held in the same veneration by the Athenians of after Ages as Shakespeare is by us; and Longinus has judged, in favour of him, that he had a noble boldness of expression, and that his imaginations were lofty and Heroic: but on the other side Quintilian affirms, that he was daring to extravagance. 'Tis certain, that he affected pompous words, and that his sense too often was obscured by Figures: Notwithstanding these imperfections, the value of his Writings after his decease was such, that his Countrymen ordained an equal reward to those Poets who could alter his Plays to be Acted on the Theatre, with those whose productions were wholly new, and of their own. The case is not the same in England; though the difficulties of altering are greater, and our reverence for Shakespeare much more just, then that of the Grecians for Aeschylus. In the Age of that Poet, the Greek tongue was arrived to its full perfection; they had then amongst them an exact Standard of Writing, and of Speaking: The English Language is not capable of such a certainty; and we are at present so far from it, that we are wanting in the very Foundation of it, a perfect Grammar. Yet it must be allowed to the present Age, that the tongue in general is so much refined since Shakespear's time, that many of his words, and more of his Phrases, are scarce intelligible. And of those which we understand some are ungrammatical, others course; and his whole stile is so pestered with Figurative expressions, that it is as affected as it is obscure. 'Tis true, that in his later Plays he had worn off somewhat of the rust; but the Tragedy which I have undertaken to correct, was, in all prrbability, one of his first endeavours on the Stage.  
The Original story was Written by one Lollius a Lombard, in Latin verse, and Translated by Chaucer into English: intended I suppose a satire on the Inconstancy of Women: I find nothing of it among the Ancients; not so much as the name once Cressida mentioned. Shakespeare, (as I hinted) in the Aprenticeship of his Writing, modelled it into that Play, which is now called by the name of Troilus and Cressida; but so lamely is it left to us, that it is not divided into Acts: which fault I ascribe to the Actors, who printed it after Shakespear's death; and that too, so carelessly, that a more uncorrect Copy I never saw. For the Play itself, the Author seems to have begun it with some fire; the Characters of Pandarus and Thersites, are promising enough; but as if he grew weary of his task, after an Entrance or two, he lets 'em fall: and the later part of the Tragedy is nothing but a confusion of Drums and Trumpets, Excursions and Alarms. The chief persons, who give name to the Tragedy, are left alive: Cressida is false, and is not punished. Yet after all, because the Play was Shakespeare's, and that there appeared in some places of it, the admirable Genius of the Author; I undertook to remove that heap of Rubbish, under which many excellent thoughts lay wholly buried. Accordingly, I new modelled the Plot; threw out many unnecessary persons; improved those Characters which were begun, and left unfinished: as Hector, Troilus, Pandarus and Thersites; and added that of Andromache. After this, I made with no small trouble, an Order and Connexion of all the Scenes; removing them from the places where they were inartificially set: and though it was impossible to keep 'em all unbroken, because the Scene must be sometimes in the City, and sometimes in the Camp, yet I have so ordered them that there is a coherence of 'em with one another, and a dependence on the main design: no leaping from Troy to the Grecian Tents, and thence back again in the same Act; but a due proportion of time allowed for every motion. I need not say that I have refined his Language, which before was obsolete; but I am willing to acknowledge, that as I have often drawn his English nearer to our times So I have sometimes conformed my own to his: & consequently, the Language is not altogether so pure, as it is significant. The Scenes of Pandarus and Cressida, of Troilus and Pandarus, of Andromache with Hector and the Trojans, in the second Act, are wholly New: together with that of Nestor and Ulysses with Thersites; and that of Thersites, with Ajax and Achilles. I will not weary my Reader with the Scenes which are added of Pandarus and the Lovers, in the Third; and those of Thersites, which are wholly altered: but I cannot omit the last Scene in it, which is almost half the Act, betwixt Troilus and Hector. The occasion of raising it was hinted to me by Mr. Betterton: the contrivance and working of it was my own. They who think to do me an injury, by saying that it is an imitation of the Scene betwixt Brutus and Cassius, do me an honour, by supposing I could imitate the incomparable Shakespeare: but let me add, that if Shakespears Scene, or that faulty Copy of it in Amintor and Melantius had never been, yet Euripides had furnished me with an excellent example in his Iphigenia, between Agamemnon and Menelaus: and from thence indeed, the last turn of it is borrowed. The occasion which Shakespeare, Euripides, and Fletcher, have all taken, is the same; grounded upon Friendship: and the quarrel of two virtuous men, raised by natural degrees, to the extremity of passion, is conducted in all three, to the declination of the same passion; and concludes with a warm renewing of their Friendship. But the particular groundwork which Shakespeare has taken, is incomparably the best: Because he has not only chosen two the greatest Heroes of their Age; but has likewise interested the Liberty of Rome, and their own honours, who were the redeemers of it, in this debate. And if he has made Brutus who was naturally a patient man, to fly into excess at first; let it be remembered in his defence, that just before, he has received the news of Portia's death: whom the Poet on purpose neglecting a little Chronology, supposes to have died before Brutus, only to give him an occasion of being more easily exasperated. Add to this, that the injury he had received from Cassius, had long been brooding in his mind; and that a melancholy man, upon consideration of an affront, especially from a Friend, would be more eager in his passion, than he who had given it, though naturally more choleric, Euripides whom I have followed, has raised the quarrel betwixt two Brothers who were friends. The foundation of the Scene was this: The Grecians were wind-bound at the Port of Aulis, and the Oracle had said, that they could not Sail, unless Agamemnon delivered up his Daughter to be Sacrificed: he refuses; his Brother Menelaus urges the public safety, the Father defends himself, by arguments of natural affection, and hereupon they quarrel. Agamemnon is at last convinced, and promises to deliver up Iphigenia, but so passionately laments his loss, that Menelaus is grieved to have been the occasion of it, and by a return of kindness, offers to intercede for him with the Grecians, that his Daughter might not be sacrificed. But my friend Mr. Rymer has so largely, and with so much judgement described this Scene, in comparing it with that of Melantius and Amintor, that it is superfluous to say more of it: I only named the heads of it, that any reasonable man might judge it was from thence I modelled my Scene betwixt Troilus and Hector. I will conclude my reflections on it, with a passage of Longinus, concerning Plato's imitation of Homer: We ought not to regard a good imitation as a theft; but as a beautiful Idea of him who undertakes to imitate, by forming himself on the invention and the work of another man; for he enters into the lists like a new wrestler, to dispute the prize with the former Champion. This sort of emulation says Hesiod, is honourable ἀγαθὴ δ' ἔρις ἐστὶ βρότοισι— When we combat for Victory with a Hero, and are not without glory even in our overthrow. Those great men whom we propose to ourselves as patterns of our imitation, serve us as a Torch, which is lifted up before us, to enlighten our passage; and often elevate our thoughts as high, as the conception we have of our Author's Genius.  
I have been so tedious in three Acts, that I shall contract myself in the two last. The beginning Scenes of the fourth Act are either added, or changed wholly by me; the middle of it is Shakespeare altered, and mingled with my own, three or four of the last Scenes are altogether new. And the whole Fifth Act, both the Plot and the Writing are my own Additions.  
But having written so much for imitation of what is excellent, in that part of the Preface which related only to myself; methinks it would neither be unprofitable nor unpleasant to inquire how far we ought to imitate our own Poets, Shakespeare and Fletcher in their Tragedies: And this will occasion another enquiry, how those two Writers differ between themselves: but since neither of these questions can be solved unless some measures be first taken, by which we may be enabled to judge truly of their Writings: I shall endeavour as briefly as I can, to discover the grounds and reason of all Criticism, applying them in this place only to Tragedy. Aristotle with his Interpreters, and Horace, and Longinus, are the Authors to whom I owe my lights; and what part soever of my own Plays, or of this, which no mending could make regular, shall fall under the condemnation of such judges, it would be impudence in me to defend. I think it no shame to retract my errors, and am well pleased to suffer in the cause, if the Art may be improved at my expense: I therefore proceed to,  

The Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy.  
TRagedy is thus defined by Aristotle, (omitting what I thought unnecessary in his Definition.) 'Tis an imitation of one entire, great, and probable action; not told but represented, which by moving in us fear and pity, is conducive to the purging of these two passions in our minds. More largely thus, Tragedy describes or paints an Action, which Action must have all the proprieties above named. First, it must be one or single, that is, it must not be a History of one Man's life: Suppose of Alexander the Great, or Julius Caesar, but one single action of theirs. This condemns all Shakespears Historical Plays, which are rather Chronicles represented, than Tragedies, and all double action of Plays. As to avoid a satire upon others, I will make bold with my own Marriage-A-la-Mode, where there are manifestly two Actions, not depending on one another: but in Oedipus there cannot properly be said to be two Actions, because the love of Adrastus and Eurydice has a necessary dependence on the principal design, into which it is woven. The natural reason of this Rule is plain, for two different independent actions, distract the attention and concernment of the Audience, and consequently destroy the intention of the Poet: If his business be to move terror and pity, and one of his Actions be Comical, the other Tragical, the former will divert the people, and utterly make void his greater purpose. Therefore as in Perspective, so in Tragedy, there must be a point of sight in which all the lines terminate: Otherwise the eye wanders, and the work is false. This was the practice of the Grecian Stage. But Terence made an innovation in the Roman: all his Plays have double Actions; for it was his custom to Translate two Greek Comedies, and to weave them into one of his, yet so, that both the Actions were Comical; and one was principal, the other but secondary or subservient. And this has obtained on the English Stage, to give us the pleasure of variety.  
As the Action ought to be one, it ought as such, to have Order in it, that is, to have a natural beginning, a middle, and an end: A natural beginning says Aristotle, is that which could not necessarily have been placed after another thing, and so of the rest. This consideration will arraign all Plays after the new model of Spanish Plots, where accident is heaped upon accident, and that which is first might as reasonably be last: an inconvenience not to be remedied, but by making one accident naturally produce another, otherwise 'tis a Farce, and not a Play. Of this nature, is the Slighted Maid; where there is no Scene in the first Act, which might not by as good reason be in the fifth. And if the Action ought to be one, the Tragedy ought likewise to conclude with the Action of it. Thus in Mustapha, the Play should naturally have ended with the death of Zanger, and not have given us the grace Cup after Dinner, of Solyman's divorce from Roxolana.  
The following properties of the Action are so easy, that they need not my explaining. It ought to be great, and to consist of great Persons, to distinguish it from Comedy; where the Action is trivial, and the persons of inferior rank. The last quality of the action is, that it ought to be probable, as well as admirable and great. 'Tis not necessary that there should be Historical truth in it; but always necessary that there should be a likeness of truth, something that is more than barely possible, probable being that which succeeds or happens oftener than it misses. To invent therefore a probability, and to make it wonderful, is the most difficult undertaking in the Art of Poetry: for that which is not wonderful, is not great, and that which is not probable, will not delight a reasonable Audience. This action thus described, must be represented and not told, to distinguish Dramatic Poetry from Epic: but I hasten to the end, or scope of Tragedy; which is to rectify or purge our passions, fear and pity.  
To instruct delightfully is the general end of all Poetry: Philosophy instructs, but it performs its work by precept: which is not delightful, or not so delightful as Example. To purge the passions by Example, is therefore the particular instruction which belongs to Tragedy. Rapine a judicious Critic, has observed from Aristotle, that pride and want of commiseration are the most predominant vices in Mankind: therefore to cure us of these two, the inventors of Tragedy, have chosen to work upon two other passions, which are fear and pity. We are wrought to fear, by their setting before our eyes some terrible example of misfortune, which happened to persons of the highest Quality; for such an action demonstrates to us, that no condition is privileged from the turns of Fortune: this must of necessity cause terror in us, and consequently abate our pride. But when we see that the most virtuous, as well as the greatest, are not exempt from such misfortunes, that consideration moves pity in us: and insensibly works us to be helpful to, and tender over the distressed, which is the noblest and most Godlike of moral virtues. Here 'tis observable, that it is absolutely necessary to make a man virtuous, if we desire he should be pitied: We lament not, but detest a wicked man, we are glad when we behold his crimes are punished, and that Poetical justice is done upon him. Euripides was censured by the Critics of his time, for making his chief characters too wicked: for example, Phaedra though she loved her Son-in-law with reluctancy, and that it was acurse upon her Family for offending Venus; yet was thought too ill a pattern for the Stage. Shall we therefore banish all characters of villainy? I confess I am not of that opinion; but it is necessary that the Hero of the Play be not a Villain: that is, the characters which should move our pity ought to have virtuous inclinations, and degrees of moral goodness in them. As for a perfect character of virtue, it never was in Nature; and therefore there can be no imitation of it: but there are allays of frailty to be allowed for the chief Persons, yet so that the good which is in them, shall outweigh the bad; and consequently leave room for punishment on the one side, and pity on the other.  
After all, if any one will ask me, whether a Tragedy cannot be made upon any other grounds, than those of exciting pity and terror in us? Bossu, the best of modern Critics, answers thus in general: That all excellent Arts, and particularly that of Poetry, have been invented and brought to perfection by men of a transcendent Genius; and that therefore they who practice afterwards the same Arts, are obliged to tread in their footsteps, and to search in their Writings the foundation of them: for it is not just that new Rules should destroy the authority of the old. But Rapine writes more particularly thus: That no passions in a story are so proper to move our concernment as Fear and pity; and that it is from our concernment we receive our pleasure, is undoubted; when the Soul becomes agitated with fear for one character, or hope for another; than it is that we are pleased in Tragedy, by the interest which we take in their adventures.  
Here therefore the general answer may be given to the first question, how far we ought to imitate Shakespeare and Fletcher in their Plots; namely that we ought to follow them so far only, as they have Copied the excellencies of those who invented and brought to perfection Dramatic Poetry: those things only excepted which Religion, customs of Countries, Idioms of Languages, etc. have altered in the Superstructures, but not in the foundation of the design.  
How defcctive Shakespeare and Fletcher have been in all their Plots, Mr. Rymer has discovered in his Criticisms: neither can we, who follow them, be excused from the same or greater errors; which are the more unpardonable in us, because we want their beauties to counterveil our faults. The best of their designs, the most approaching to Antiquity, and the most conducing to move pity, is the King and no King; which if the Farce of Bessus were thrown away, is of that inferior sort of Tragedies, which end with a prosperous event. 'Tis probably derived from the story of OEdipus, with the character of Alexander the Great, in his extravagancies, given to Arbaces. The taking of this Play, amongst many others, I cannot wholly ascribe to the excellency of the action; for I find it moving when it is read: 'tis true, the faults of the Plot are so evidently proved, that they can no longer be denied. The beauties of it must therefore lie either in the livel touches of the passions: or we must conclude, as I think we may, that even in imperfect Plots, there are less degrees of Nature, by which some faint emotions of pity and terror are raised in us: as a less Engine will raise a less proportion of weight, though not so much as one of Archimedes making; for nothing can move our nature, but by some natural reason, which works upon passions. And since we acknowledge the effect, there must be something in the cause.  
The difference between Shakespeare and Fletcher in their Plotting seems to be this, that Shakespeare generally moves more terror, and Fletcher more compassion: For the first had a more Masculine, a bolder and more fiery Genius; the Second a more soft and Womanish. In the mechanic beauties of the Plot, which are the Observation of the three Unities, Time, Place, and Action, they are both deficient; but Shakespeare most. Ben. Johnson reformed those errors in his Comedies, yet one of Shakespeare's was Regular before him: which is, The Merry Wives of Windsor. For what remains concerning the design, you are to be referred to our English Critic. That method which he has prescribed to raise it from mistake, or ignorance of the crime, is certainly the best though 'tis not the only: for amongst all the Tragedies of Sophocles, there is but one, OEdipus, which is wholly built after that model.  
After the Plot, which is the foundation of the Play, the next thing to which we ought to apply our judgement is the manners, for now the Poet comes to work above ground: the groundwork indeed is that which is most necessary, as that upon which depends the firmness of the whole Fabric; yet it strikes not the eye so much, as the beauties or imperfections of the manners, the thoughts and the expressions.  
The first Rule which Bossu, prescribes to the Writer of an Heroic poem, and which holds too by the same reason in all Dramatic Poetry, is to make the moral of the work; that is, to lay down to yourself what that precept of morality shall be, which you would insinuate into the people: as namely, Homer's, (which I have Copied in my Conquest of Granada) was, that Union preserves a Commonwealth, and discord destroys it. Sophocles, in his OEdipus, that no man is to be accounted happy before his death. 'Tis the Moral that directs the whole action of the Play to one centre; and that action or Fable, is the example built upon the moral, which confirms the truth of it to our experience: when the Fable is designed, then and not before, the Persons are to be introduced with their manners, characters and passions.  
The manners in a Poem, are understood to be those inclinations, whether natural or acquired, which move and carry us to actions, good, bad, or indifferent in a Play; or which incline the persons to such, or such actions: I have anticipated part of this discourse already, in declaring that a Poet ought not to make the manners perfectly good in his best persons, but neither are they to be more wicked in any of his characters, than necessity requires. To produce a Villain, without other reason than a natural inclination to villainy, is in Poetry to produce an effect without a cause: and to make him more a Villain than he has just reason to be, is to make an effect which is stronger than the cause.  
The manners arise from many causes: and are either distinguished by complexion, as choleric and phlegmatic, or by the differences of Age or Sex, of Climates, or Quality of the persons, or their present condition: they are likewise to be gathered from the several Virtues, Vices, or Passions, and many other common-places which a Poet must be supposed to have learned from natural Philosophy, Ethics, and History; of all which whosoever is ignorant, does not deserve the Name of Poet.  
But as the manners are useful in this Art, they may be all comprised under these general heads: First, they must be apparent, that is in every character of the Play, some inclinations of the Person must appear: and these are shown in the actions and discourse. Secondly the manners must be suitable or agreeing to the Persons; that is, to the Age, Sex, dignity, and the other general heads of Manners: thus when a Poet has given the Dignity of a King to one of his persons, in all his actions and speeches, that person must discover Majesty, Magnanimity, and jealousy of power; because these are suitable to the general manners of a King. The third property of manners is resemblance; and this is founded upon the particular characters of men, as we have them delivered to us by relation or History: that is, when a Poet has the known character of this or that man before him, he is bound to represent him such, at least not contrary to that which Fame has reported him to have been: thus it is not a Poet's choice to make Ulysses choleric, or Achilles' patient, because Homer has described 'em quite otherwise. Yet this is a Rock, on which ignorant Writers daily split: and the absurdity is as monstrous, as if a Painter should draw a Coward running from a Battle, and tell us it was the Picture of Alexander the Great.  
The last property of manners is, that they be constant, and equal, that is, maintained the same through the whole design: thus when Virgil had once given the name of Pious to Aeneas, he was bound to show him such, in all his words and actions through the whole Poem. All these properties Horace has hinted to a judicious observer. 1. Notandi sunt tibi mores, 2. aut famam sequere, 3. aut sibi convenientia finge. 4. Servetur ad imum, qualis ab incaepto processerat, & sibi constet.  
From the manners, the Characters of persons are derived, for indeed the characters are no other than the inclinations, as they appear in the several persons of the Poem. A character being thus defined, that which distinguishes one man from another. Not to repeat the same things over again which have been said of the manners, I will only add what is necessary here. A character, or that which distinguishes one man from all others, cannot be supposed to consist of one particular Virtue, or Vice, or passion only; but 'tis a composition of qualities which are not contrary to one another in the same person: thus the same man may be liberal and valiant, but not liberal and convetous; so in a Comical character, or humour, (which is an inclination to this, or that particular folly) Falstaff is a liar, and a coward, a Glutton, and a Buffoon, because all these qualities may agree in the same man; yet it is still to be observed, that one virtue, vice, and passion, aught to be shown in every man, as predominant over all the rest: as covetousness in Crassus, love of his Country in Brutus; and the same in characters which are feigned.  
The chief character or Hero in a Tragedy, as I have already shown, ought in prudence to be such a man, who has so much more in him of Virtue than of Vice, that he may be left amiable to the Audience, which otherwise cannot have any concernment for his sufferings: and 'tis on this one character that the pity and terror must be principally, if not wholly founded. A Rule which is extremely necessary, and which none of the Critics that I know, have fully enough discovered to us. For terror and compassion work but weakly, when they are divided into many persons. If Creon had been the chief character in OEdipus, there had neither been terror nor compassion moved; but only detestation of the man and joy for his punishment; if Adrastus and Eurydice had been made more appearing characters, than the pity had been divided, and lessened on the part of OEdipus: but making OEdipus the best and bravest person, and even Jocasta but an underpart to him; his virtues and the punishment of his fatal crime, drew both the pity, and the terror to himself.  
By what had been said of the manners, it will be easy for a reasonable man to judge, whether the characters be truly or falsely drawn in a Tragedy; for if there be no manners appearing in the characters, no concernment for the persons can he raised: no pity or horror can be moved, but by vice or virtue, therefore without them, no person can have any business in the Play. If the inclinations be obscure, 'tis a sign the Poet is in the dark, and knows not what manner of man be presents to you; and consequently you can have no Idea, or very imperfect, of that man: nor can judge what resolutions he ought to take; or what words or actions are proper for him: Most Comedies made up of accidents, or adventures, are liable to fall into this error: and Tragedies with many turns are subject to it: for the manners never can be evident, where the surprises of Fortune take up all the business of the Stage; and where the Poet is more in pain, to tell you that happened to such a man, than what he was. 'Tis one of the excellencies of Shakespeare, that the manners of his persons are generally apparent; and you see their bent and inclinations. Fletcher comes far short of him in this, as indeed he does almost in every thing: there are but glimmerings of manners in most of his Comedies, which run upon adventures: and in his Tragedies, Rollo, Otto, the King and No King, Melantius, and many others of his best, are but Pictures shown you in the twilight; you know not whether they resemble vice, or virtue, and they are either good bad, or indifferent, as the present Scene requires it. But of all Poets, this commendation is to be given to Ben. Johnson, that the manners even of the most inconsiderable persons in his Plays are every where apparent.  
By considering the Second quality of manners, which is that they be suitable to the Age, Quality, Country, Dignity, etc. of the character, we may likewise judge whether a Poet has followed Nature. In this kind Sophocles and Euripides, have more excelled among the Greeks than Aeschylus: and Terence, more than Plautus among the Romans: Thus Sophocles gives to OEdipus the true qualities of a King, in both those Plays which bear his Name: but in the latter which is the OEdipus Colonoeus, he lets fall on purpose his Tragic Style, his Hero speaks not in the Arbitrary tone; but remembers in the softness of his complaints, that he is an unfortunate blind Old-man, that he is banished from his Country, and persecuted by his next Relations. The present French Poets are generally accused, that wheresoever they lay the Scene, or in whatsoever Age, the manners of their Heroes are wholly French: Racin's Bajazet is bred at Constantinople; but his civilities are conveyed to him by some secret passage, from Versailles into the Seraglio. But our Shakespeare, having ascribed to Henry the Fourth the character of a King, and of a Father, gives him the perfect manners of each Relation, when either he transacts with his Son, or with his Subjects. Fletcher, on the other side gives neither to Arbaces, nor to his King in the Maid's Tragedy, the qualities which are suitable to a Monarch: though he may be excused a little in the latter; for the King there is not uppermost in the character; 'tis the Lover of Evadne, who is King only, in a second consideration; and though he be unjust, and has other faults which shall be nameless, yet he is not the Hero of the Play: 'tis true we find him a lawful Prince, (though I never heard of any King that was in Rhodes) and therefore Mr. Rymers Criticism stands good; that he should not be shown in so vicious a character. Sophocles has been more judicious in his Antigona for though he represent in Creon a bloody Prince, yet he makes him not a lawful King, but an Usurper, and Antigona herself is the Heroine of the Tragedy: But when Philaster wounds Arethusa and the Boy; and Perigot his Mistress, in the faithful Sheperdess, both these are contrary to the character of Manhood: Nor is Valentinian managed much better, for though Fletcher has taken his Picture truly, and shown him as he was, an effeminate voluptuous man, yet he has forgotten that he was an Emperor, and has given him none of those Royal marks, which ought to appear in a lawful Successor of the Throne. If it be enquired, what Fletcher should have done on this occasion; ought he not to have represented Valentinian as he was? Bossu shall answer this question for me, by an instance of the like nature: Mauritius the Greek Emperor, was a Prince far surpassing Valentinian, for he was endued with many Kingly virtues; he was Religious, Merciful, and Valiant, but withal he was noted of extreme covetousness, a vice which is contrary to the character of a Hero, or a Prince: therefore says the Critic, that Emperor was no fit person to be represented in a Tragedy, unless his good qualities were only to be shown, and his covetousness (which sullied them all) were slured over by the artifice of the Poet. To return once more to Shakespeare; no man ever drew so many characters, or generally distinguished 'em better from one another, excepting only Johnson: I will instance but in one, to show the copiousnesls of his Invention; 'tis that of Calyban, or the Monster in the Tempest. He seems there to have created a person which was not in Nature, a boldness which at first sight would appear intolerable: for he makes him a Species of himself, begotten by an Incubus on a Witch; but this as I have elsewhere proved, is not wholly beyond the bounds of credibility, at least the vulgar stile believe it. We have the separated notions of a spirit, and of a Witch; (and Spirits according to Plato, are vested with a subtle body; according to some of his followers; have different Sexes) therefore as from the distinct apprehensions of a Horse, and of a Man, Imagination has formed a Centaur, so from those of an Incubus and a Sorceress, Shakespeare has produced his Monster. Whether or no his Generation can be defended, I leave to Philosophy; but of this I am certain, that the Poet has most judiciously furnished him with a person, a Language, and a character, which will suit him, both by Fathers and Mother's side: he has all the discontents, and malice of a Witch, and of a Devil; besides a convenient proportion of the deadly sins; Gluttony, Sloth, and Lust, are manifest; the dejectedness of a slave is likewise given him, and the ignorance of one bred up in a Desert Island. His person is monstrous, as he is the product of unnatural Lust; and his language is as hobgoblin as his person: in all things he is distinguished from other mortals. The characters of Fletcher are poor & narrow, in comparison of Shakespears; I remember not one which is not borrowed from him; unless you will except that strange mixture of a man in the King and no King: So that in this part Shakespeare is generally worth our Imitation; and to imitate Fletcher is but to Copy after him who was a Copyer.  
Under this general head of Manners, the passions are naturally included, as belonging to the Characters. I speak not of pity and of terror, which are to be moved in the Audience by the Plot; but of Anger, Hatred, Love, Ambition, jealousy, Revenge, etc. as they are shown in this or that person of the Play. To describe these naturally, and to move then artfully, is one of the greatest commendations which can be given to a Poet: to write pathetically, says Longinus, cannot proceed but for a lofty Genius. A Poet must be born with this quality; yet, unless he help himself by an acquired knowledge of the Passions, what they are in their own nature, and by what springs they are to be moved, he will be subject either to raise them where they ought not to be raised, or not to raise them by the just degrees of Nature, or to amplify them beyond the natural bounds, or not to observe the crisis and turns of them, in their cooling and decay: all which errors proceed from want of Judgement in the Poet, and from being unskilled in the Principles of Moral Philosophy. Nothing is more frequent in a Fanciful Writer, than to foil himself by not managing his strength: therefore, as in a Wrestler, there is first required some measure of force, a well-knit body, and active Limbs, without which all instruction would be vain; yet, these being granted, if he want the skill which is necessary to a Wrestler, he shall make but small advantage of his natural robustuousness: So in a Poet, his inborn vehemence and force of spirit, will only run him out of breath the sooner, if it be not supported by the help of Art. The roar of passion indeed may please an Audience, three parts of which are ignorant enough to think all is moving which is noise, and it may stretch the lungs of an ambitious Actor, who will die upon the spot for a thundering clap; but it will move no other passion than indignation and contempt from judicious men. Longinus, whom I have hitherto followed, continues thus: If the passions be Artfully employed, the discourse becomes vehement and lofty; if otherwise, there is nothing more ridiculous than a great passion out of season: And to this purpose he animadverts severely upon Aeschylus, who writ nothing in cold blood, but was always in arapture, and in fury with his Audience: the Inspiration was still upon him, he was ever tearing it upon the Tripos; or (to run off as madly as he does, from one similitude to another) he was always at high flood of Passion, even in the dead Ebb, and lowest Water-mark of the Scene. He who would raise the passion of a judicious Audience, says a Learned Critic, must be sure to take his hearers along with him; if they be in a Calm, 'tis in vain for him to be in a huff: he must move them by degrees, and kindle with 'em; otherwise he will be in danger of setting his own heap of Stubble on a fire, and of burning out by himself without warming the company that stand about him. They who would justify the madness of Poetry from the Authority of Aristotle, have mistaken the text, & consequently the Interpretation: I imagine it to be false read, where he says of Poetry, that it is Ἐυφυῆς ἠ μανικῆ, that it had always somewhat in it either of a genius, or of a madman. 'Tis more probable that the Original ran thus, that Poetry was Ἐυφυῆς οὐ μανικῆ, That it belongs to a Witty man, but not to a madman. Thus than the Passions, as they are considered simply and in themselves, suffer violence when they are perpetually maintained at the same height; for what melody can be made on that Instrument all whose strings are screwed up at first to their utmost stretch, and to the same sound? But this is not the worst; for the Characters likewise bear a part in the general calamity, if you consider the Passions as embodied in them: for it follows of necessity, that no man can be distinguished from another by his discourse, when every man is ranting, swaggering, and exclaiming with the same excess: as if it were the only business of all the Characters to contend with each other for the prize at Billingsgate; or that the Scene of the Tragedy lay in Bedlam. Suppose the Poet should intend this man to be Choleric, and that man to be patient; yet when they are confounded in the Writing, you cannot distinguish them from one another: for the man who was called patient and tame, is only so before he speaks; but let his clack be set a going, and he shall tongue it as impetuously, and as loudly the arrantest Hero in the Play. By this means, the characters are only distinct in name; but in reality, all the men and women in the Play are the same person. No man should pretend to write, who cannot temper his fancy with his judgement: nothing is more dangerous to a raw horseman, than a hot-mouthed Jade without a curb.  
'Tis necessary therefore for a Poet, who would concern an Audience by describing of a Passion, first to prepare it, and not to rush upon it all at once. Ovid has judiciously shown the difference of these two ways, in the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses: Ajax from the very beginning breaks out into his exclamations, and is swearing by his Maker.— Agimus proh Jupiter inquit. Ulysses on the contrary, prepares his Audience with all the submissiveness he can practise, & all the calmness of a reasonable man; he found his judges in a tranquillity of spirit, and therefore set out leisurely and softly with 'em, till he had warmed 'em by degrees; and then he began to mend his pace, and to draw them along with his own impetuousness: yet so managing his breath, that it might not fail him at his need, and reserving his utmost proofs of ability even to the last. The success you see was answerable; for the crowd only applauded the speech of Ajax;— 
Vulgique secutum ultima murmur erat:—  But the judges awarded the prize for which they contended to Ulysses.  
Mota manus Procerum est, et quid facundia possit  
Tum patuit, fortisque viri and arma Disertus.  
The next necessary rule is to put nothing into the discourse which may hinder your moving of the passions. Too many accidents as I have said, encumber the Poet, as much as the Arms of Saul did David; for the variety of passions which they produce, are ever crossing and justling each other out of the way. He who treats of joy and grief together, is in a fair way of causing neither of those effects. There is yet another obstacle to be removed, which is pointed Wit, and Sentences affected out of season; these are nothing of kin to the violence of passion: no man is at leisure to make sentences and similes, when his soul is in an Agony. I the rather name this fault, that it may serve to mind me of my former errors; neither will I spare myself, but give an example of this kind from my Indian Emperor: Montezuma, pursued by his enemies, and seeking Sanctuary, stands parlying without the Fort, and describing his danger to Cydaria, in a simile of six lines; 
As on the sands the frighted Traveller  
Sees the high Seas come rolling from afar, etc.   
My Indian Potent ate was well skilled in the Sea for an Inland Prince, and well improved since the first Act, when he sent his son to discover it. The Image had not been amiss from another man, at another time: Sed nunc non erat hisce locus: he destroyed the concernment which the Audience might other wise have had for him; for they could not think the danger near, when he had the leisure to invent a Simile.  
If Shakespeare be allowed, as I think be must, to have made his Characters distinct, it will easily be inferred that he understood the nature of the Passions: because it has been proved already, that confused passions make undistinguishable Characters: yet I cannot deny that he has his failings; but they are not so much in the passions themselves, as in his manner of expression: he often obscures his meaning by his words, and sometimes makes it unintelligible. I will not say of so great a Poet, that he distinguished not the blown puffy stile, from true sublimity; but I may venture to maintain that the fury of his fancy often transported him, beyond the bounds of judgement, either in coining of new words and phrases, or racking words which were in use, into the violence of a Catachresis: 'Tis not that I would explode the use of Metaphors from passions, for Longinus thinks 'em necessary to raise it; but to use 'em at every word, to say nothing without a Metaphor, a Simile, an Image, or description, is I doubt to smell a little too strongly of the Buskin. I must be forced to give an example of expressing passion figuratively; but that I may do it with respect to Shakespeare, it shall not be taken from any thing of his: 'tis an exclamation against Fortune, quoted in his Hamlet, but written by some other Poet. 
Out, out, thou strumpet fortune; all you Gods,  
In general Synod, take away her Power,  
Break all the spokes and fallyes from her Wheel,  
And bowl the round Nave down the hill of Heaven  
As low as to the Fiends.  And immediately after, speaking of Hecuba, when Priam was killed before her eyes: 
The mobbled Queen ran up and down,  
Threatening the flame with bisson rheum: a clout about that head,  
Where late the Diadem stood; and for a Robe  
About her lank and all or'e-teemed loins,  
A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up.  
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steeped  
'Gainst Fortune's state would Treason have pronounced;  
But if the Gods themselves did see her then,  
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport  
In mincing with his sword her Husband's Limbs,  
The instant burst of clamour that she made  
(Unless things mortal meant them not at all)  
Would have made milch the burning eyes of Heaven,  
And passion in the Gods.   
What a pother is here kept in raising the expression of trifling thoughts. Would not a man have thought that the Poet had been bound Prentice to a Wheel-wright, for his first Rant? and had followed a Ragman, for the clout and blanket, in the second? Fortune is painted on a wheet; and therefore the writer in a rage, will have Poetical justice done upon every member of that Engine: after this execution, he bowls the Nave downhill, from Heaven, to the Fiends: (an unreasonable long mark a man would think;) 'tis well there are no solid Orbs to stop it in the way, or no Element of fire to consume it: but when it came to the earth, it must be monstrous heavy, to break ground as low as to the Centre. His making milch the burning eyes of Heaven, was a pretty tolerable flight too; and I think no man ever drew milk out of eyes before him: yet to make the wonder greater, these eyes were burning. Such a sight indeed were enough to have raise ' d passion in the Gods, but to excuse the effects of it, he tells you perhaps they did not see it. Wise men would be glad to find a little sense couched under all those pompous words; for Bombast is commonly the delight of that Audience, which loves Poetry, but under stands it not: and as commonly has been the practice of those Writers, who not being able to infuse a natural passion into the mind, have made it their business to ply the ears, and to stun their judges by the noise. But Shakespeare does not often thus; for the passions in his Scene between Brutus and Cassius are extremely natural, the thoughts are such as arise from the matter, and the expression of 'em not viciously figurative. I cannot leave this Subject before I do justce to that Divine Poet, by giving you one of his passionate descriptions: 'tis of Richard the Second when he was deposed, and led in Triumph through the Streets of London by Henry of Bullingbrook: the painting of it is so lively, and the words so moving, that I have scarce read any thing comparable to it, in any other language, Suppose you have seen already the fortunate Usurper passing through the crowd, and followed by the shouts and acclamations of the people; and now behold King Richard entering upon the Scene: consider the wretchedness of his condition, and his carriage in it; and refrain from pity if you can.  
As in a Theatre, the eyes of men  
After a well-graced Actor leaves the Stage,  
Are idly bent on him that enters next,  
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:  
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes.  
Did scowl on Richard: no man cried God save him:  
No joyful tongue gave him His welcome home,  
But dust was thrown upon his Sacred head,  
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,  
His face still combating with tears and smiles  
(The badges of his grief and patience)  
That had not God (for some strong purpose) steeled  
The hearts of men, they must have melted,  
And Barbarism itself have pity'd himhim  
To speak justly of this whole matter; 'tis neither height of thought that is discommended, nor pathetic vehemence, nor any nobleness of expression in its proper place; but 'tis a false measure of all these, something which is like 'em, and is not them: 'tis the Bristol-stone, which appears like a Diamond; 'tis an extravagant thought, instead of a sublime one; 'tis roaring madness instead of vehemence; and a sound of words, instead of sense. If Shakespeare were stripped of all the Bombast in the passions, and dressed in the most vulgar words, we should find the beauties of his thoughts remaining; if his embroideries were burnt down, there would still be silver at the bottom of the melting-pot: but I fear (at least, let me fear it for myself) that we who Ape his sounding words, have nothing of his thought, but are all outside; there is not so much as a dwarf within our Giants clothes. Therefore, let not Shakespeare suffer for our sakes; 'tis our fault, who succeed him in an Age which is more refined, if we imitate him so ill, that we copy his failings only, and make a virtue of that in our Writings, which in his was an imperfection.  
For what remains, the excellency of that Poet was, as I have said, in the more manly passions; Fletcher's in the softer: Shakespeare writ better betwixt man and man; Fletcher, betwixt man and woman: consequently, the one described friendship better; the other love: yet Shakespeare taught Fletcher to write love; and Juliet, and Desdemona, are Originals. 'Tis true, the Scholar had the softer soul; but the Master had the kinder. Friendship is both a virtue, and a Passion essentially; love is a passion only in its nature, and is not a virtue but by Accident: good nature makes Friendship; but effeminacy Love. Shakespeare had an Universal mind, which comprehended all Characters and Passions; Fletcher a more confined, and limited: for though be treated love in perfection, yet Honour, Ambition, Revenge, and generally all the stronger Passions, he either touched not, or not Masterly. To conclude all; he was a Limb of Shakespeare.  
I had intended to have proceeded to the last property of manners, which is, that they must be constant; and the characters maintained the same from the beginning to the end; and from thence to have proceeded to the thoughts and expressions suitable to a Tragedy: but I will first see how this will relish with the Age. 'Tis I confess but cursorily written; yet the Judgement which is given here, is generally founded upon Experience: But because many men are shocked at the name of Rules, as if they were a kind of Magisterial prescription upon Poets, I will conclude with the words of Rapine, in his reflections on Arisotles' work of Poetry: If the Rules be well considered: we shall find them to be made only to reduce Nature into Method, to trace her step by step, and not to suffer the least mark of her to escape us: 'tis only by these, that probability in Fiction is maintained, which is the Soul of Poetry: they are founded upon good Sense, and Sound Reason, rather than on Authority; for, though Aristotle and Horace are produced, yet no man must argue, that what they write is true, because they writ it; but 'tis evident, by the ridiculous mistakes and gross absurdities, which have been made by those Poets who have taken their Fancy only for their guide, that if this Fancy be not regulated, 'tis a mere caprice, and utterly incapable to produce a reasonable and judicious Poem.    

The Prologue Spoken by Mr. Betterton, Representing the Ghost of Shakespeare.  
SEE, my loved Britons, see your Shakespeare rise,  
An awful ghost confessed to human eyes!  
Unnamed, methinks, distinguished I had been  
From other shades, by this eternal green,  
About whose wreaths the vulgar Poets strive,  
And with a touch, their withered Bays revive.  
Untaught, unpractised, in a barbarous Age,  
I found not, but created first the Stage.  
And, if I drained no Greek or Latin store,  
'Twas, that my own abundance gave me more.  
On foreign trade I needed not rely  
Like fruitful Britain, rich without supply.  
In this my rough-drawn Play, you shall behold  
Some Master-strokes, so manly and so bold  
That he, who meant to alter, found 'em such  
He shook; and thought it Sacrilege to touch.  
Now, where are the Successors to my name?  
What bring they to fill out a Poet's fame?  
Weak, short-lived issues of a feeble Age;  
Scarce living to be Christened on the Stage!  
For Humour farce, for love they rhyme dispense,  
That tolls the knell, for their departed sense.  
Dulness might thrive in any trade but this:  
'T would recommend to some fat Benefice.  
Dulness, that in a Playhouse meets disgrace  
Might meet with Reverence, in its proper place.  
The fulsome clench that nauseats the Town  
Would from a judge or Alderman go down!  
Such virtue is there in a Robe and gown!  
And that insipid stuff which here you hate  
Might somewhere else be called a grave debate:  
Dulness is decent in the Church and State.  
But I forget that still 'tis understood  
Bad Plays are best decried by showing good:  
Sit silent then, that my pleased Soul may see  
A judging Audience once, and worthy me:  
My faithful Scene from true Records shall tell  
How Trojan valour did the Greek excel;  
Your great forefathers shall their fame regain,  
And Homer's angry Ghost repine in vain.   

Persons Represented, By  

Hector. Mr. Smith.  
Troilus. Mr. Betterton.  
Priam. Mr. Percivall.  
Aeneas. Mr. joseph Williams.  
Pandarus. Mr. Leigh.  
Calchas. Mr. Percivall.  
Agamemnon. Mr. Gillo.  
Ulysses. Mr. Harris.  
Achilles. Mr. David Williams.  
Ajax. Mr. Bright.  
Nestor. Mr. Norris.  
Diomedes. Mr. Crosby.  
Patroclus. Mr. Boman.  
Menelaus. Mr. Richards.  
Thersites. Mr. Underhill.  
Cressida, Mrs Mary Lee.  
Andromache. Mrs Betterton.    

TRUTH found too late. A TRAGEDY.  


ACT I. SCENE I. A Camp.  Enter Agamemnon, Menelaus, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor. Agam. 
PRinces, it seems not strange to us nor new,  
That after Nine years' Siege Troy makes defence,  
Since every Action of Recorded Fame  
Has with long difficulties been involved,  
Not Answering that Idea of the thought  
Which gave it Birth, why then you Grecian Chiefs,  
With sickly Eyes do you behold our labours,  
And think 'em our dishonour, which indeed,  
Are the protractive Trials of the Gods,  
To prove heroic Constancy in Men?  Nestor. 
With due observance of thy Sovereign Seat  
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply,  
Thy well-weighed words: In struggling with misfortunes,  
Lies the true proof of Virtue: on smooth Seas,  
How many bauble Boats dare set their Sails,  
And make an equal way with firmer Vessels!  
But let the Tempest once enrage that Sea,  
And then behold the strong ribbed Argosy,  
Bounding between the Ocean and the Air  
Like Perseus mounted on his Pegasus.  
Then where are those weak Rivals of the main?  
Or to avoid the Tempest fled to Port,  
Or made a Prey to Neptune: even thus  
Do empty show and true prized worth divide  
In storms of Fortune.  Ulysses. 
Mighty Agamemnon!  
Heart of our Body, Soul of our designs,  
In whom the tempers, and the minds of all  
Should be enclosed: hear what Ulysses speaks.  Agam. 
— You have free leave.  Ulysses. 
Troy had been down ere this, and Hector's Sword  
Wanted a Master but for our disorders:  
The observance due to rule has been neglected;  
Observe how many Grecian Tents stand void  
Upon this plain; so many hollow factions  
For when the General is not like the Hive  
To whom the Foragers should all repair,  
What Honey can our empty Combs expect?  
O when Supremacy of Kings is shaken,  
What can succeed: How could communities  
Or peaceful traffic from divided shores,  
Prerogative of Age, Crowns, Sceptres, Laurels,  
But by degree stand on their solid base!  
Then every thing resolves to brutal force  
And headlong force is led by hoodwinked will,  
For wild Ambition, like a ravenous Wolf,  
Spurred on by will and seconded by power,  
Must make an universal prey of all,  
And last devour itself.  Nest. 
Most prudently Ulysses has discovered  
The Malady whereof our state is sick.  Diom. 
'Tis truth he speaks, the General's disdained  
By him one step beneath, he by the next:  
That next by him below: so each degree  
Spurns upward at Superior eminence:  
Thus our distempers are their sole support;  
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.  Agam. 
The Nature of this sickness found, inform us  
From whence it draws its birth?  Ulysses. 
The great Achilles whom opinion crowns  
The chief of all our Host—  
Having his ears buzzed with his noisy Fame  
Disdains thy Sovereign charge, and in his Tent,  
Lies mocking our designs, with him Patrocius  
Upon a lazy Bed, breaks scurvil Jests  
And with ridiculous and awkward action,  
Which, slanderer, he limitation calls  
Mimics the Greclan chiefs.  Agam. 
As how Ulysses?  Ulysses. 
Even thee the King of men he does not spare  
(The monkey Author) but thy greatness Pageants  
And makes of it Rehearsals: like a Player  
Bellowing his Passion till he break the spring  
And his racked Voice jar to his Audience;  
So represents he Thee, though more unlike  
Than Vulcan is to Venus.  
And at this fulsome stuff, this wit of Apes,  
The large Achilles on his pressed Bed lolling,  
From his deep Chest roars out a loud Applause,  
Tickling his spleen, and laughing till he wheeze.  Nestor. 
Nor are you spared Ulysses, but as you speak in Council  
He hems ere he begins, then stroke his Beard,  
Casts down his looks, and winks with half an Eye;  
' Has every action, cadence, motion, tone,  
All of you but the sense.  Agam. 
Fortune was merry  
When he was born, and played a trick on Nature  
To make a mimic Prince: he ne'er acts ill  
But when he would seem wise:  
For all he says or does from serious thought  
Appears so wretched that he mocks his title  
And is his own Buffoo.  Ulysses. 
In imitation of this scurril fool  
Ajax is grown self-willed as broad Achilles,  
He keeps a Table too, makes Factious Feasts,  
Rails on our State of War, and sets Thirsites  
(A slanderous slave of an o'erflowing gall)  
To level us with low Comparisons:  
They tax our Policy with Cowardice  
Count Wisdom of no moment in the War,  
In brief, esteem no Act, but that of hand;  
The still and thoughtful parts which move those hands  
With them are but the tasks cut out by fear  
To be performed by Valour.  Agam. 
Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse  
Is more of use than he: but you grave pair  
Like time and wisdom marching hand in hand  
Must put a stop to these encroaching Ills:  
To you we leave the ear:  
You who could show whence the distemper springs  
Must vindicate the Dignity of Kings.  Exeunt.  

SCENE II. Troy.  Enter Pandarus, and Troilus. Troil. 
Why should I fight without the Trojan walls  
Who, without fighting, am o'er o'er thrown within:  
The Trojan who is Master of a Soul  
Let him to battle, Troilus has none.  Pand. 
Will this never be at an end with you?  Troil. 
The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength  
Fierce to their skill, and to their feirceness wary;  
But I am weaker than a Woman's tear,  
Tamer than sleep, fonder than Ignorance:  
And Artless as unpractised Infancy.  Pand. 
Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part I'll not meddle nor make any further in your Love: He that will eat of the Roastmeat, must stay for the kindling of the fire.  Troil. 
Have I not stayed?  Pand. 
ay, the kindling: but you must stay the spitting of the meat.  Troil. 
Have I not stayed?  Pand. 
ay, the spitting: but there's two words to a bargain: you must stay the roasting too.  Troil. 
Still have I stayed: and still the farther off.  Pand. 
That's but the roasting, but there's more in this word stay; there's the taking off the Spit, the making of the sauce, the dishing, the setting on the Table, and the saying Grace; nay you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your chaps.  Troil. 
At Priam's table pensive do I sit, And when fair Cressida comes into my thoughts (Can she be said to come, who ne'er was absent!)  Pand. 
Well, she's a most ravishing creature; and she looked Yesterday most killingly, she had such a stroke with her eyes, she cut to the quick with every glance of 'em.  Troil. 
I was about to tell thee, when my heart  
Was ready with a sigh to cleave in two  
Lest Hector, or my Father should perceive me,  
I have with mighty anguish of my Soul  
Just at the Birth stifled this still-born-sigh  
And forced my face into a painful smile.  Pand. 
I measured her with my girdle Yesterday, she's not half a yard about the waste, but so taper a shape did I never see, but when I had her in my arms, Lord thought I, and by my troth I could not forbear sighing, if Prince Troilus had her at this advantage, and I were holding of the door.— And she were a thought taller, but as she is, she wants not an Inch of Helen neither; but there's no more comparison between the Women— there was wit, there was a sweet tongue: How her words melteth in her mouth! Mercury would have been glad to have had such a tongue in his mouth I warrant him.  
I would some body had heard her talk Yesterday, as I did:  Troil. 
Oh Pandarus, when I tell thee I am mad  
In Cressid's Love, thou answerest she is fair;  
Praisest her eyes, her stature and her wit;  
But praising thus, instead of oil and balm,  
Thou layest in every wound her Love has given me  
The Sword that made it.  Pand. 
I give her but her due.  Troil. 
Thou give'st her not so much.  Pand. 
Faith I'll speak no more of her, let her be as she is:  
If she be a beauty 'tis the better for her, and she be not  
She has the mends in her own hands for Pandarus.  Troil. 
In spite of me thou wilt mistake my meaning.  Pand. 
I have had but my labour for my pains,  
Ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you:  
Gone between and between, and am ground in the Millstones  
For my Labour.  Troil. 
What art thou angry Pandarus with thy friend?  Pand. 
Because she's my Niece, therefore she's not so fair as Helen, and she were not my Niece, show me such another piece of Woman's flesh; take her limb by limb, I say no more, but if Paris had seen her first, Menelaus' had been no Cuckold: but what care I if she were a Blackamoor, what am I the better for her face.  Troil. 
Said I she was not beautiful.  Pand. 
I care not if you did, she's a fool to stay behind her Father Calchas, let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her: for my part I am resolute, I'll meddle no more in your affairs.  Troil. 
But hear me!  Pand. 
Not I  Troil. 
Dear Pandarus—  Pand. 
Pray speak no more on't, I'll not burn my fingers in another body's business, I'll leave it as I found it, & there's an end.  [Exit Pandarus. Troil. 
O Gods, how do you torture me?  
I cannot come to Cressida but by him,  
And he's as peevish to be wooed to woo,  
As she is to be won.  Enter Aeneas. Aeneas. 
How now, Prince Troilus; why not in the battle?  Troil. 
Because not there, this Woman's answer suits me;  
For Womanish it is to be from thence:  
What news Aeneas from the field to day?  Aen. 
Paris is hurt.  Troil. 
By whom?  Aen. 
By Menelaus. Hark what good sport  Alarum within. 
Is out of Town to day, when I hear such Music  
I cannot hold from dancing.  Troil. 
I'll make one,  
And try to lose an anxious thought or two  
In heat of action.  
[Aside] Thus Cowardlike from love to War I run,  
Seek the less dangers, and the greater shun.  [Exit Troil. Enter Cressida. Cressida. 
My Lord Aeneas, who were those went by? I mean the Ladies!  Aen. 
Queen Hecuba, and Helien.  Cressi. 
And whither go they?  Aen. 
Up to the Western Tower.  
Whose height commands as subject, all the vale;  
To see the battle, Hector whose patience  
Is fixed like that of Heaven, to day was moved:  
He chid Andromache, and struck his Armourer,  
And as there were good Husbandry in War,  
Before the Sun was up he went to field;  
Your pardon Lady that's my business too.  Exit Aeneas. Cressi. 
Hector's a gallant Wariour.  Enter Pandarus. Pand. 
What's that, what's that!  Cressi. 
Good morrow Uncle Pandarus.  Pand. 
Good morrow Cousin Cressida: when were you at Court?  Cressi. 
This morning Uncle!  Pand. 
What were you a talking when I came? was Hector armed,  
And gone ere ye came? Hector was stirring early.  Cressi. 
That I was talking of; and of his anger!  Pand. 
Was he angry say you? true he was so, and I know the cause: He was struck down yesterday in the battle, but he'll lay about him; he'll cry quittance with 'em to day I'll answer for him: and there's Bacchanalss will not come far behind him; let 'em take heed of Troilus, I can tell 'em that too.  Cressi. 
What was he struck down too?  Pand. 
Who, Troilus? Troilus is the betterman of the two.  Cressi. 
Oh jupiter! there's no comparison, Troilus the better man!  Pand. 
What, no comparison between Hector and Troilus? do you know a man if you see him?  Cressi. 
No, for he may look like a man, and not be one.  Pand. 
Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.  Cressi. 
That's what I say, for I am sure he is not Hector.  Pand. 
No, nor Hector is not Troilus, make your best of that Niece!  Cressi. 
'tis true, for each of 'em is himself.  Pand. 
Himself! alas poor Troilus! I would he were himself, welk the Gods are all sufficient, and time must mend or end: I would he were himself, and would I were a Lady for his sake. I would not answer for my Maidenhead,— No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.  Cressi. 
Excuse me.  Pand. 
Pardon me: Troilus is in the bud; 'tis early day with him, you shall tell me another tale when Troilus is come to bearing: and yet he'll not bear neither is some sense. No, Hector shall never have his virtues.  Cressi. 
No matter.  Pand. 
Nor his beauty, nor his fashion, nor his wit, he shall have nothing of him.  Cressi. 
They would not become him, his own are better.  Pand. 
How, his own better! you have no judgement Niece, Helen herself swore t'other day, that Troilus for a manly brown complexion, (for so it is, I must confess;) not brown neither.  Cressi. 
No, but very brown.  Phnd. 
Faith to say truth, brown and not brown: come I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris: Nay I'm sure she does, she comes me to him t'other day, into the bow window, and you know Troilus has not above three or four hairs on his chin.  Cressi. 
That's but a bare commendation.  Pand. 
But to prove to you that Helen loves him, she comes, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin!  Cressi. 
Has he been fighting then, how came it cloven?  Pand. 
Why, you know it is dimpled. I cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his cloven chin: She has a marvellous white hand I must needs confess.  
But let that pass, for I know who has a whiter: Well Cousin I told you a thing yesterday, think on't, think on't.  Cressi. 
So I do Uncle.  Pand. 
I'll besworn 'tis true; he will weep ye, and 'twere a man born in April. [A Retreat sounded. Hark, they are returning from the field; shall we stay and see 'em as they come by, sweet Niece do, sweet Niece Cressida.  Cressi. 
For once you shall command me.  Pand. 
Here, here, here's an excellent place; we may see 'em here most bravely, and I'll tell you all their names as they pass by: but mark Troilus above the rest, mark Troilus, he's worth your marking.  Aeneas passes over the Stage. Cressi. 
Speak not so loud then.  Pand. 
That's Aeneas, Is't not a brave man that, he's a swinger, many a Grecian he has laid with his face upward; but mark Troilus, you shall see anon.  Enter Antenor, passing. 
That's Antenor, he has a notable head-piece I can tell you, and he's the ablest man for judgement in all Troy, you may turn him lose i' faith, and by my troth a proper person: When comes Troilus? I'll show you Troilus anon, if he see me, you shall see him nod at me.  Hector passes over. 
That's Hector, that, that, look you that, there's a fellow, go thy way Hector, there's a brave man Niece: O brave Hector, look how he looks! there's a countenance! is't not a brave man Niece?  Cressi. 
I always told you so.  Pand. 
Is a not? it does a man's heart good to look on him, look you, look you there, what hacks are on his Helmet! this was no boys play i'faith, he laid it on with a vengeance, take it off whose who's will as they say! there are hacks Niece!  Cressi. 
Were those with Swords.  Pand. 
Swords, or Bucklers, Falchions, Darts, and Lances! any thing he cares not! and the devil come 'tis all one to him, by Jupiter he looks so terribly that I am half afraid to praise him.  Enter Paris. 
Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris, lookye yonder Niece; is't not a brave young Prince too! He draws the best bow in all Troy, he hits you to a span twelvescore level; who said he came home hurt to day: why this will do Helen's heart good now! Ha! that I could see Troilus now!  Enter Helenus'. Cressi. 
Who's that black man Uncle?  Pand. 
That's Helenus, I marvel where Troilus is all this while? that's Helenus, I think Troilus went not forth to day; that's Helenus.  Cressi. 
Can Helenus fight Uncle?  Pand. 
Helenus! No, yes, he'll fight indifferently well, I marvel in my heart what's become of Troilus? Hark! do you not hear the people cry Troilus? Helenus is a Priest and keeps a whore; he'll fight for's whore, or he's no true Priest I warrant him.  Enter Troilus passing over. Cressi. 
What sneaking fellow comes yonder?  Pand. 
Where, yonder! that's Deiphobus: No I lie, I lie, that's Troilus, there's a man Niece! hem! O brave Troilus! the Prince of chivalry, and flower of fidelity!  Cressi. 
Peace, for shame peace.  Pand. 
Nay but mark him then! O brave Troilus! there's a man of men Niece! look you how his Sword is bloody, and his Helmet more hacked than Hector's, and how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he ne'er saw two and twenty. Go thy way Troilus, go thy way! had I a sister were a grace, and a daughter a Goddess, he should take his choice of 'em, O admirable man! Paris! Paris is dirt to him, and I warrant Helen to change, would give all the shoes in her shop to boot.  Enter Common Soldiers passing over. Cressi. 
Here come more.  Pand. 
Asses, fools dolts, dirt and dung, stuff and lumber: porredg after meat? but I could live and die with Troilus. ne'er look Niece, ne'er look, the Lions are gone; Apes and Monkeys, the fag end of the creation. I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon and all Greece.  Cressi. 
There's Achilles among the Greeks, he's braveman!  Pand. 
Achilles! a Carman, a beast of burden; a very Camel, have you any eyes Niece, do you know a man! is he to be compared with Troilus!  Enter Page. Page. 
Sir, my Lord Troilus would instantly speak with you.  Pand. 
Where boy, where!  Page. 
At his own house, if you think convenient.  Pand. 
Good boy tell him I come instantly, I doubt he's wounded, farewell good Niece: But I'll be with you by and by.  Cressi. 
To bring me Uncle!  Pand. 
ay, a token from Prince Troilus.  Cressi. 
By the same token you are a procurer Uncle.  [Exit Pandarus. Cressida alone. 
A strange dissembling Sex we Women are,  
Well may we men, when we ourselves deceive.  
Long has my secret Soul loved Troilus.  
I drunk his praises from my Uncle's mouth,  
As if my ears could ne'er be satisfied;  
Why then, why said I not, I love this Prince?  
How could my tongue conspire against my heart,  
To say I loved him not, O childish love!  
'Tis like an Infant froward in his play,  
And what he most desires, he throws away.  [Exit Cressida.   


ACT II. SCENE I. Troy.  Priam, Hector, Troilus, Aeneas. Priam. 
AFter th' expense of so much time and blood,  
Thus once again the Grecians send to Troy.  
Deliver Helen, and all other loss  
Shall be forgotten Hector, what say you to't?  Hect. 
Though no man less can fear the Greeks than I,  
Yet there's no Virgin of more tender heart  
More ready to cry out, who knows the consequence,  
Then Hector is; for modest doubt is mixed  
With manly courage best, let Helen go.  
If we have lost so many lives of ours,  
To keep a thing not ours; not worth to us  
The value of a man, what reason is there  
Still to retain the cause of so much ill?  Troil. 
Fie, fie, my noble Brother!  
Weigh you the worth and honour of a King,  
So great as Asia's Monarch in a scale  
Of common ounces thus?  
Are fears and reasons fit to be considered,  
When a King's fame is questioned?  Hect. 
Brother, she's not worth  
What her defence has cost us.  Troil. 
What's aught but as 'tis valued?  Hect. 
But value dwells not in opinion only:  
It holds the dignity and estimation,  
As well, wherein 'tis precious of itself.  
As in the prizer, 'tis Idolatry  
To make the Service greater than the God.  Troil. 
We turn not back the Silks upon the Merchant  
When we have worn 'em: the remaining food  
Throw not away because we now are full.  
If you confess 'twas wisdom Paris went,  
As you must needs; for you all cried go, go,  
If you'll confess he brought home noble prize  
As you must needs, for you all clapped your hands,  
And cried inestimable: why do you now  
So underrate the value of your purchase?  
For let me tell you 'tis unmanly theft  
When we have taken what we fear to keep!  Aene. 
There's not the meanest Spirit in our party  
Without a heart to dare, or Sword to draw,  
When Helen is defended: none so noble  
Whose life were ill bestowed, or death unfamed,  
When Helleu is the Subject.  Priam. 
So says Paris.  
Like one besotted on effeminate joys,  
He has the honey still, but these the gall.  Aeneas. 
He not proposes merely to himself  
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it:  
But he would have the stain of Helen's rape  
Wiped off in honourable keeping her.  Hect. 
Troilus and Aeneas you have said:  
If saying superficial things be reason.  
But if this Helen be another's wife,  
The Moral laws of Nature and of Nation's  
Speak loud she be restored: thus to persist  
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong,  
But makes it much more so: Hector's opinion  
Is this, is in way of truth: yet ne'retheless  
My sprightly Brother I incline to you  
In resolution to defend her still:  
For 'tis cause on which our Trojan honour  
And common reputation will depend.  Troil. 
Why there you touched the life of our design:  
Were it not glory that we covet more  
Than war and vengeance (beasts and womens' pleasure)  
I woud not wish a drop of Trojan blood  
Spent more in her defence: But oh my Brother  
She is a subject of renown and honour,  
And I presume brave Hector would not lose  
The rich advantage of his future fame  
For the wide world's revenue:— I have business;  
But glad I am to leave you thus resolved.  
When such arms strike, ne'er doubt of the success.  Aeneas. 
May we not guess?  Troil. 
You may, and be deceived.  [Exit. Troil. Hect. 
A woman on my life: even so it happens,  
Religion, state affairs, whater'es the theme  
It ends in women still.  Enter Andromache. Priam. 
See here's your wife  
To make that maxim good.  Hect. 
Welcome Andromache: your looks are cheerful;  
You bring some pleasing news.  Andro. 
Nothing that's serious.  
Your little Son Astyanax has employed me  
As his Ambassadresse.  Hect. 
Upon what errand?  Andro. 
No less than that his Grandfather this day  
Would make him, Knight: he longs to kill a Grecian:  
For should he stay to be a man, he thinks  
You'll kill 'em all; and leave no work for him.  Priam. 
Your own blood, Hector.  Andro. 
And therefore he designs to send a challenge  
To Agamemnon, Ajax, or Achilles  
To prove they do not well to burn our fields;  
And keep us cooped like prisner's in a Town:  
To lead this lazy life.  Hect. 
What sparks of honour  
Fly from this child! the God's speak in him sure:  
— It shall be so— I'll do't.  Priam. 
What means my Son?  Hect. 
To send a challenge to the boldest Greek;  
Is not that Country ours? those fruitful Fields  
Washed by yon Silver flood, are they not ours?  
Those teeming Vines that tempt our longing eyes,  
Shall we behold 'em? shall we call 'em ours  
And date not make 'em so? by Heavens I'll know  
Which of these haughty Grecians, dares to think  
He can keep Hector prisoner here in Troy.  Priam. 
If Hector only were a private Man,  
This would be courage, but in him 'tis madness.  
The general safety on your life depends;  
And shou'd you perish in this rash attempt  Troy 
with a groan, would feel her Soul go out:  
And breathe her last in you.  Aeneas. 
The task you undertake is hazardous:  
Suppose you win, what would the profit be?  
If Ajax or Achilles fell beneath  
Your thundering Arm, would all the rest depart?  
Would Agamemnon, or his injured Brother  
Set sail for this? then it were worth your danger:  
But, as it is, we throw our utmost stake  
Against whole heaps of theirs.  Priam. 
He tells you true.  Aeneas. 
Suppose one, Ajax, or Achilles lost.  
They can repair with more that single lose:  Troy 
has but one, one Hector.  Hect. 
No Aeneas?  
What then art thou; and what is Troilus?  
What will Astyanax be?  Priam. 
An Hector one day.  
But you must let him live to be a Hector.  
And who shall make him such when you are gone?  
Who shall instruct his tenderness in arms,  
Or give his childhood lessons of the war?  
Who shall defend the promise of his youth  
And make it bear in Manhood? the young Sappling  
Is shrouded long beneath the Mother tree  
Before it be transplanted from its Earth,  
And trust itself for growth.  Hect. 
Alas, my Father!  
You have not drawn one reason from yourself,  
But public safety, and my Sons green years:  
In this neglecting that main argument  
Trust me you chide my filial piety:  
As if I could be won from my resolves  
By Troy, or by my Son, or any name  
More dear to me than yours.  Priam. 
I did not name myself; because I know  
When thou art gone, I need no Grecian Sword,  
To help me die, but only Hector's loss.  
Daughter, why speak not you? why stand you silent?  
Have you no right in Hector, as a wife?  Andro. 
I would be worthy to be Hector's wife:  
And had I been a Man, as my Soul's one  
I had aspired a nobler name, his friend.  
How I love Hector, (need I say I love him?)  
I am not but in him:  
But when I see him arming for his Honour,  
His Country and his Gods, that martial fire  
That mounts his courage, kindles even to me:  
And when the Trojan Matrons wait him out  
With prayers, and meet with blessings his return;  
The pride of Virtue, beats within my breast,  
To wipe away the sweat and dust of War:  
And dress my Hero, glorious in his wounds.  Hect. 
Come to my Arms, thou manlier Virtue come;  
Thou better Name than wife! wouldst thou not blush  [Embrace. 
To hug a coward thus?  Priam. 
Yet still I fear!  Andro. 
There spoke a woman, pardon Royal Sir;  
Has he not met a thousand lifted Swords,  
Of thick ranked Grecians, and shall one affright him?  
There's not a day but he encounters Armles;  
And yet as safe, as if the broad brimmed Shield  
That Pallas wears, were held 'twixt him and death.  Hect. 
Thou know'st me well; and thou shalt praise me more,  
Gods make me worthy of thee!  Andro. 
You shall be  
My Knight this day, you fhall not wear a cause  
So black as Helen's rape upon your breast,  
Let Paris fight for Helen; guilt for guilt,  
But when you fight for Honour and for me,  
Then let our equal Gods behold an Act,  
They may not blush to Crown.  Hect. 
Aeneas go.  
And bear my Challenge to the Grecian Camp,  
If there be one amongst the best of Greece,  
Who holds his honour higher than his ease,  
Who knows his valour, and knows not his fear;  
Who loves his Mistress more than in confession:  
And dares avow her beauty and her worth,  
In other Arms than hers; to him this Challenge.  
I have a Lady of more truth and beauty,  
Then ever Greek did compass in his arms:  
And will to morrow, with the Trumpets call,  
Midway, between their Tents, and these our Walls,  
Maintains what I have said, if any come  
My Sword shall honour him, if none shall dare,  
Then shall I say at my return to Troy,  
The Grecian dames, are Sunburnt, and not worth  
The splinter of a Lance.  Aeneas. 
It shall be told 'em,  
As boldly as you gave it.  Priam. 
Heaven protect thee.  [Exeunt Omnes.  

SCENE II.  Pandarus, Cressida. Pand. 
YOnder he stands poor wretch! there stands he, with such a look, and such a face, and such begging eyes; there he stands poor prisoner.  Cressi. 
What a deluge of words do you pour out Uncle, to say just nothing?  Pand. 
Nothing do you call it, is that nothing, do you call it nothing? why he looks for all the World, like one of your rascally Malefactors, just thrown off the Gibbet, with his cap down, his arms tied down, his feet sprunting, his body swinging, nothing do you call it? this is nothing with a vengeance.  Cressi. 
Or, what think you of a hurt bird, that flutters about with a broken wing?  Pand. 
Why go to then, he cannot fly away then, then, that's certain, that's undoubted: there he lies to be taken up: but if you had seen him, when I said to him, take a good heart man, and follow me: and fear no colours, and speak, your mind man: she can never stand you: she will fall, and 'twere a leaf in Autumn.  Cress. 
Did you tell him all this without my consent?  Pand. 
Why you did consent, your eyes consented; they blabbed, they leered, their very corners blabbed. But you'll say your tongue said nothing. No I warrant it: your tongue was wiser; your tongue was better bred: your tongue kept its own counsel: Nay, I'll say that for you, your tongue said nothing. Well such a shamefaced couple did I never see days o' my life: so afraid of one another; such ado to bring you to the business: well if this job were well over, if ever I lose my pains again wtth an awkward couple, let me be painted in the signpost for the Labour in vain: fie upon't, fie upon't; there's no conscience in't: all honest people will cry shame on't.  Cress. 
Where is this Monster to be shown? what's to be given for a Sight of him?  Pand 
Why ready money, ready money; you carry it about you: give and take is square-dealing; for in my conscience he's as errand a maid as you are: I was fain to use violence to him, to pull him hither: and he pulled and I pulled: for you must know he's absolutely the strongest youth in Troy: tother day he took Helen is one hand, and Parish in tother, and danced 'em at one another at arms-end, and 'twere two Moppets: there was a back, there were bone and Sinews: there was a back for you.  Cressi. 
For these good procuring Offices you'll be damned one day Uncle.  Pand. 
Who I damned? faith I doubt I shall: by my troth I think I shall, nay if a man be damned for doing good, as thou sayst, it may go hard with me.  Cressi. 
Then I'll not see Prince Troilus? I 'll not be accessary to your damnation.  Pand. 
How, not see Prince Troilus? why I have engaged, I have promised, I have past my word, I care not for damning, let me alone for damning; I value not damning in comparison with my word. If I am damned it shall be a good damning to thee girl, thou shalt be my heir, come 'tis a virtuous girl, thou shalt help me to keep my word, thou shalt see Prince Troilus.  Cressi. 
The ventures great.  Pand. 
No venture in the World, thy Mother ventured it for thee, and thou shalt venture it for my little Cousin that must be.  Cressi. 
Weigh but my fears, Prince Troilus is young.—  Pand. 
Marry is he, there's no fear in that I hope, the fear were if he were old and feeble.  Cressi. 
And I a woman.  Pand. 
No fear yet, thovart a Woman, and he's a Man, put them two together, put 'em together.  Cressi. 
And if I should be frail.—  Pand. 
There's all my fear that thou art not frail: thou shouldst be frail, all flesh is frail.  Cressi. 
Are you my Uncle, and can give this counsel to your own Brother's daughter.  Pand. 
If thou wert my own daughter a thousand times over, I could do no better for thee; what wouldst thou have girl, he's a Prince and a young Prince, and a loving young Prince! an Uncle dost thou call me, by Cupid I am a father to thee; get thee in, get thee in girl, I hear him coming. And do you hear Niece! I give you leave, [Eeit Cressida. to deny a little 'twill be decent: but take heed of obstinacy, that's a vice; no obstinacy my dear Niece.  Enter Troilus. Troil. 
Now Pandarus.  Pand. 
Now, my sweet Prince! have you seen my Niece? no I know you have not.  Troilus: 
No Pandarus; I stalk about your doors  
Like a strange Soul upon the stygian banks  
Staying for waftage: O be thou my Charon,  
And give me a swift transportanee to Elysium,  
And fly with me to Cressida.  Pand. 
Walk here a moment more: I'll bring her straight.  Troil. 
I fear she will not come: most sure she will not.  Pand. 
How not come, and I her Uncle! why I tell you Prince, she twitters at you. Ah poor sweet Rogue, ah little Rogue, now does she think, and think, and think again of what must be betwixt you two. Oh sweet,— oh sweet— O— what not come, and I her Uncle?  Troil. 
Still thou flatterest me; but prithee flatter still; for I would hope; I would not wake out of my pleasing dream: oh hope how sweet thou art! but to hope always, and have no effect of what we hope!  Pand. 
Oh faint heart, faint heart! well there's much good matter in these old proverbs! No, she'll not come I warrant her; she has no blood of mine in her, not so much as will fill a flea: but if she does not come, and come, and come with a swing into your arms, I say no more, but she has renounced all grace, and there's an end.  Troil. 
I will believe thee: go then, but be sure:  Pand. 
No, you would not have me go; you are indifferent: shall I go say you: speak the word then:— yet I care not: you may stand in your own light; and lose a sweet young Lady's heart: well, I shall not go then!  Troil. 
Fly, fly, thou torturest me.  Pand. 
Do I so, do I so! do I torture you indeed! well I will go.  Troil. 
But yet thou dost not go?  Pand. 
I go immediately, directly, in a twinkling, with a thought. yet you think a man never does enough for you: I have been labouring in your business like any Moil. I was with Prince Paris this morning, to make your excuse at night for not supping at Court: and I found him, faith how do you think I found him; it does my heart good to think how I found him: yet you think a man never does enough for you.  Troil. 
Will you go then, what's this to Cressida?  Pand. 
Why you will not hear a Man; what's this to Cressida? why I found him a-bed, a-bed with Helena by my troth: 'tis a sweet Queen, a sweet Queen, a very sweet Queen;— but she's nothing to my Cousin Cressida; she's a blowse, a gipsy, a Tawney-moor to my Cousin Cressida: And she lay with one white arm underneath the whoresons neck: oh such a white, lily white, round, plump arm it was— and you must know it was stripped up to th'elbows: and she did so kiss him, and so huggle him:— as who should say—  Troil. 
But still thou stayest: what's this to Cressida?  Pand. 
Why I made your excuse to your Brother Paris; that I think's to Cressida; but such an arm, such a hand, such taper fingers, t'other hand was under the bedclothes, that I saw not, I confess, that hand I saw not.  Troil. 
Again thou torturest me.  Pand. 
Nay I was tortured too; old as I am, I was tortured too: but for all that, I could make a shift, to make him, to make your excuse, to make your father;— by Jove when I think of that hand, I am so ravished, that I know not what I say: I was tortured too.  [Troilus turns away discontented. 
Well I go, I go; I fetch her, I bring her, I conduct her: not come quoth a, and I her Uncle!  Exit Pandarus. Troilus. 
I'm giddy; expectation whirls me round:  
The imaginary relish is so sweet,  
That it enchants my sense; what will it be  
When I shall taste that Nectar?  
It must be either death, or joy too fine  
For the capacity of human powers.  
I fear it much: and I do fear beside,  
That I shall lose distinction in my joys:  
As does a battle, when they charge on heaps  
A flying Enemy.  Re-enter Pandarus. Pand. 
She's making her ready: she'll come straight, you must be witty now; she does so blush, and fetches her breath so short, as if she were frighted with a spirit: 'tis the prettiest villain, she fetches her breath so short, as 'twere a new ta'en Sparrow.  Troil. 
Just such a passion, does heave up my breast!  
My heart beats thicker than a feverish pulse:  
I know not where I am, nor what I do:  
Just like a slave, at unawares encountering  
The eye of Majesty:— Lead on, I'll follow.  Exeunt together.  

SCENE III. The Camp.  Nestor, Ulysses. Vlyss. 
I have conceived an embryo in my brain:  
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.  Nest. 
What is't, Ulysses?  Ulyss. 
The seeded pride,  
That has to this maturity blown up  
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropped,  
Or shedding, breed a nursery of like ill,  
To overtop us all.  Nest. 
That's my opinion.  Vlyss. 
This challenge which AEneas as brings from Hector,  
However it be spread in general terms,  
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.  
And will it wake him to the answer think you?  Nest. 
It ought to do: whom can we else oppose  
Who cou'd from Hector bring his honour off,  
If not Achilles the Success of this  
Although particular, will give an Omen  
Of good or bad, even to the general cause.  Vlyss. 
Pardon me Nestor, if I contradict you.  
Therefore 'tis fit Achilles meet not Hector.  
Let us like Merchants show our coursest wares,  
And think perchance they'll sell: but if they do not  
The lustre of our better yet unshown  
Will show the better; let us not consent  
Our greatest warrior should be matched with Hector.  
For both our honour and our shame in this,  
Shall be attended with strange followers.  Nest. 
I see 'em not with my old eyes; what are they?  Vlyss. 
What glory our Achilles gains from Hector.  
Were he not proud we all should share with him:  
But he already is too insolent:  
And we had better parch in afric Sun  
Than in his pride, should he scape Hector fair.  
But grant he should be foiled  
Why then our common reputation suffers,  
In that of our best Man: No, make a Lottery;  
And by device let blockish Ajax draw  
The chance to fight with Hector: among ourselves  
Give him allowance as the braver Man;  
For that will physic the great Myrmidon,  
Who swells with loud applause; and make him fall  
His Crest, if brainless Ajax come safe off.  
If not, we yet preserve a fair opinion,  
That we have better men.  Nest. 
Now I begin to relish thy advice:  
Come let us go to Agamemnon straight,  
T'inform him of our project.  Vlyss. 
'Tis not ripe.  
The skilful Surgeon will not launch a sore  
Till Nature has digested and prepared  
The growing humours to his healing purpose.  
Else must he often grieve the patient's sense,  
When one incision once well-timeed would serve:  
Are not Achilles, and dull Ajax friends?  Nest. 
As much as fools can be.  Vlyss. 
That knot of friendsip first must be untied  
Ere we can reach our ends; for while they love each other  
Both hating us, will draw too strong a bias,  
And all the Camp will lean that way they draw:  
For brutal courage is the Soldiers Idol:  
So, if one prove contemptuous, backed by tother,  
'Twill give the law to cool and sober sense,  
And place the power of war in Madman's hands.  Nest. 
Now I conceive you; were they once divided,  
And one of them made ours, that one would check  
The others towering growth: and keep both low,  
As Instruments, and not as Lords of war.  
And this must be by secret coals of envy,  
Blown in their breast: comparisons of worth;  
Great actions weighed of each: and each the best,  
As we shall give him voice.  Vlyss. 
Here comes Thersites.  Enter Thersites. 
Who feeds on Ajax: yet loves him not, because he cannot love.  
But as a Species, differing from mankind,  
Hatss' all he sees; and rails at all he knows;  
But hates them most, from whom he most receives.  
Disdaining that his lot should be so low.  
That he should want the kindness which he takes.  Nest. 
There's none so fit an Engine: Save ye Thersites.  Vlyss. 
Hail noble Grecian, Thou relief of toils,  
Soul of our mirth, and joy of sullen war.  
In whose converse our winter-nights are short,  
And Summer-days not tedious.  Thers. 
Hang you both.  Nest. 
How hang us both!  Thers. 
But hang thee first, thou very reverend fool!  
Thou sapless Oak, that liv'st by wanting thought.  
And now in thy three hundreth year repinest  
Thou shouldst be felled: hangings a civil death,  
The death of men: thou canst not hang: thy trunk  
Is only fit for gallows to hang others.  Nest. 
A fine greeting.  Thers. 
A fine old Dotard, to repine at hanging  
At such an Age! what saw the Gods in thee  
That a Cock-Sparrow should but live three years,  
And thou shouldst last three Ages! he's thy better;  
He uses life: he treads himself to death.  
Thou hast forgot thy use some hundred years:  
Thou stump of Man, thou worn-out broom: thou lumber.  Nest. 
I'll hear no more of him, his poison works;  
What curse me for my age!  Vlyss. 
Hold, you mistake him, Nestor; 'tis his custom:  
What malice is there in a mirthful scene!  
'Tis but a keen-edged Sword, spread o'er with blame  
To heal the wound it makes:  Thers. 
Thou beg'st a curse!  
May'st thou quit scores then, and be hanged on Nestor,  
Who hangs on thee: thou leadest him by the nose:  
Thou paly'st him like a puppet; speak'st within him,  
And when thou hast contirved some dark design  
To lose a thousand Greeks; make dogs meat of us,  
Thou layst thy Cuckoos egg within his nest,  
And mak'st him hatch it: teachest his remembrance  
To lie; and say, the like of it was practised  
Two hundred years ago; thou bring'st the brain;  
And he brings only beard to vouch thy plots;  Nest. 
I'm no man's fool.  Thers. 
Then be thy own, that's worse.  Nest. 
He'll rail all day.  Vlyss. 
Then we shall learn all day.  
Who forms the body to a graceful carriage  
Must imitate our awkward motion's first;  
The same prescription does the wise Thersites  
Apply to mend our minds. The same he uses  
To Ajax, to achilles'; to the rest;  
His Satyrs are the phyfick of the Camp.  Thers. 
Would they were poison to't, Ratsbane and Hemlock:  
Nothing else can mend you; and those two brawny fools.  Vlyss. 
He hits 'em right:  
Are they not such my Nestor?  Thers. 
Dolt-heads, Asses.  
And beasts of burden; Ajax and Achilles!  
The pillars, no, the porters of the war.  
Hard-headed Rogues! Engines, mere wooden Engines,  
Pushed on to do your work.  Nest. 
They are indeed.  Thers. 
But what a Rogue art thou  
To say they are indeed: Heaven made e, m horses  
And thou puttest on their harness: rid'st and spur'st 'em:  
Usurpest upon heaven's fools, and mak'st 'em thine.  Nest. 
No: they are headstrong fools to be corrected  
By none but by Thersites: thou alone  
Canst tame, and train 'em to their proper use;  
And doing this master claim a just reward  
From Greece, and Royal Agamemnon's, hands.  Thers. 
Ay, when you need a man, you talk of giving;  
For wit's a dear commodity among you:  
But when you do not want him, then stale porridge,  
A starved dog would not lap; and furrow water  
Is all the wine we taste, give drabs and pimps:  
He have no gifts with hooks at end of 'em.  Vlyss. 
Is this a Man, O Nestor to be bought!  
Asia's not price enough! bid the world for him.  
And shall this man, this Hermes, this Apollo,  
Sit lag of Ajax table? almost minstrel,  
And with his presence grace a brainless feast?  
Why they con sense from him grow wits by rote,  
And yet, by ill repeating, libel him;  
Making his wit their nonsense: nay they scorn him;  
Call him bought railer, mercenary tongue!  
Play him for sport at meals, and kick him off.  Thers. 
Yes they can kick; my buttocks feel they can:  
They have their ass's tricks: but I'll eat pebbles,  
I'll starve; 'tis brave to starve, 'tis like a Soldier;  
Before I'll feed those wit-starved rogues with sense.  
They shall eat dry, and choke for want of wit,  
Ere they be moistened with one drop of mine.  
Ajax, and Achilles, two muddwalls of fool,  
That only differ in degrees of thickness.  Vlyss. 
I'd be revenged of both, when wine fumes high,  
Set 'em to prate, to boast their brutal strength,  
To vie their stupid courage, till they quarrel  
And play at hard-head with their empty Skulls.  Thers. 
Yes; they shall but and kick; and all the while  
I'll think they kick for me: they shall fell timber  
On both sides; and then log-wood will be cheap.  Nest. 
And Agamemnon—  Thers. 
Pox of Agamemnon;  
Cannot I do a mischief for myself  
But he must thank me for't!  Vlyss. to Nestor. 
Away; our work is done.  Exeunt Ulysses, Nestor. Thers 
This Agamemnon is a King of clouts:  
A chip in porridge.  Enter Ajax. Ajax. 
Thersites!  Thers. 
Set up to frighten Daws from Cherry trees.  Ajax. 
Dog!  Thers. 
A standard to march under!  Ajax. 
Thou bitch-woolf! canst thou not hear! feel then.  Strikes him. Thers. 
The plague of Greece, and Helen's Pox light on thee,  
Thou mongrel mastiff; thou beef-witted lord  Ajax. 
Speak then, thou mouldy leaven of the Camp.  
Speak or I'll beat thee into handsomeness.  Thers 
I shall sooner rail thee into wit: thou canst kick, can't thou?  
A red murrayn on thy Jades tricks!  Ajax. 
Tell me the Proclamation:  Thers. 
Thou art proclaimed a fool I think.  Ajax. 
You whoreson Cur take that.  [Strikes him. Thers. 
Thou Scurvy valiant Ass.  Ajax. 
Thou slave.  Thers. 
Thou Lord!— I, do, do,— would my buttocks were Iron for thy sake.  Enter Achilles. Patroclus. Achilles. 
Why how now Ajax! wherefore do you this?  
How now Thersites, what's the matter man!  Thers. 
I say this Ajax wears his wit in's belly, and his guts in brains.  Achilles. 
Peace fool.  Thers. 
I would have peace; but the fool will not.  Patrocl 
But what's the quarrel!  Ajax. 
I bade him tell me the proclamation, and he rails upon me.  Thers. 
I serve thee not:  Ajax. 
I shall cut out your tongue!  Thers. 
'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much sense as thou afterwards: I'll see you hanged ere I come any more to your Tent: I'll keep where there's wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.—  [going. Achilles. 
Nay, thou shalt not go Thersites, till we have squeezed the venom out of thee: prithee inform us of this Proclamation.  Thers. 
Why you empty fuzz-balls, your heads are full of nothing else but Proclamations.  Ajax. 
Tell us the news I say.  Thirs. 
You say! why you never said any thing in all your life! But since you will know, 'tis proclaimed through the Army, that Hector is to cudgel you to morrow.  Achilles. 
How cudgel him, Thersites!  Thers. 
Nay, you may take a child's part on't if you have so much courage, for Hector has challenged the toughest of the Greeks: and 't is in dispute which of your two heads is the sonndest timber.  
A knotty piece of work he 'll have betwixt your noddles,  Achilles. 
If Hector be to fight with any greek,  
He knows his Man.  Ajax. 
Yes; he may know his man, without Art Magic.  Thers. 
So he had need: for to my certain knowledge neither of you two are conjurers to inform him.  Achilles. 
to Ajax. You do not mean yourself, sure.  Ajax. 
I mean nothing  Thers. 
Thou mean'st so always.  Achilles. 
Umh! mean nothing!  Thers. 
aside. Jove if it be thy will, let these two fools quarrel about nothing: 'tis a cause that's worthy of'em.  Ajax. 
You said he knew his Man: is there but one?  
One Man amongst the Greeks!  Achilles. 
Since you will have it,  
but one to fight with Hector.  Ajax. 
Then I am he;  Achilles. 
Weak Ajax.  Ajax. 
Weak Achilles.  Thers. 
Weak indeed: God help you both!  Patroc. 
Come, this must be no quarrel.  Thers. 
There's no cause for't.  Patroc. 
He tells you true; you are both equal  Thers. 
Fools.  Achilles. 
I can brook no comparisons.  Ajax. 
Nor I.  Achilles. 
Well Ajax.  Ajax. 
Well Achilles.  Thers. 
So now they quarrel in Monosyllables: A word and a blow, an't be thy will.  Achilles. 
You may hear more.  Ajax. 
I would.  Achilles. 
Expect,  Ajax. 
Farewell.  Exeunt severally. Thers. 
Curse on them, they want wine: your true fool will never fight without it. Or a drab a drab: Oh for a commodious Drab 'em! would Hellen had been here! then it had come to something.  
Dogs, Lions, Bulls, for Females tear and gore:  
And the Beast Man, is valiant for his whore.  Exit Thersites.   


ACT III. SCENE I.  Enter Thersites. Thers. 
SHall the Idiot Ajax use me thus! he beats me and I rail at him: O worthy satisfaction! would I could beat him, and he railed at me! Then there's Achilles, a rare Engineer: if Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves: Now the Plague on the whole Camp, or rather the Pox: for that's a curse dependent on those that sight as we do for a Cuckold's queen.— What ho, my Lord Achilles.  Enter Patroclus. Patroc. 
Who's there, Thersites! Good Thersites come in and rail.  Thers. 
aside. If I could have remembered an Ass with gilt trappings, thou hadst not slipped out of my contemplation. But 'tis no matter; thyself upon thyself: the common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance be thine in great abundance: Heavens belsse thee from a Tutor; and discipline come not near thee.  
I have said my prayers; and the devil Envy say Amen.  
Where's Achilles!  Enter Achilles. 
Who's there Thersites! why my digestion, why hast thou not served thyself to my table, so many meals! come begin what's Agamemnon?  Thers. 
Thy Commander, Achilles: then tell me Pauroclus, what's Achilles?  Patro. 
Thy Benefactor Thersites; then tell me prithee what's thyself?  Thers. 
Thy knower, Patrcolus; then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?  Patroc. 
Thou mayst tell that know'st.  Achilles. 
O, tell, tell. This must be very foolish: and I die to have my spleen tickled.  Thers. 
I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles, Achilles is my Benefactor, I am Patroclus knower; and Patroclus is a fool.  Patroc. 
You Rascal?  Achilles. 
He's a priviledgeed man, proceed Thersites. Ha! ha! ha! prithee proceed while I am in the vein of laughing.  Thersit. 
And all thses foresaid men are fools: Agamemnon's a fool to offer to command Achilles: Achilles is a fool to be commanded by him, I am a fool to serve such a fool, and Patroclus is a fool positive.  Patroc. 
Why am I a fool?  Thersi. 
Make that demand to Heaven, it suffices me thou art one.  Achilles. 
Ha, ha, ha! O give me ribs of steel, or I shall split with pleasure: now play me Nestor at a Night alarm: Mimic him rarely, make him cough and spit, and fumble with his gorget, and shake the rivits with his palsy hand; in and out, in and out, gad that's exceeding foolish.  Patroc. 
Nestor shall not scape so, he has told us what we are; come what's Nestor?  Thersi. 
Why he's an old wooden top, set up by father Time three hundred years ago, that hums to Agamemnon and Ulysses, and sleeps to all the world besides.  Achilles. 
So let him sleep for I'll no more of him: O my Patroclus, I but force a smile, Ajax has drawn the lot, and all the praise of Hector must be his.  Thersi. 
I hope to see his praise upon his shoulders, in blows and bruises, his arms, thighs, and body, all full of fame; such fame as he gave me, and a wide hole at last full in his bosom, to let in day upon him, and discover the inside of a fool.  Patroc. 
How he struts in expectation of honour! he knows not what he does.  Thersi. 
Nay that's no wonder, for he never did.  Achilles. 
Prithee say how he behaves himself?  Thersi. 
O you would be learning to practice, against such another time.— Why he tosses up his head as he had built Castles i'th' air; and he treads upward to 'em, stalks into th'Element, he surveys himself, as 'twere to look for Ajax: he would be cried, for he has lost himself, nay he knows no body; I said good morrow Ajax, and he replied thanks Agamemnon.  Achilles. 
Thou shalt be my Ambassador to him Thersites.  Thersi. 
No, I'll put on his person, let Patroclus make his demands to me, and you shall see the pageant of Ajax.  Achilles. 
To him Patroclus, tell him! humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the Noble Hector to my Tent: and to procure safe conduct for him from our Captain General Agamemnon.  Patroc. 
Jove bless the mighty Ajax!  Thersi. 
Humh!  Patroc. 
I come from the great Achilles.  Thersi. 
Ha!  Patroc. 
Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his Tent.  Thersi. 
Humh!  Patroc. 
And to procure him safe conduct from Agamemnon.  Thersi. 
Agamemnon?  Patroc. 
ay, my lord  Thersi. 
Ha!  Patro. 
What say you to't?  Therst. 
Farewell with all my heart.  Patroc. 
Your answer Sir!  Thersi. 
If to morrow be a fair day, by eleven a clock it will go one way or tother, however he shall buy me dearly, fare you well with all my heart.  Achilles. 
Why but he is not in this tune is he?  Thersi. 
No, but he's thus out of tune, what Music will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains I know not, nor I care not, but if emptiness makes noise, his head will make melody.  Achilles. 
My mind is troubled like a Fountain stirred:  
And I myself see not the bottom on't.  Thersi. 
Would the Fountain of his mind were clear; that he might see an Ass in't. [Aside.] I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance.  Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Diomedes, Menelaus. Patroc. 
Look who comes here.  Achilles. 
Patroclus, I'll speak with no body, come in after me Thersites.  Agam. 
Where's Achilles!  [Exeunt Achilles. Thersites. Patro. 
Within, but ill disposed my lord  Menel. 
We saw him at the opening of his Tent.  Agam. 
Let it be known to him that we are here.  Patroc. 
I shall say so to him.  [Exit Patroclus. Diom. 
I know he is not sick.  Ajax. 
Yes, Lion sick, sick of a proud heart, you may call it melancholy; if you'll humour him: but on my 't 'tis no more than pride: and why should he be proud?  Menel. 
Here comes Patroclus; but no Achilles with him.  Enter Patroclus. Patroc. 
Achilles bids me tell you he is sorry  
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure  
Did move you to this visit: he's not well,  
And begs you would excuse him, as unfit  
For present business.  Agam. 
How! how's this Patroclus?  
We are too well acquainted with these answers.  
Though he has much desert, yet all his virtues  
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss.  
We came to speak with him; you shall not err  
If you return we think him over-proud  
And under-honest. Tell him this; and add,  
That if he over-hold his price so much  
We'll none of him: but let him like an Engine  
Not portable, lie lag of all the Camp.  
A stirring Dwarf is of more use to us  
Then is a sleeping Giant; tell him so.  Patroc. 
I shall; and bring his answer presently.  Agam. 
I'll not be satisfied but by himself.  
So tell him, Menelaus'.  Exeunt Menelaus. Patroclus. Ajax. 
What's he more than another?  Agam. 
No more than what he thinks himself.  Ajax. 
Is he so much! do you not think he thinks himself a better Man than me?  Diom. 
No doubt he does.  Ajax. 
Do you think so?  Agam. 
No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant; but much more courteous.  Ajax. 
Why should a man be proud? I know not what pride is: I hate a proud man as I hate the engendering of toads.  Diom. 
Aside. 'Tis strange he should; and love himself so well.  Re-enter Menel. Men. 
Achilles will not to the field to morrow.  Agam. 
What's his excuse?  Men. 
Why he relies on none  
But his own will; possessed he is with vanity:  
What should I say, he is so plaguy proud  
That the death tokens of it are upon him;  
And bided there's no recovery.  Enter Ulysses, Nectar. Agam. 
Let Ajax go to him.  Vlyss. 
O Agamemnon, let it not be so.  
We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes  
When they go from Achilles: shall that proud man  
Be worshipped by a greater than himself,  
One whom we hold our Idol;  
Shall Ajax go to him? No, Jove forbid,  
And say in thunder, go to him Achilles.  Nest. 
[Aside.] O, this is well; he rubs him where it itches.  Ajax. 
If I go to him with my Gauntlet clenched,  
I'll dash him o'er the face.  Agam. 
O no, you shall not go.  Ajax. 
And' he be proud with me I'll cure his pride: a paltry  
Insolent fellow!  Nest. 
How he describes himself?  Vliss. 
Aside. The crow chides blackness.— here is a man, but 'tis before his face, and therefore I am silent.  Nest. 
Wherefore are you? He is not envious as Achilles is.  Vlyss. 
Know all the world he is as valiant.  Ajax. 
A whoreson dog that shall palter thus with us! would a were a Trojan.  Vlyss. 
Thank Heaven my Lord, you're of a gentle nature,  
Praise him that got you, her that brought you forth;  
But he who taught you first the use of Arms,  
Let Mars divide Eternity; in two,  
And give him half. I will not praise your wisdom.  
Nestor shall do't; but pardon father Nestor,  
Were you as green as Ajax, and your brain  
Tempered like his, you never should excel him;  
But be as Ajax is.  Ajax. 
Shall I call you father?  Vlyss. 
ay, my good Son.  Diom. 
Be ruled by him Lord Ajax.  Vlyss. 
There is no staying here; the Hart Achilles  
Keeps thicket, please it our great General.  
I shall impart a counsel, which observed  
May cure this Madmans' pride.  Agam. 
In my own tent our talk will be more private.  Vlyss. 
But nothing without Ajax:  
He is the soul and substance of my counsels  
And I am but his shadow.  Ajax. 
You shall see  
I am not like Achilles,  
Let us confer; and I'll give counsel too.  [Exeunt Omnes.  

SCENE II.  Pandarus, Troilus, Cressida. Pand. 
Come, come, what need you blush? shame's a baby; swear the oaths now to her, that you swore to me: what are you gone again? you must be watched ere you are made tame must you? why don't you speak to her first!— Come draw this Curtain, and let's see your picture: alas a day, how loath you are to offend daylight!— (they kiss) that's well, that's well, nay you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you.— so so— so so—  Troil. 
You have bereft me of all words, fair Cressida.  Pand. 
Words, pay no debts; give her deeds;— what billing again! here's in witness whereof the parties interchangeably— come in, come in, you lose time both.  Troil. 
O Cressida, how often have I wished me here?  Cressi. 
Wished my Lord!— the Gods grant! O my lord—  Troil. 
What should they grant? what makes this pretty interruption in thy words?  Cressi. 
speak I know not what!  Troil. 
Speak ever so; and if I answer you  
I know not what, it shows the more of love.  
Love is a child that talks in broken language,  
Yet than he speaks most plain.  Cress. 
I find it true, that to be wise and love  
Are inconsistent things.  Pand. 
what blushing still, have you not done talking vet!  Cress. 
Well Uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.  Pand. 
I thank you for that: if my Lord get a boy of you, you'll give him me. Be true to my Lord, if he flinch I'll be hanged for him— (Now am I in my kingdom!  [aside] Troil. 
You know your pledges now, your Uncle's word and my firm faith.  Pand. 
Nay I'll give my word for her too: our kindred are constant: they are burrs I can assure you, they'll stick where they are thrown.  Cress. 
Boldness comes to me now, and I can speak:  
Prince Troilus, I have loved you long.  Troil. 
Why was my Cressida then so hard to win?  Cress. 
Hard to seem won; but I was won my lord  
What have I blabbed, who will be true to us,  
When we are so unfaithful to ourselves!  
O bid me hold my tongue? for in this rapture.  
Sure I shall speak what I should soon repent.  
But stop my mouth.  Troil. 
A sweet command; and willingly obeyed.  [Kisses] Pand. 
Pretty I faith!  Cress. 
My Lord I do beseech you pardon me,  
'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss.  
I am ashamed: O heavens what have I done!  
For thts' time let me take my leave, my lord  Pand. 
Leave! and you take leave till to morrow morning, call me Cut.  Cress. 
Pray let me go.  Troil, 
Why what offends you, Madam?  Cress. 
My own company.  Troil. 
You cannot snun you self.  Cress. 
Let me go and try:  
I have a kind of self resides in you.  Troil. 
Oh that I thought truth could be in a woman!  
(As if it can, I will presume in you)  
That my integrity and faith might meet  
The same return form her who has my heart.  
How should I be exaltted! but alas  
I am more plain than dull simplicity!  
And art less, as the infancy of truth.  Cress. 
In that I must not yield to you my lord  Troil. 
All constant Lovers shall, in future Ages,  
Approve their truth by Troilus: when their verse  
Wants similes as turtles to their mates:  
Or true as flowing tides are to the Moon;  
Earth to the Centre: Iron to Adamant:  
At last when truth is tired with repetition;  
As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse,  
And sanctify the Numbers.  Cress. 
Prophet my you be!  
If I am false, or swerve from truth of love,  
When time is old, and has forgot itself,  
In all things else, let it remember me;  
And after all comparisons of falsehood  
To stab the heart of perjury in Maids;  
Let it be said as false as Cressida.  Pand. 
Go to, little ones: a bargain made: here I hold your hand, and here my Cousins: if ever you prove false to one another, after I have taken such pains to bring you together: let all pitiful goers between, be called to the world's end after my name, Panders.  Cress. 
And will you promise that the holy Priest  
Shall make us one for ever!  Pand. 
Priests! marry 'em! they make you one! go in, go in, and make yourselves one without a priest: I'll have no priests work in my house.  Cress. 
I'll not consent unless you swear.  Pand. 
ay, do, do, swear; a pretty woman's worth an oath at any time. Keep or break as time shall try; but 'tis good to swear, for the saving of her credit: Hang 'em sweet Rogues they never expect a Man should keep it. Let him but swear, and that's all they care for.  Troil. 
Heavens prosper me as I devoutly swear,  
Never to be but yours.  Pand. 
Whereupon I will lead you into a chamber: and suppose there be a bed in't; as I fack, I know not: but you'll forgive me, if there be: away, away, you naughty hildings: get ye together, get you together. Ah you wags, do you leer indeed at one another! do the neyes twinkle at him! get you together, get you together.  [Leads them out. Enoter at one door Aeneas with a Torch, at another Hector, Diomedes with Torches, Hect. 
So ho; who goes there? Aeneas!  Aeneas. 
Prince Hector!  Diom. 
Good morrow Lord Aeneas.  Hect. 
A valiant Greek, Aeneas; take his hand;  
Witness the process of your speech within;  
You told how Diomedes a whole week by days  
Did haunt you in the field.  Aeneas. 
Health to you, valiant Sir,  
During all business of the gentle truce;  
But when I meet you armed, as black defiance  
As heart can think, or courage execute.  Diom. 
Both one and to there, Diomedes embraces.  
Our bloods are now in clam; and so, long health;  
But when contention, and occasion meets,  
By Jove I'll play the hunter for thy life,  Aeneas. 
And thou shalt hunt a Lyou that will fly  
With his face backward: welcome Diomedes  
Welcome to Troy: now by Anchises Soul  
No man alive can love in such a sort  
The thing he means to kill, more excellently.  Diom. 
We know eath other well.  Aene. 
We do; and long to know each other worse  
To Hect. my Lord, the King has sent for me in haste:  
Know you the reason?  Hect. 
Yes: his purpose meets you,  
It was to bring this Greek to Colchas' house.  
Where Pandarus his Brother, and his Daughter  
Fair Cressida reside: and there to render  
For our Antenor, now redeemed from prison,  
The Lady Cressida:  Aene. 
What! Has the King resolved to gratify  
That Traitor Colchos; who forsook his Country,  
And turned to them, by giving up this pledge?  Hect. 
The bitter disposition of the time  
Is such, though Colchos as a fugitive  
Deserve it not, that we must free Antenor  
On whose wise Counsels, we can most rely:  
And therefore Cressida must be returned.  Aene. 
A word my Lord— (Your pardon Diomedes)  
Your Brother Troilus, to my certain knowledge,  
Does lodge this night in Paudarus his house:  Hect. 
Go you before: tell him of our approach  
Which will I fear be much  
Unwelcome to him.  Aene. 
I assure you  
Troilus had rather Troy were born to Greece  
Than Cressida from Troy.  Hect. 
I know it well: and how he is beside,  
Of hasty blood:  Aene. 
He will not hear me speak:  
But I have noted long betwixt you two  
A more than Brother's love: an awful homage  
The fiery youth pays to your elder virtue.  Hect. 
Leave it to me; I'll manage him alone:  
Attend you Diomedes; My Lord good morrow:  [to Diomed. 
An urgent business takes me from the pleasure  
Your company affords me; but Aeneas  
With joy will undertake to serve you here,  
And to supply my room.  Aeneas. 
to Diomed. My Lord I wait you.  Exeunt severally. [Diomedes with Aeneas; Hector at another door. Enter Pandarus: a Servant: Music. Pand. 
Softly, villain, softly; I would not for half Troy the Lovers should be disturbed under my roof; listen rogue, listen, do they breathe?  Seru. 
Yes, Sir, I hear by some certain signs, the are both awaken.  Pand. 
That's as it should be that's well aboth sides. [listens] Yes faith they are both alive:— there was a creak! there was a creak: they are both alive and alive like; there was a creak: a ha' boys!— Is the music ready?  Seru. 
Shall they strike up Sir!  Pand. 
Art thou sure they do not know the Parties?  Seru. 
They play to the Man in the Moon for aught they know.  Pand. 
To the Man in the Moon, ah Rogue! do they so indeed Rogue! I understand, thee: thou art a wag; thou art a wag. Come touse rouse! in the name of love, strike up boys!  Music. and then Song: during which Pandarus listens. 

Song.  

CAn life be a blessing,  
Or worth the possessing,  
Can life be a blessing if love were away?  
Ah no! though our love all night keep us waking,  
And though he torment us with cares all the day,  
yet he sweetens he sweetens our pains in the taking,  
There's an hour at the last, there's an hour to repay.   

2.  
In every possessing,  
The ravishing blessing,  
In every possessing the fruit of our pain,  
Poor lovers forget long ages of anguish,  
whate'er they have suffered and done to obtain;  
'Tis a pleasure, a pleasure to sigh and to languish,  
When we hope, when we hope to be happy again.    Pand. 
Put up, and vanish; they are coming out; what a ferrup, will you play when the dance is done? I say vanish.  Exit Music. Peeping. 
Good I'faith; good ifarth! what hand in hand!— a fair quarrel, well ended! do, do, walk him, walk him; A good girl, a discreet girl: I see she'll make the most of him.  Enter Troil. and Cressida. Troil. 
Farewell, my life! leave me and back to bed:  
Sleep seal those pretty eyes;  
And tie thy senses in as soft a band  
As Infants void of thought.  Pandarus. 
showing himself. How now, how now, how go matters! hear you Maid, hear you; where's my Cousin Cressida?  Cress. 
Go hang yourself you naughty mocking Uncle:  
You bring me to do ill and then you jeer me!  Pand. 
What ill have I brought you to do? say what if you dare now!  
My Lord have I brought her to do ill?  Cress. 
Come, come, beshrew your heart; you'll neither be good yourself, nor suffer others.  Pand. 
Alas poor wench; alas poor Devil; hast not slept tonight? would a'not (a naughty Man) let it sleep one twinkle! Ah bugbear take him!  Knock. within. Cress. 
Who's that at door? good Uncle go and see:  
My Lord come you again into my chamber!  
You smile and mock as if I meant naughtily!  Troil. 
Indeed, indeed!  Cress. 
Come you're deceived; I think of no such thing:  Knock again. 
How earnestly they knock, pray come in:  
I would not for all Troy, you were seen here.  [Exeunt Troil. Cressida. Pand. 
Who's there! what's the matter!  
Will you beat down the house there!  Enter Hector. Hect. 
Good morrow my Lord Pandarus; good morrow!  Pand. 
Who's there, Prince Hector! what news with you so early?  Hect. 
Is not my Brother Troilus here?  Pand. 
Here! what should he do here?  Hect. 
Come he is here my Lord, do not deny him:  
It does import him much to speak with me.  Pand. 
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?  Hect. 
Come, come you do him wrong ere you're aware; you'll be so true to him, that you'll be false to him: you shall not know he's here; but yet go fetch him hither:— go.  [Exit Pandarus. Enter Troilus. 
I bring you Brother, most unwelcome news;  
But since of force you are to hear it told,  
I thought a friend and Brother best might tell it:  
Therefore, befroe I speak, arm well your mind  
And think you're to be touched dev'n to the quick;  
That so, prepared for ill you may be less  
Surprised to hear the worst.  Troil. 
See Hector, what it is to be your Brother,  
I stand prepared already.  Hect. 
Come, you are not,  
I know you Troilus, you are hot and fiery:  
You kindle at a wrong; and catch it quick  
As stubble does the flame.  Troil. 
'Tis heat of blood  
And rashness of my youth. I'll mend that error:  
Begin and try my temper.  Hect. 
Can you think  
Of that one thing which most could urge your anger  
Drive you to madness, plunge you in despair,  
And make you hate even me?  Troil. 
There can be nothing.  
I love you Brother, with that awful love  
I bear to Heaven, and to superior virtue,  
And when I quit this love you must be that  
Which Hector near can be.  Hect. 
Remember well  
What you have said: for when I claim your promise  
I shall expect performance.  Troil. 
I am taught:  
I will not rage.  Hect. 
Nor grieve beyond a man.  Troil. 
I won not be a woamn.  Hect. 
Do not Brother:  
And I will tell my news, in terms so mild,  
So tender, and so fearful to offend  
As Mother's use to soothe their froward Babes;  
Nay I will swear as you hve sworn to me,  
That if some gust of passion swell your soul  
To words intemperate, I will bear with you.  Troil. 
What would this pomp of preparation mean?  
Come you to bring me news of Priam's death  
Or Hecuba's  Hect. 
The Gods forbid I should:  
But what I bring is nearer you, more close,  
An ill more yours,  Troil. 
There is but one that can be.  Hect. 
Perhaps 'tis that.  Troil. 
I'll not suspect my fate  
So far, I know I stand possessed of that.  Hect. 
'Tis well: consider at whose house I find you.  Troil. 
Ha!  Hect. 
Does it start you! I must wake you more:  
Antenor is exchanged.  Troil. 
For whom.  Hect. 
Imagine.  Troil. 
It comes like thunder grumbling in a cloud,  
Before the dreadful break: if here it fall,  
The subtle flame will lick up all my blood,  
And in a moment turn my heart to ashes.  Hect. 
That Cressida for for Anthenor is exchanged  
Because I knew 'twas harsh I would not tell;  
Not all at once; but by degrees and glimpses  
I let it in, lest it might rush upon you  
And quite orepower your Soul: in this I think  
I showed a friend: your part must follow next:  
Which is, to curb your choler, tame your grief,  
And bear it like a man.  Troil. 
I think I do  
That I yet live to hear you: but no more:  
Hope for no more: for should some Goddess offer  
To give herself and all her Heaven in change,  
I would not part with Cressida: so return  
This answer as my last.  Hect. 
'Twill not be taken:  
Nor will I bear such news.  Troil. 
You bore me worse.  Hect. 
Worse for yourself; not for the general state,  
And all our common safety, which depends  
On freed Anthenors' wisdom.  Troil. 
You would say  
That I'm the Man marked out to be unhappy;  
And made the public Sacrifice for Troy.  Hect. 
I would say so indeed: for can you find  
A fate more glorious than to be that victim?  
If parting from a Mistress can procure  
A Nations happiness, show me that Prince  
Who dares to trust his future fame so far  
To stand the shock of Annals, blotted thus  
He sold his Country for a woman's love?  Troil. 
O, she's my life, my being, and my Soul!  Hect. 
Suppose she were, which yet I will not grant,  
You ought to give her up.  Troil. 
For whom!  Hect. 
The public.  Troil. 
And what are they that I should give up her  
To make them happy? let me tell you Brother,  
The public, is the Lees of vulgar slaves:  
Slaves, with the minds of slaves: so born, so bred:  
Yet such as these united in a herd  
Are called the public: Millions of such Ciphers  
Make up the public sum: an eagle's life  
Is worth a world of Crows: are Princes made  
For such as these, who, were one Soul extracted  
From all their beings, could not raise a Man.—  Hect. 
And what are we, but for such men as these?  
'Tis adoration, some say makes a God:  
And who should pay it, where would be their Altars  
Were no inferior creatures here on Earth?  
Even those who serve have their expectances;  
Degrees of happiness, which they must share,  
Or they'll refuse to serve us.  Troil. 
Let 'em have it.  
Let 'em eat, drink and sleep; the only use  
They have of life:  Hect. 
You take all these away,  
Unless you give up Cressida.  Troil. 
Forbear;  
Let Paris give up Helen: she 's the cause,  
And root of all this mischief.  Hect. 
Your own suffrage  
Condemns you there: you voted for her stay.  Troil. 
If one must stay, the other sha'not go.  Hect. 
She sha'not?  Troil. 
Once again, I say she shall not.  Hect. 
Our Father has decreed it otherwise.  Troil. 
No matter.  Hect. 
How! no matter Troilus?  
A King, and father's will!  Troil. 
When 'tis unjust.  Hect. 
Come she shall go.  Troil. 
She shall? then I am dared.  Hect. 
If nothing else will do.  Troil. 
Answer me first;  
And then I'll answer that: be sure I will;  
Whose hand sealed this exchange?  Hect. 
My Father's first;  
Then all the Council's after.  Troil. 
Was yours there?  Hect. 
Mine was there too.  Troil. 
Then you're no more my friend:  
And for your sake now mark me what I say,  
She shall not go.  Hect. 
Go to, you are a boy,  Troil. 
A Boy! I'm glad I am not such a Man,  
Not such as thou; a traitor to thy Brother:  
Nay more, thy friend: but friend's a Sacred name,  
Which none but brave and honest men should wear;  
In thee 'tis vile; 'tis prostitute: 'tis Air;  
And thus I puff it from me.  Hect. 
Well, young Man,  
Since I'm no friend (and oh that ere I was  
To one so far unworthy) bring her out,  
Or by our Father's Soul, of which no part  
Did ere descend to thee, I'll force her hence.  Troil. 
I laugh at thee.  Hect. 
Thou dar'st not.  Troil. 
I dare more,  
If urged beyond my temper: prove my daring,  
And see which of us has the larger share  
Of our great Fathers Soul.  Hect. 
No more, thou know'st me.  Troil. 
I do; and know myself.  Hect. 
All this ye Gods,  
And for the Daughter of a fugitive,  
A Traitor to his Country!  Troil. 
'Tis too much.  Hect. 
By Heaven too little; for I think her common,  Troil. 
How, Common!  Hect. 
Common as the tainted shambles,  
Or as the dust we tread.  Troil. 
By Heaven as chaste as thy Andromache.  Hector lays his hand on Troilus his Arm; and Troilus does the same to him. Hect. 
What! namest thou them together!  Troil. 
No; I do not:  
For Cressida is first: as chaste as she,  
But much more fair.  Hect. 
O patience, patience, Heaven!  
Thou temptest me strangely: should I kill thee now,  
I know not if the Gods can be offended  
Or think I slew a Brother; but be gone,  
Be gone, or I shall shake thee into Atoms:  
Thou know'st I can.  Troil. 
I care not if you could.  Hect. 
walking off. I thank ye Gods for calling to my mind  
My promise that no words of thine should urge me,  
Beyond the bounds of reason: But in thee  
'Twas brutal baseness, so forewarned to fall  
Beneath the name of man: to spurn my kindness;  
And when I offered thee (thou know'st how loath!)  
The wholesome bitter cup o' friendly counsel.  
To dash it in my face: farewell, farewell.  
Ungrateful as thou art: hereafter use  
The name of Brother; but of friend no more.  [going out. Troil. 
Wilt thou not break yet heart? stay Brother, stay.  
I promised too, but I have broke my vow,  
And you keep yours too well.  Hect. 
What wouldst thou more?  
Take heed, young man how you too far provoke me!  
For Heaven can witness 'tis with much constraint  
That I preserve my faith.  Troil. 
Else you would kill me;  Hect. 
By all the Gods I would.  Troil. 
I'm satisfied.  
You have condemned me, and I'll do't myself;  
What's life to him, who has no use of life?  
A barren purchase, held upon hard terms!  
For I have lost (oh what have I not lost!)  
The fairest, dearest, kindest of her Sex,  
And lost her even by him, by him, ye Gods,  
Who only could, and only should protect me!  
And if I had a joy beyond that love,  
A friend, have lost him too!  Hect. 
Speak that again:  
(For I could hear it ever:) saidst thou not  
That if thou hadst a joy beyond that love  
It was a friend? O saidst thou not a friend!  
That doubting if was kind: then thou'rt divided;  
And I have still some part,  Troil. 
If still you have  
You do not care to have it.  Hect. 
How, not care!  Troil. 
No, Brother, care not.  Hect. 
Am I but thy Brother!  Troil. 
You told me I I must call you friend no more.  Hect. 
How far my words were distant from my heart!  
Know when I told thee so I loved thee most.  
Alas! it is the use of human frailty  
To fly to worst extremities with those  
To whom we most are kind.  Troil. 
Is't possible!  
Then you are still my friend!  Hect. 
Heaven knows I am!  Troil. 
And can forgive the Sallies of my passion?  
For I have been too blame: oh much too blame:  
Have said such words, nay done such actions too,  
(Base as I am) that my awed, conscious Soul  
Sinks in my breast, nor dare I lift an eye  
On him I have offended.  Hect. 
Peace be to thee  
And calmness ever there. I blame thee not:  
I know thou lov'st; and what can love not do!  
I cast the wild disorderly account  
Of all thy words and deeds on that mad passion;  
I pity thee, indeed I pity thee:  Troil. 
Do; for I need it: let me lean my head  
Upon thy bosom; all my peace dwells there;  
Thou art some God, or much much more than man!  Hect. 
Alas! to lose the joys of all thy youth,  
One who deserved thy love!  Troil. 
Did she deserve?  Hect. 
She did.  Troil. 
Then sure she was no common creature.  Hect. 
I said it in my rage, I thought not so.  Troil. 
That thought has blessed me! but to lose this love.  
After long pains, and after short possession.  Hect. 
I feel it for thee: Let me go to Priam,  
I'll break this treaty off; or let me fight;  
I'll be thy champion; and secure both her  
And thee, and Troy.  Troil. 
It must not be, my Brother!  
For than your error would be more than mine:  
I'll bring her forth, and you shall bear her hence;  
That you have pitied me is my reward.  Hect. 
Go then; and the good gods restore her to thee,  
And with her all the quiet of thy mind;  
The triumph of this kindness be thy own;  
And heaven and earth this testimony yield,  
That Friendship never gained a nobler field.  Exeunt severally.   


ACT IV. SCENE I.  Enter Pandarus, Cressida meeting. Pand. 
Is't possible! no sooner got but lost!  
The devil take Antenor: the young Prince will go mad:  
A plague upon Antenor! would they had broke's neck.  Cressi. 
How now! what's the matter! who was here!  Pand. 
Oh, oh!  Cressi. 
Why sigh you so! O where's my Troilus? tell me sweet  
Uncle what's the matter?  Pand. 
Would I were as deep under the earth, as I am above it!  Cressi. 
Oh the Gods, what's the matter?  Pand. 
Prithee get thee in, would thou hadst never been born!  
I knew thou wouldst be his death; oh poor Gentleman!  
A plague upon Antenor?  Cressi. 
Good Uncle, I beseech you on my knees, tell me what's the matter?  Pand. 
Thou must be gone girl; thou must be gone, to the fugitive Rogue Priest thy father, (and he's my brohter too, but that's all one at this time:) a pox upon Antenor.?  Cressi. 
O ye immortal Gods, I will not go.  Pand. 
Thou must, thou must?  Cressi. 
I will not: I have quite forgot my father;  
I have no touch of birth; no spark of Nature:  
No kin, no blood, no life; nothing so near me  
As my dear Troilus?  Enter Troilus. Pand. 
Here, here, here, he comes sweet Duck!  Cressi. 
O Troilus, Troilus!  [They both weep over each other, she running into his arms. Pand. 
What a pair of Spectacles is here! let me embrace too: Oh heart, sings (as the saying is) O heart, heavy heart, why sighest thou without breaking (where he answers again) because thou canst not ease thy smart, by friendship nor by speaking, there was never a truer rhyme; 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?  Troil. 
Cressida, I love thee with so strange a purity  
That the blessed Gods, angry with my devotions  
More bright in zeal, than that I pay their Altars,  
Will take thee from my sight?  Cressi. 
Have the God's envy?  Pand. 
ay, I, I, 'tis too plain a case!  Cressi. 
And is it true, that I must go from Troy?  Troil. 
A hastefull truth?  Cressi. 
What, and from Troilus too?  Troil. 
From Troy and Troilus: and suddenly.  
So suddenly 'tis counted but by minutes.  Cressi. 
What not an hour allowed for taking leave?  Troil. 
Even that's bereft us too: our envious fates  
Justle betwixt, and part the dear adieus  
Of meeting lips, clasped hands, and locked embraces.  Aeneas within. 
My Lord, is the Lady ready yet?  Troil. 
Hark, you are called: some say the Genius so  
Cries come, to him who instantly must die.  Pand. 
Where are my tears! some rain to'lay this wind:  
Or my heart will be blown up by th' roots!  Troil. 
Hear me my Love! be thou but true like me.  Cressi. 
I true! how now, what wicked thought is this?  Troil. 
Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,  
For it is parting from us:  
I spoke not, be thou true, as fearing thee;  
But be thou true, I said to introduce  
My following protestation: be thou true,  
And I will see thee.  Cressi. 
You'll be exposed to dangers.  Troil. 
I care not: but be true.  Cressi. 
Be true again?  Troil. 
Hear why I speak it love.  
The Grecian Youths are full of Grecian Arts:  
Alas a kind of holy jealousy  
Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin,  
Makes me afraid how far you may be tempted.  Cressi. 
O Heavens, you love me not!  Troil 
die I, a villain then!  
In this I do not call your faith in question  
But my own merit.  Cressi. 
Fear not; I'll be true  Troil. 
Then fate thy worst; for I will see thee love  
Not all the Grecian host shall keep me out,  
Nor Troy, though walled with fire, should hold me in.  Aeneas within. 
My Lord, my Lord Troilus: I must call you.  Pand. 
A mischief call him: nothing but Schreechowls? do, do, call again; you had best part 'em now in the sweetness of their love! I'll be hanged if this Aeneas be the Son of Venus, for all his bragging. Honest Venus was a Punk: would she have parted Lovers: no he has not a drop of Venus' blood in him: honest Venus was a Punk.  Troil. 
To Pand. Prithee go out; and gain one minute more.  Pand. 
Marry and I will: follow you your business; lose no time, 'tis very precious; go, Bill again: I'll tell the Rogue his own I warrant him.  Exit Pandarus. Cressi. 
What have we gained by this one minute more?  Troil. 
Only to wish another, and another  
A longer struggling with the pangs of death.  Cressi. 
O those who do not know what parting is  
Can never learn to die!  Troil. 
When I but think this sight may be our last,  
If Jove could set me in the place of Atlas  
And lay the weight of heaven and Gods upon me  
He could not press me more.  Cressi. 
Oh let me go that I may know my grief;  
Grief is but guessed, while thou art standing by:  
But I too soon shall know what absence is.  Troil. 
Why 'tis to be no more: another name for death.  
'Tis the Sun parting from the frozen North;  
And I, me thinks, stand on some cey cliff,  
To watch the last low circles that he makes;  
Till he sink down from Heaven! O only Cressida,  
If thou depart from me, I cannot live:  
I have not soul enough to last for grief,  
But thou shalt hear what grief has done with me.  Cressi. 
If I could live to hear it, I were false,  
But as a careful traveller who fearing  
Assaults of Robbers, leaves his wealth behind,  
I trust my heart with thee; and to the Greeks  
Bear but an empty Casket.  Troil. 
Then, I will live; that I may keep that treasure:  
And armed with this assurance, let thee go  
Loose, yet secure as is the gentle Hawk  
When whistled off she mounts into the wind,  
Our love's, like Mountains high above the clouds,  
Though winds and tempests beat their aged feet,  
Their peaceful heads nor storm nor thunder know,  
But scorn the threating rack that rolls below,  Exeunt Ambo.  

SCENE II.  Achilles and Patroclus, standing in their Tent. Ulysses, Agamemnon, Menelaus, Nestor, Ajax, passing over the Stage. Vlyss. 
Achilles' stands in th'entrance of his Tent:  
Please it our General to pass strangely by him,  
As if he were forgot, and Princes all  
Look on him with neglectful eyes and scorn:  
Pride must be cured by pride.  Agam. 
We'll execute your purpose, and put on  
A form of strangeness as we pass along  
So do each Prince either salute him not  
Or else disdainfully, which will shake him more  
Than if not looked on: I will lead the way.  Achilles. 
What, comes the General to speak with me!  
You know my mind; I'll fight no more with Troy.  Agam. 
What says Achilles, would he ought with us?  Nest. 
Would you, my Lord, aught with the General!  Achilles. 
No.  Nest. 
Nothing my lord  Agam. 
The better.  Menel. 
How do you, how do you!  Achilles. 
What does the Cuckold scorn me!  Ajax. 
How now Patroclus!  Achilles. 
Good morrow Ajax.  Ajax. 
Ha!  Achilles. 
Good morrow.  Ajax. 
I; and good next day too.  [Exeunt all but Achilles, and Patroclns. Achilles. 
What mean these fellows! know they not Achilles?  Patroc. 
They pass by strangely; they were used to bow;  
And send their smiles before 'em to Achilles,  
To come as humbly as they used to creep, to holy Altars.  Achilles. 
Am I poor of late!  
'Tis certain, greatness once fallen out with fortune  
Must fall out with men too! what the declind is  
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others  
As feel in his own fall: for men like butterflies,  
Show not their mealy wings but to the Summer.  Patroc. 
'Tis known you are in love with Hector's Sister,  
And therefore will not fight: and your not fighting  
Draws on you this contempt: I oft have told you  
A woman impudent and mannish grown  
Is not more loathed than an effeminate man,  
In time of action: I'm condemned for this:  
They think my little appetite to war  
Deads' all the fire in you: but rouse yourself,  
And love shall from your neck unloose his folds;  
Or like a dew drop from a Lion's Mane  
Be shaken into air.  Achilles. 
Shall Ajax fight with Hector?  Patrocl. 
Yes, and perhaps shall gain much honour by him.  Achilles. 
I see my reputation is at stake.  Patroc. 
O then beware, those wounds heal ill that men have given themselves, because they give 'em deepest.  Achilles. 
I'll do something:  
But what I know not yet,— No more our Champion.  Re-enter Ajax, Agamemnon, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nest. Diomedes, Trumpet Agamemnon 
Here art thou daring combat, valiant Ajax.  
Give with thy Trumpet, a loud note to Troy,  
Thou Noble Champion, that the sounding air  
May pierce the ears of the great challenger,  
And call him hither.  Ajax. 
Trumpet take that purse:  
Now crack thy lungs, and split the sounding brass;  
Thou blowest for Hector.  [Trumpet sounds, and is answered from within. Enter Hector, Aeneas, and other Trojans. Agam. 
Yonder comes the Troop.  Aeneas, coming to the Greeks. 
Health to the Grecian Lords; what shall be done  
To him that shall be vanquished? or do you purpose,  
A Victor should be known! will you the Knights,  
Shall to the edge of all extremity,  
Pursue each other, or shall be divided  
By any voice or order of the field;  
Hector bade ask.  Agam. 
Which way woned Hector have it?  Aene. 
He cares not, he'll obey conditions.  Achilles. 
'Tis done like Hector but securely done;  
A little proudly, and too much despising  
The Knight opposed, he might have found his match.  Aene. 
If not Achilles, Sir, what is your name!  Achilles. 
If not Achilles nothing.  Aene. 
Therefore Achilles, but who ere know this;  
Great Hector knows no pride, weigh him but well,  
And that which looks like pride is courtesy.  
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood,  
In love whereof half Hector stays at home;  Achilles. 
A Maiden battle! I perceive you then.  Agam. 
Go Diomedes, and stand by valiant Ajax:  
As you and Lord Aeneas shall consent,  
So let the fight proceed or terminate.  [The Trumpets sound on both sides, while Aeneas and Diomedes take their places, as judges of the Field: The Trojans and Grecians rank themselves on either side. Vlyss. 
They are opposed already.  [Fight equal at first, than Ajax has Hector at disadvantage: at last Hector closes, Ajax falls on one knee, Hector stands over him but strikes not, and Ajax rises. Aeneas throwing his Gauntlet betwixt them. 
Princes enough, you both have shown much valour.  Diomedes. 
And we as Judges of the Field declare;  
The combat here shall cease.  Ajax. 
I am not warm yet, let us fight again.  Aene. 
Then let it be as Hector shall determine.  Hect. 
If it be left to me, I will no more.  Ajax, 
thou art my Aunt Hesion's Son;  
The Obligation of our blood forbids us.  
But were thy mixture Greek and Trojan so,  
That thou couldst say, this part is Grecian all  
And this is Trojan, hence thou shouldst not bear  
One Grecian limb, wherein my pointed Sword  
Had not impression made, but Heaven forbid  
That any drop thou borrowst from my Mother,  
Should ere be drained by me, let me embrace thee Cousin:  
By him who thunders thou hast sinnewy arms,  
Hector would have 'em fall upon him thus:—  [Embrace] 
Thine be the honour, Ajax.  Ajax. 
I thank thee Hector,  
Thou art too gentle, and too free a Man:  
I came to kill thee Cousin, and to gain  
A great addition from that glorious act:  
But thou hast quite disarmed me.  Hect. 
I am glad.  
For 'tis the only way I could disarm thee.  Ajax. 
If I might in entreaty find success,  
I would desire to see thee at my Tent.  Diom. 
'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles,  
Both long to see the valiant Hector there.  Hect. 
Aeneas, call my Brother Troilus to me;  
And you two sign this friendly interview.  [Agamemnon, and the chief of both sides approach. Agam. 
to Hect. Worthy of Arms, as welcome as to one  
Who would be rid of such an Enemy.  
To Troil. My well famed Lord of Troy, no less to you.  Nest. 
I have, thou gallant Trojan seen thee often  
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way,  
Through ranks of Grecian youth, and I have seen thee  
As swift as lightning spur thy Phrygian Steed,  
And seen thee scorning many forfeit lives,  
When thou hast hung thy advanced Sword i'th' air,  
Not letting it decline, on prostrate foes:  
That I have said to all the standers by  
Lo Jove is yonder, distributing life.  Hect. 
Let me embrace thee, good old Chroni le,  
Who hast so long walked hand in hand with time:  
Most Reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.  Vlyss. 
I wonder now, how yonder City stands,  
When we have here, her base and pillar by us.  Hect. 
I know your countenance, Lord Ulysses well;  
Ah Sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,  
Since first I saw yourself and Diomede,  
In Ilium, on your Greekish Embassy.  Achilles. 
Now Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;  
I have with exact view perused thee Hector,  
And quoted joint by joint.  Hect. 
Is this Achilles!  Achilles. 
I am Achilles.  Hect. 
Stand fair, I prithee let me look on thee.  Achilles. 
Behold thy fill.  Hect. 
Nay, I have done already.  Achilles. 
Thou art too brief, I will the second time  
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.  Hect. 
O, like a Book of sport thou readest me o'er;  
But there's more in me then thou understandest.  Achilles. 
Tell me ye heavens', in which part of his body  
Shall I destroy him? there, or there, or there!  
That I may give th'imagined wound a name,  
And make distinct the very breach, whereout  
Hector's great spirit flew! answer me Heavens!  Hect. 
Wert thou an Oracle to tell me this!  
I'd not believe thee, henceforth guard thee well,  
I'll kill the every where:  
Ye Noble Grecians pardon me this boast,  
His insolence draws folly from my lips,  
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words;  
Else may I never.—  Ajax. 
Do not chafe thee Cousin,  
And you Achilles let these threats alone:  
You may have every day enough of Hector,  
If you have stomach, the General State I fear  
Can scarce entreat you to perform your boast.  Hect. 
I pray you let us see you in the field;  
We have had paltry Wars, since you refused  
The Grecian cause.  Achill. 
Dost thou entreat me Hector!  
To morrow will I meet thee fierce as death;  
To Night all peace.  Hect. 
Thy hand upon that match.  Agam. 
First all you Grecian Princes go with me,  
And entertain great Hector, afterwards,  
As his own leisure, shall concur with yours,  
You may invite him to your several Tents.  [Exeunt Agam. Hect. Menel. Nestor, Diomedes, together. Troil. 
My Lord Ulysses.  
Tell me I beseech you;  
In what part of the field does Calehas lodge!  Vlyss. 
At Menelaus' Tent;  
There Diomedes does feast with him to Night:  
Who neither looks on Heaven or on Earth,  
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view,  
On Cressida alone.  Troil. 
Shall I, brave Lord be bound to you so much  
After we part from Agamemnon's Tent.  
To bring me thither!  Vlyss. 
I shall want on you.  
As freely tell me, of what honour was  
This Cressida in Troy? had she no Lovers there  
Who mourn her absence?  Troil. 
O Sir, to such as boasting show their scars,  
Reproof is due, she loved and was beloved:  
That's all I must impart. Lead on my lord  Exeunt Ulysses Troilus. Achilles. 
to Patro. I'll heat his blood with Greckish wine to Night,  
Which with my Sword I mean to cool to morrow.  
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.  Enter Thersites. Patro. 
Here comes Thersites.  Achilles. 
How now thou core of envy,  
Thou crusty batch of Nature, what's the news?  Thers. 
Why thou picture of what thou seemest, thou Idol of  
Idiot worshippers, there's a Letter for thee.  Achilles. 
From whence fragment?  Thers. 
Why thou full dish of fool, from Troy.  Patroc. 
Well said adversity! what makes thee so keen to day?  Thers. 
Because a fool's my whetstone.  Patro. 
Meaning me?  Thers. 
Yes meaning thy no meaning; prithee be silent, boy, I profit not by thy talk: Now the rotten diseases of the South, gut gripe, ruptures, Catarrhs; loads of gravel in the back, Lethargies, cold palsies, and the like, take thee, and take thee again; thou green Sarsenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigals purse, thou: Ah how the poor world is pestered with such water-flys: such diminitives of nature.  Achilles. 
My dear Patroclus, I am quite prevented  
From my great purpose, bent on Hector's life:  
Here is a Letter from my love Polixena,  
Both taxing, and engaging me to keep  
An Oath that I have sworn: and will not break it  
To save all Greece: let honour go or stay,  
There's more Religion in my love than fame:  Exeunt Achilles, Patroclus. Thers. 
With too much blood, and too little brain, these two are running mad before the dog-days. There's Agamemnon too, an honest fellow enough, and loves a brimmer heartily; but he has not so much brains as an old gander. But his brother Menelaus, there's a fellow: the goodly transformation of Jupiter when he loved Europa: the primitive Cuckold: A vile Monkey tied eternally to his brother's table. To be a Dog, a Mule, a Cat, a toad, an Owl, a Lizard, a Herring without a roe, I would not care: but to be Menelaus I would conspire against destiny— hay day! will with a wisp, and Jack a lantern!  Hector, Ajax, Agamemnon, Diomedes, Ulysses, Troilus, going with torches over the stage. Agam. 
We go wrong; we go wrong.  Ajax. 
No, yonder 'tis; there where see the light.  Hect. 
I touble you.  Ajax. 
Not at all Cousin: Here comes Achilles himself to guide us.  Enter Achilles. Achilles. 
Welcome brave Hector, welcome princes all:  Agam. 
So now, brave Prince of Tray, I take my leave;  
Ajax commands the guard, to wait on you.  Men. 
Good night my Lord!  Hect. 
Good night Sweet Lord Menelaus.  Thers. 
aside. Sweet quoth a! sweet Sink, sweet shore, sweet Jakes!  Achilles. 
Nestor will stay; and you Lord Diomedes.  
Keep Hector company an hour or two.  Diom. 
I cannot Sir: I have important business.  Achilles. 
Enter my Lords.  Vliss. 
to Troil. Follow his torch: he goes to Calchas' tent.  [Exeunt Achilles. Hect. Ajax at one way, Diomedes, another; and after him Ulyss, Troilus. Thers. 
This Diomede's a most falsehearted rogue, an unjust Knave: I will no more trust him when he winks with one eye, than I will a Serpent when he hisses. He will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabbler the Hound: but when he performs, Astronomers set it down for a prodigy; Though I long to see Hector, I cannot forbear dogging him. They say a keeps a Trojan Drab: and uses Calchas tent, that fugitive Priest of Troy; that Canonical Rogue of our side. I'll after him: nothing but whoring in this Age: all incontinent Rascals!  Exit Thersites. Entere Calchas, Cressida. Calch. 
O, what a blessing is a virtuous child!  
Thou hast reclaimed my mind, and calmed my passions  
Of anger and revenge: my love to Troy  
Revives within me, and my lost Tiara  
No more disturbs my mind:  Cress. 
A virtuous conquest.  Calch. 
I have a woman's longing to return  
But yet which way without your aid I know not.  Cress. 
Time must instruct us how.  Calch. 
You must dissemble love to Diomedes still  
False Diomedes, bred in Ulysses' School  
Can never be deceived,  
But by strong Arts and blandishments of love:  
Put 'em in practice all: seem lost and won,  
And draw him on, and give him line again.  
This Argus then may close his hundred eyes  
And leave our flight more easy.  Cress. 
How can I answer this to love and Troilus?  Calch. 
Why 'tis for him you do it: promise largely;  
That Ring he saw you wear, he much suspects  
Was given you by a Lover; let him have it.  Diom. 
within. Hoa; Calchas, Calchas!  Calch. 
Hark! I hear his voice.  
Pursue your project: doubt not the success.  Cress. 
Heaven knows against my will: and yet my hopes  
This night to meet my Triolus, while 'tis truce  
Afford my mind some ease.  Calch. 
No more: retire.  Exit Cressida. Enter Diomedes; Troilus and Ulysses appear listening at one door, and Thersites watching at another. Diom. 
I came to see your Daughter, worthy Calchas.  Calch. 
My Lord I'll call her to you.  Exit Calchas. Ulysses 
to Troil. Stand where the torch may not discover us.  Enter Cressida. Troil. 
Cressida comes forth to him!  Diom. 
How now my charge?  Cress. 
Now my sweet Guardian: hark a word with you.  Whisper. Troil. 
ay, so familiar!  Diom. 
Will you remember?  Cress. 
Remember: yes.  Troil. 
heavens'! what should she remember! plague and madness!  Ulysses. 
Prince, you are moved: let us depart in time  
Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself  
To wrathful terms: this place is dangerous;  
The time unfit: ' beseech you let us go.  Troil. 
I pray you stay; by Hell, and by Hell torments  
I will not speak a word.  Diom. 
I'll hear no more: good night.  Cress. 
Nay, but you part in anger!  Troil. 
Does that grieve thee! O withered truth!  Diom. 
Farewell Cozener.  Cress. 
Indeed I am not: pray come back again.  Vlyss. 
You shake my Lord, at something: will you go?  
You will break out.  Troil. 
By all the Gods I will not.  
There is between my will and all my actions,  
A guard of patience! stay a little while.  Thers. 
aside. How the devil luxury with his fat rump, and potato finger, tickles these together! put him off a little, you foolish Harlot! 'twill sharpen him the more.  Diom. 
But will you then?  Cressi. 
I will as soon as ere the War's concluded.  Diom. 
Give me some token, for the surety of it:  
The Ring I saw you wear.  Cressi. 
Giving it. If you must have it.  Troil. 
The Ring! nay then 'tis plain! O beauty where's thy faith!  Vlyss. 
You have sworn patience.  Thersi. 
That's well, that's well, the pledge is given, hold her to her word good Devil and her soul's thine I warrant thee.  Diom. 
Who's waist?  Cressi. 
By all Diana's waiting train of stars,  
And by herself, I will not tell you whose.  Diom. 
Why then thou lov'st him still, farewell for ever:  
Thou never shalt mock Diomedes again.  Cressi. 
You shall not go, one cannot speak a word  
But straight it starts you.  Diom. 
I do not like this fooling.  Thersi. 
Nor I by Pluto: but that which likes not me, pleases me best.  Diom. 
I shall expect your promise.  Cressi. 
I'll perform it.  
Not a word more, good night—- I hope for ever:  [aside. 
Thus to deceive deceivers is no fraud.  Exeunt Diomedes Cressida severally. Vlyss. 
All's done my lord  Troil. 
Is it?  ulyss. 
Pray let us go.  Troil. 
Was Cressida here?  Vlyss. 
I cannot conjure Trojan.  Troil. 
She was not sure! she was not.  
Let it not be believed for womanhood:  
Think we had Mothers, do not give advantage,  
To biting satire, apt without a theme,  
For defamation, to square all the sex  
By Cressid's rule rather think this not Cressida.  Thersi. 
Will he swagger himself out on 's own eyes!  Troil. 
This she! no this was Diomedes Cessida.  
If beauty have a Soul, this is not she:  
I cannot speak for rage, that Ring was mine,  
By Heaven I gave it, in that point of time  
When both our joys were fullest!— if he keeps it  
Let dogs eat Troilus.  Thersi. 
He'll tickle it for his Concupy: this will be sport to see!  
Patroclus will give me any thing for the intelligence of this whore; a parrot will not do more for an almond, than he will for a commodious drab: I would I could meet with this Rogue Diomedes too; I would croak like a Raven to him; I would bode: it shall go hard but I 'll find him out.  Exit Thesites Enter Aeneas. Aen. 
I have been seeking you this hour, my Lord:  
Hector by this is arming him in Troy.  Vlyss. 
Commend me gallant Troilus to your Brother:  
Tell him I hope he shall not need to arm:  
The fair Polixena has by a letter  
Disarmed our great Achilles of his rage.  Troil. 
This I shall say to Hector.  Vlyss. 
So I hope!  
Pray Heaven Thersites have informed me true,—  [aside. Troil. 
Good night, my Lord; accept distracted thanks.  [Exit Ulysses. Enter Pandarus. Pand. 
Hear ye, my Lord, hear ye; I have been seeing yond poor girl.  
There have been old doings there i'faith.  Troil. 
aside. Hold yet, my Spirits; let him power it in:  
The poison's kind: the more I drink of it  
The sooner 'twill dispatch me.  Aene. 
to Pand. Peace you babbler!  Pand. 
She has been mightily made on by the Greeks: she takes most wonderfully among 'em: Achilles kissed her, and Patroclus Kissed her: Nay and old Nestor put aside his gray beard and brushed her with his whiskers. Then comes me Agamemnon with his General's Staff, diving with a low bow e'en to the ground, and rising again, just at her lips: And after him came Ulysses, and Ajax, and Menelaus': and they so pelted her i'faith: pitter patter, pitter patter, as thick as hailstones. And after that a whole rout of 'em: Never was woman in Phrygia better kissed.  Troil. 
aside. Hector said true: I find, I find it now!  Pand. 
And last of all comes me Diomedes so demurely: that's a notable sly Rogue I warrant him! mercy upon us, how he laid her on upon the lips! for as I told you, she's most mightily made on among the greeks. What, cheer up I say Man! she has every ones good word. I think in my conscience, she was born with a cawl upon her head.  Troil. 
aside. Hell, death, confusion, how he tortures me!  Pand. 
And that Rogue-Priest my Brother, is so courted and treated for her sake: the young Sparks do so pull him about, and hall him by the Cassock: nothing but invitations to his Tent, and his Tent, and this Tent. Nay and one of'em was so bold, as to ask him if she were a Virgin, and with that the Rogue my Brother, takes me up a little God in his hand, and kisses it; and swears devoutly that she was, then was I ready to burst my sides with laughing, to think what had passed betwixt you two.  Troil. 
O I can bear no more: she's falsehood all:  
False by both kinds; for with her mother's milk  
She sucked th'infusion of her Fathers Soul.  
She only wants an opportunity,  
Her Soul's a whore already.  Pand. 
What would you make a Monopoly of a woman's lips: a little consolation or so, might be allowed one would think in a lover's absence!  Troil. 
Hence from my sight: let ignominy brand thy hated name:  
Let Modest Matrons at thy mention start;  
And blushing Virgins, when they read our Annals,  
Skipo're the guilty page that holds thy Legend,  
And blots the noble work.  Pand. 
O world, world; thou art an ungrateful patch of Earth!  
Thus the poor Agent is despised! he labours painfully in his calling, and trudges between parties: but when their turns are served, come out's too good for him. I am mighty melancholy: I'll e'en go home, and shut up my doors; and die o'th' sullenss like an old bird in a Cage!  Exit Pandarus. Enter Diomedes and Thersites. Thers. 
aside. There; there he is: now let it work: now play thy part jealousy, and twinge 'em: put 'em between thy millstones, and grind the Rogues together.  Diom. 
My Lord I am by Ajax sent to infrom you  
This hour muft end the truce.  Aeneas 
to Troil. Contain yourself;  
Think where we are.  Diom. 
Your stay will be unsafe.  Troil. 
It may for those I hate.  Thers. 
aside. Well said Trojan: there's the frrst hit.  Diom. 
Beseech you Sir make haste, my own affairs  
Call me another way.  Thers. 
aside. What affairs; what affairs; demand that, Dolthead! the Rogue will lose a quarrel for want of wit to ask that question.  Troil. 
May I inquire where your affairs conduct you?  Thers. 
aside. Well said again; I beg thy pardon.  Diom. 
Oh, it concerns you not.  Troil. 
Perhaps it does.  Diom. 
You are too inquisitive: nor am I bound  
To satisfy and Enemy's request.  Troil. 
You have a Ring upon your finger Diomedes,  
And given you by a Lady,  Diom. 
If it were; 'Twas given to one who can defend her gift.  Thers. 
aside. So, so; the boars begin to gruntle at one another: set up your bristles now a'both sides: whet and foam Rogues.  Troil. 
You must restore it Greek, by Heaven you must:  
No spoil of mine shall grace a Traitor's hand.  
And, with it, give me back the broken vows  
Of my false fair; which, perjured as she is,  
I never will resign, but with my Soul.  Diom. 
Then thou it seems art that for saken fool  
Who wanting merit to preserve her heart,  
Repines in vain to see it better placed;  
But know, (for now I take a pride to grieve thee)  
Thou art so lost a thing in her esteem  
I never heard thee named; but some scorn followed:  
Thou wert our table take for laughing meals:  
Thy name our sportful theme for Evening walks:  
And intermissive hours of cooler Love:  
When hand in hand we went. [Troil.] Hell and furies!  Thersi. 
Aside. O well stung Scorpion!  
Now Menclaus his Greek horns are out o' doors, there's a new Cuckold start up on the Trojan side.  Troil. 
Yet this was she, ye Gods that very she,  
Who in my arms lay melting all the Night;  
Who kissed and sighed, and sighed, and kissed again,  
As if her Soul flew upward to her lips,  
To meet mine there, and panted at the passage.  
Who loathe to find the breaking day, looked out,  
And shrunk into my bosom, there to make  
A little longer darkness.  Diom. 
Plagues and tortures!  Thersi. 
Good, good, by Pluto! their fool's mad to lose his harlot; and our fools mad, that t'other fool had her first: if I sought peace now, I could tell 'em there's punk enough to satisfy 'em both: whore sufficient! but let 'em worry one another, the foolish curs; they think they can never have enough of carrion.  Aeneas. 
My Lords, this sury is not proper here,  
In time of truce; if either side be injured  
To morrow's Sun will rise apace, and then—  Troil. 
And then! but why should I defer till then?  
My blood calls now, there is no truce for Traitors.  
My vengeance rowls within my breast, it must  
It will have vent.—  [Draws. Diom 
Hinder us not Aeneas,  
My blood rides high as his, I trust thy honour;  
And know thou art too brave a foe to break it.—  [Draws. Thersi. 
Now Moon! now shine sweet Moon! let 'em have just light enough to make their passes: and not light enough to ward 'em  Aene. 
Drawing too. By Heaven he comes on this who strikes the first,  
You both are mad, is this like gallant men  
To fight at midnight; at the Murderer's hour?  
When only guilt and rapine draws a Sword?  
Let night enjoy her dues of soft repose;  
But let the Sun behold the brave man's courage.  
And this I dare engage for Diomedes  
Foe though I am, he shall not hide his head,  
But meet you in the very face of danger.  Diom. 
putting up. Be't so: and were it on some precipice  
High as Olympus, and a Sea beneath  
Call when thou dar'st, just on the sharpest point  
I'll meet, and tumble with thee to destruction.  Troil. 
A gnawing conscience haunts not guilty men  
As I'll haunt thee, to summon thee to this,  
Nay, shouldst thou take the Stygian lake for refuge  
I'll plunge in after, through the boiling flames  
To push thee hissing down the vast Abyss.  Diom. 
Where shall we meet?  Troil. 
Before the Tent of Calchas:  
Thither, through all your Troops, I'll fight my way;  
And in the sight of perjured Cressida  
Give death to her through thee.  Diom. 
'tis largely promised.  
But I disdain to answer with a boast;  
Be sure thou shalt be met.  Troil. 
And thou be found.  [Exeunt Troilus Aeneas, one way: Diomedes the other. Thers. 
Now the furies take Aeneas, for letting 'em sleep upon their quarrel: who knows but rest may cool their brains, and make 'em rise maukish to mischief upon consideration? May each of 'em dream he sees his Cockatrice in to ' there's arms: and be stabbing one another in their sleep, to remember 'em of their business when they wake: let 'em be punctual to the point of honour; and if it were possible let both be first at the place of Execution. Let neither of 'em have cogitation enough, to consider 'tis a whore they fight for: and let 'em value their lives at as little as they are worth. And lastly let no succeeding fools take warning by 'em; but in imitation of them when a Strumpet is in question,  
Let 'em beneath their feet all reason trample;  
And think it great to perish by Example.  Exit.   


ACT V. SCENE I.  Hector, Trojans, Andromache. Hect. 
THe blue mists rise from off the nether grounds,  
And the Sun mounts apace: to arms, to arms;  
I am resolved to put to th' utmost proof  
The fate of Troy this day.  Andro. 
aside. Oh, wretched woman, oh!  Hect. 
Methought heard you sigh, Andromache!  Andro. 
Did you my Lord?  Hect. 
Did you my Lord? You answer indirectly,  
Just when I said that I would put our fate  
Upon th' extremest proof, you fetched a groan;  
And, as you checked yourself, for what you did  
You stifled it, and stopped. Come you are sad.  Andro. 
The Gods forbid.  Hect. 
What should the Gods forbid?  Andro. 
That I should give you cause of just offence.  Hect. 
You say well: but you look not cheerfully.  
I mean this day to waste the stock of war,  
And lay it prodigally out in blows:  
Come gird my sword, and smile upon me, love;  
Like victory come flying to my arms;  
And give me earnest of desired success.  Andro. 
The Gods protect you; and restore you to me.  Hect. 
What, grown a Coward! thou wert used Andromache,  
To give my courage, courage: thou wouldst cry  
God Hector; day grows old; and part of Fame  
Is ravished from thee, by thy slothful stay.  Andro. 
aside. What shall I do, to seem the same I was!  
Come let me gird thy fortune to thy side:  
And conquest sit as close, and sure as this.  [She goes to gird his Sword; and it falls.] 
Now mercy, Heaven! the Gods avert this omen!  Hect. 
A foolish omen! take it up again;  
And mend thy error.  Andro. 
I cannot: for my hand obeys me not.  
But as in slumbers, when we fain would run  
From our imagined fears, our idle feet  
Grow to the ground, our struggling voice dies inward,  
So now, when would force myself to cheer you  
My faltering tongue can give no glad presage;  
Alas, I am no more Andromache.  Hect. 
Why then thy former Soul is flown to me:  
For I, me thinks, am lifted into air:  
As if my mind, mastering my mortal part  
Would bear my exalted body to the Gods.  
Last night I dreamed Jove sat on Ida's top  
And beckoning with his hand divine from far,  
He pointed to a choir of Demi-gods,  
Bacchus, and Hercules, and all the rest  
Who free from humane toils had gained the pitch  
Of blessed eternity: lo there he said;  
Lo there's a place for Hector.  Andro. 
Be to thy Enemies this boding dream!  Hect. 
Why it portends me honour and renown.  Andro. 
Such honour, as the Brave gain after death.  
For I have dreamt all night of horrid slaughters,  
Of trampling horses, and of Chariot wheels  
Wading in blood up to their Axeltrees.  
Of fiery Demons gliding down the Skies,  
And Ilium brightened with a midnight blaze;  
O therefore, if thou lov'st me, go not forth.  Hect. 
Go to thy bed again; and there dream better.  
Ho bid my Trumpet Sound.  Andro. 
No notes of sally for the Heaven's sweet sake.  
'tis not for nothing when my Spirits droop:  
This is a day when thy ill Stars are strong  
When they have driven thy helpless genius down  
The steep of Heaven to some obscure retreat.  Hect. 
No more; even as thou lov saint my fame no more:  
My honour stands engaged to meet Achilles:  
What will the Grecians think; or what will he,  
Or what will Troy; or what wilt thou thyself  
When once this ague fit of fear is o'er;  
If I should lose my honour for a dream.  Andro. 
Your Enemies too well your courage know,  
And Heaven abhors the forfeit of rash vows  
Like spotted livers in a Sacrifice.  
I cannot; O I dare not let you go:  
For when you leave me, my presaging mind  
Says, I shall never, never see you more.  Hect. 
Thou excellently good, but oh too soft,  
Let me not scape the danger of this day,  
But I have struggling in my manly Soul  
To see those modest tears, ashamed to fall,  
And witness any part of woman in thee!  
And now I fear, lest thou shouldst think it fear,  
If thus dissuaded, I refuse to fight,  
And stay inglorious in thy arms at home.  Andro. 
Oh could I have that thought I should not love thee;  
Thy soul is proof to all things but to kindness.  
And therefore 'twas that I forebore to tell thee  
How mad Cassandra, full of prophecy  
Ran round the streets, and like a Bacchanal  
Cried hold him Priam, 'tis an ominous day,  
Let him not go; for Hector is no more.  Hect. 
Our life is short but to extend that span  
To vast Eternity is virtues work.  
Therefore to thee, and not to fear of fate  
Which once must come to all, give I this day  
But see thou move no more the like request:  
For rest assured that to regain this hour  
To morrow will I tempt a double danger:  
Mean time, let Destiny attend thy leisure.  
I reckon this one day a blank of of life.  Enter Troilus. Troil. 
Where are you Brother? now in honour's name,  
What do you mean to be thus long nnarmed?  
Th' embattled Soldiers throug about the gates:  
The Matrous to the turret's tops ascend  
Holding their helpless children in their arms,  
To make you early known to their young eyes,  
And Hector is the universal shout.  Hect. 
Bid all unarm, I will not fight to day.  Troil. 
Employ some coward to bear back this news,  
And let the children hoot him for his pains;  
By all the gods and by my just revenge,  
This sun shall shine the last for them or us:  
These noisy streets or yonder echoing plains  
Shall be to morrow silent as the grave.  Andro. 
O Brother do not urge a brother's fate,  
But let this rack of heaven and earth roll o'er,  
And when the storm is passed put out to sea.  Troil. 
Oh now I know from whence his change proceeds,  
Some frantic Augur has observed the skies;  
Some victim wants a heart, or crow flies wrong;  
By heaven 'twas never well since saucy Priests  
Grew to be Masters of the listening herd;  
And into Mitres cleft the Regal Crown.  
Then as the Earth were scanty for their power,  
They drew the pomp of Heaven to wait on them;  
Shall I go publish Hector dares not sight  
Because a madman dreamed he talked with Jove?  
What could the God see in a brainsick Priest  
That he should sooner talk to him then me?  Hect. 
You know my name's not liable to fear.  Troil. 
Yes, to the worst of fear, to superstition.  
But whether that or fondness of a wife,  
(The more unpardonable ill) has seized you,  
Know this, the Grecians think you fear Achilles,  
And that Polixena has begged your life.  Hect. 
How! that my life is begged, and by my sister?  Troil. 
Ulysses so informed me at our parting,  
With a malicious and disdainful smile:  
'Tis true, he said not in broad words you feared,  
But in well-mannered terms 'twas so agreed  
Achilles should avoid to meet with Hector.  Hect. 
He thinks my Sister's treason, my petition,  
That largely vaunting in my heat of blood  
More than I could, it seems, or durst perform,  
I sought evasion.  Troil. 
And in private prayed.  Hect. 
O yes, Polixena, to beg my life.  Andro. 
He cannot think so, do not urge him thus.  Hect. 
Not urge me! then thou think'st I need his urging.  
By all the Gods should Jove himself descend,  
And tell me Hector thou deserv'st not life  
But take it as a boon; I would not live.  
But that a Mortal man, and he of all men  
Should think my life were in his power to give,  
I will not rest, till prostrate on the ground  
I make him Atheist- like, implore his breath  
Of me and not of Heaven.  Troil. 
Then you'I refuse no more to fight.  Hect. 
Refuse! I'll not be hindered, Brother.  
I'll through and through 'em, even their hindmost ranks.  
Till I have found that large sized boasting fool  
Who dare presume my life is in his gift.  Andro. 
Farewell, farewell: 'tis vain to strive with fate:  
Cassandra's raging God inspires my breast,  
With truths that must be told and not believed.  
Look how he dies! look how his eye turns pale!  
Look how his blood bursts out at many vents!  
Hark how Troy roars, how Hecuba cries out  
And widowed fill all the streets with screams!  
Behold distraction, frenzy and amazement,  
Like Antiques meet, and tumble upon heaps!  
And all cry Hector; Hector's dead! oh Hector!  [Exit Andromache.] Hect. 
What sport will be when we return at Evening,  
To laugh her out of countenance for her dreams!  Troil. 
I have not quenched my eyes with dewy sleep this Night;  
But fiery fumes mount upward to my brains,  
And when I breathe, methinks my nostrils hiss!  
I shall turn Basilisk! and with my sight  
Do my hands work, on Diomedes this day.  Hect. 
To Arms, to Arms, the vantguards are engaged:  
Let us not leave one Man to guard the Walls,  
Both Old and young, the coward and the brave,  
Be Summoned all, our utmost fate to try;  
And as one body move, whose Soul am I.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE II. The Camp.  Alarm within. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Menelaus, Soldiers. Agam. 
THus far the promise of the day is fair:  
Aeneas rather loses ground than gains,  
I saw him overlaboured, taking breath;  
And leaning on his spear, behold our Trenches  
Like a fierce Lion looking up to toils,  
Which yet he durst not leap.  Vlyss. 
And therefore distant death does all the work:  
The flights of whistling darts make brown the sky,  
Whose clashing points strike fire, and guild the dusk:  
Those that reach home, from neither host are vain,  
So thick the press; so lusty are their arms,  
That death seemed never sent with better will!  
Nor was with less concernment entertained.  Enter Nestor. Agam. 
Now Nestor, what's the news?  Nestor. 
I have descried,  
A clowed of dust that mounts in pillars upwards;  
Expanding as it travels to our Camp,  
And from the midst I heard a bursting shout,  
That rend the Heavens! as if all Troy were swarmed,  
And on the wing this way.  Menel. 
Let 'em come, let 'em come.  Agam. 
Where's great Achilles!  Vlyss. 
Think not on Achilles:  
Till Hector drag him from his Tent to fight,  
(Which sure he will, for I have laid the train.)  Nest. 
But young Patroclus leads his Myrmidons;  
And in their front, even in the face of Hector,  
Resolves to dare the Trojans.  Agam. 
Haste Ulysses, bid Ajax issue forth, and second him.  Vlyss. 
Oh Noble General, let it not be so.  
Oppose not rage, while rage is in its force;  
But give it way awhile; and let it waste:  
The rising deluge is not stopped with dams,  
Those it orebears, and drowns the hopes of harvest.  
But wisely managed its divided strength  
Is sluiced in channels, and securely drained:  
First, let small parties dally with their fury.  
But when their force is spent and unsupplyed  
The residue with mounds may be restrained,  
And dryshod, we may pass the naked ford.  Enter Thersites. Thers. 
Ho, ho, ho!  Menel. 
Why dost thou laugh, unseasonable fool!  Thers. 
Why thou fool in season, cannot a man laugh, but thou thinkst he makes horns at thee! Thou Prince of the Herd, what hast thou to do with laughing! 'tis the prerogative of man to laugh! Thou Risibility without Reason: thou subject of laughter; Thou fool Royal:  Vlyss. 
But tell us the occasion of thy mirth?  Thers. 
Now a man asks me, I care not if I answer to my own kind: why the Enemies are broken into our Trenches: Fools like Menelaus fall by thousands; yet not a humane Soul departs on either side. Troilus and Ajax have almost beaten one another's heads off; but are both immortal for want of brains. Patroclus has killed Sarpedon; and Hector Patroclus: So there's a towardly springing fop gone off: He might have made a Prince one day: But now he's nipped in the very bud and promise of a most prodigious Coxcomb.  Agam. 
Bear off Patroclus' body to Achilles:  
Revenge will arm him now, and bring us aid.  
Th' alarm Sounds near; an shouts are driven upon us,  
As of a crowd confused in their retreat.  Vlyss. 
Open your Ranks, and make these mad men way:  
Then close again, to charge upon their backs:  
And quite consume the Relics of the war.  [Exeunt all but Thersites. Thers. 
What shoals of fools one battle sweeps away!  
How it purges families of younger Brothers! Highways of Robbers, and Cities of Cuckold-makers! There's nothing like a pitched Battle, for these brisk Addle-heads! Your Physician is a pretty fellow; but his fees make him tedious; he rids not fast enough; the fools grow upon him, and their horse bodies are poison proof. Your pestilence is a quicker Remedy; but it has not the grace to make distinction; it huddles up honest men and Rogues together. But your battle has discretion; it picks out all the forward fools. And sowses 'em together into Immortality. [Shouts and alarm within. Plague upon these drums and trumpets! these sharp sauces of the War, to get fools an Appetite to fighting! what do I 'em? I shall be miscaken for some valiant Ass, and die a Martyr, in a wrong Religion!  Hear Grecians fly over the stage, pursued by Trojans: One Trojan turns back upon Thersites who is flying too. Trojan. 
Turn slave and fight.  Thers. 
turning. What art thou!  Troj. 
A Bastard Son of Priam's.  Thers. 
I am a Bastard too: I love Bastards: I am Bastard in body, Bastard in mind, Bastard in valour; in every thing illegitimate. A Bear will not fasten upon a Bear; why should one Bastard offend another! let us part fair, like true Sons of Whores; and have the fear of our Mothers before our eyes.  Troj. 
The Devil take thee Coward.  Exit Trojan Thers. 
Now would I were either invisible, or invulnerable? these Gods have a fine time on't; they can see and make mischief, and never feel it. [Clattering of swords at both doors; he runs each way, and meets the noise. A pox clatter you; I am compassed in! Now would I were that blockhead Ajax for a minute: some sturdy Trojan will poach me up with a long pole! and then the Rogues may kill one another upon free cost, and have no body lest to laugh at 'em:  
Now Destruction! now Destruction!  Enter Hector and Troilus driving in the Greeks. Hect. 
to Ther. Speak what part thou fightst on!  Thers. 
I fight not at all: I am for neither side.  Hect. 
Thou art a Greek: art thou a match for Hector.  
Art thou of blood and honour?  Thers. 
No, I am a rescall: a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy Rogue.  Hect. 
I do believe thee; live.  Thers. 
God a mercy, that thou wilt believe me: but the Devil break thy neck for frighting me:  [aside. Troilus. 
returning. What Prisoner have you there?  Hect. 
A gleaning of the war: a Rogue he says.  Troil. 
Dispatch him and away.  [going to kill him. Thers. 
Hold, hold: what is't no more but dispatch a man and away! I am in no such haste: I will not die for Greece; I hate Greece, and by my good will would ne'er have been born there; I was mistaken into that Country, and betrayed my parents to be born there. And besides I have a mortal Enemy amongst the Grecians, one Diomedes a damned villain, and cannot die with a safe conscience till I have first murdered him.  Troil. 
Show me that Diomedes and thou shalt live.  Thers. 
Come along with me and I'll conduct thee to Calchas his Tent, where I believe he's now making were with the Priest's daughter.  Hect. 
Here we must part, our destinies divide us;  
Brother and friend, farewell.  Troil. 
When shall we meet?  Hect. 
When the Gods please: if not, we once must part.  
Look; on you hill their squandered Troops unite;  Troil. 
If I mistake not, 'tis their last Reserve:  
The storm's blown o'er; and those but after drops.  Hect. 
I wish our Men be not too far engaged:  
For few we are and spent; as having born  
The burden of the Day: but hap what can  
They shall be charged: Achilles must be there;  
And him I seek, or death.  
Divide our Troops; and take the fresher half.  Troil. 
O Brother,  Hect. 
No dispute of Ceremony!  
These are enough for me; in faith enough:  
There bodies shall not flag while I can lead;  
Not wearied limbs confess mortality,  
Before those Ants that blacken all you hill  
Are crept into their Earth: Farewell.  Exit Hector. Troil. 
Farewell; come Greek:  Thers. 
Now these Rival-rogues will clapperclaw one another, and I shall have the sport on't.  Exit Troil. with Thersites. Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. Achil. 
Which way went Hector?  Myrmyd. 
Up you sandy hill:  
You may discern 'em by their smoking tract;  
A wavering body working with bend hams  
Against the rising, spent with painful march,  
And by loose-footing cast on heaps together.  Achilles. 
O thou art gone! thou sweetest, best of friends;  
Why did I let thee tempt the shock of war  
Ere yet thy tender nerves had strung thy limbs,  
And knotted into strength. Yet, though too late,  
I will, I will revenge the, my Patroclus!  
Nor shall thy Ghost thy Murtherer's long attend,  
But thou shalt hear him calling Charon back,  
Ere thou art wasted to the farther shore.  
Make haste, my Soldiers: give me this days pains.  
For my dead friend: strike every hand with mine,  
Till Hector breathless, on the ground we lay!  
Revenge is honour, the securest way.  Exit with Myrmidons. [Enter Thersites, Troilus, Trojans.] Thers. 
That's Calcha's tent.  Troil. 
Then that one spot of Earth contains more falsehood  
Than all the Sun sees in his race beside.  
That I should trust the Daughter of Priest!  
Priesthood, that makes a merchandise of Heaven!  
Priesthood that sells eve'n to their prayr's and blessing's!  
And forces us to pay for our own cousnage!  Thers. 
Nay cheats Heaven too with entrails and with offals;  
Gives it the garbage of a Sacrifice  
And keeps the best of private Luxury.  Troil. 
Thou hast deserved thy life, for cursing Priests:  
That back, that nose; those eyes are beautiful:  
Live thou, art honest; for thou hat'st a Priest.  Thers. 
aside. Farewell Trojan; if I scape with life, as I hope; and thou art knocked o'th' head, as I hope too; I shall be the first that ever scaped the revenge of a Priest, after cursing him; and thou wilt not be the last, I prophesy that a Priest will bring to ruin.  [Exit Ther. Troil. 
Me thinks my soul is roused to her last work:  
Has much to do, and little time to spare.  
She starts within me, like a Traveller  
Who sluggishly outslept his morning hour  
And mends his pace, to reach his Inn betimes.  Noise within, follow, follow. 
A Noise of Arms! the Traitor may be there:  
Or else, perhaps, that conscious scene of Love,  
The Tent may hold him, yet I dare not search  
For Oh I fear to find him in that place.  [Exit. Troilus. Enter Calchas, Cressida. Cress 
Where is he? I'll be justified or die.  Calch. 
So quickly vanished! he was here but now:  
He must be gone to search for Diomedes,  
For Diomedes told me, here they were to fight.  Cress. 
Alas! (Calch.) you must prevent, and not complain.  Cress. 
If Troilus die, I have no share in life.  Calch. 
If Diomedes sink beneath the sword of Troilus,  
We lose not only a Protector here,  
But are debarred all future means of flight.  Cressi. 
What then remains!  Calch. 
To interpose betimes  
Betwixt their swords; or if that cannot be  
To intercede for him, who shall be vanquished,  
Fate leaves no middle course.—  Exit. Calchas. Clashing within. Cressi. 
Ah me I hear 'em;  
And fear 'tis past prevention.  Enter Diomedes, retiring before Troilus, and falling as he enters. Troil. 
Now beg thy life, or die.  Diom. 
No: use thy fortune:  
I loathe the life, which thou canst give, or take.  Troil. 
Scorn'st thou my mercy villain!— take thy wish.—  Cressi. 
Hold, hold your hand my Lord, and hear me speak.  Troilus turns back: in which time Diomedes rises; Trojans and Greeks enter, and rank themselves on both sides of their Captains. Troil. 
Did I not hear the voice of perjured Cressida?  
Com'st thou to give the last stab to my heart?  
As if the proofs of all thy former falsehood  
Were not enough convincing, com'st thou now  
to beg my Rival's life!  
Whom, Oh, if any spark of truth remained,  
Thou couldst not thus, even to my face prefer!  Cressi. 
What shall I say! that you suspect me false  
Has struck me dumb! but let him live my Troilus,  
By all our loves, by all our past endearments  
I do adjure thee spare him.  Troil. 
Hell, and death!  Cressi. 
If ever I had power to bend your mind,  
Believe me still your faithful Cressida:  
And though my innocence appear like guilt,  
Because I make his forfeit life my suit,  
'Tis but for this, that my return to you  
Would be cut off for ever by his death.  
My father, treated like a slave and scorned,  
Myself in hated bonds a Captive held.  Troil 
Could I believe thee, could I think thee true  
In triumph would I bear thee back to Troy,  
Though Greece could rally all her shattered troops,  
And stand embatteld to oppose my way.  
But, Oh, thou Siren, I will stop my ears  
To thy enchanting notes; the winds shall bear  
Upon their wings, thy words more light than they.  Cressi. 
Alas I but dissembled love to him;  
If ever he had any proof beyond  
What modesty might give.—  Diom. 
No! witness this—  (the Ring shown.) 
There, take her Trojan; thou deserv'st her best,  
You good, kind-natured, well-believing fools  
Are treasures to a woman.  
I was a jealous, hard vexatious Lover  
And doubted even this pledge till full possession:  
But she was honourable to her word;  
And I have no just reason to complain.  Cressi. 
O, unexampled, frontless impudence!  Troil. 
Hell show me such another tortured wretch, as Troilus!  Diom. 
Nay, dare grieve not: I resign her freely up:  
I'm satisfied: and dare engage for Cressida,  
That if you have a promise of her person,  
She shall be willing to come out of debt.  Cressi. 
[kneeling.] My only Lord: by all those holy vows  
Which if there be a power above are binding,  
Or, if there be a Hell below, are fearful,  
May every imprecation, which your rage  
Can wish on me, take place, if I am false.  Diom. 
Nay, since you're so concerned to be believed,  
I'm sorry I have pressed my charge so far;  
Be what you would be thought: I can be grateful.  Troil. 
Grateful! Oh torment! now hell's blewest flames  
Receive her quick; with all her crimes upon her.  
Let her sink spotted down. Let the dark host  
Make room; and point: and hisse her, as she goes.  
Let the most branded Ghosts of all her Sex  
Rejoice, and cry, here comes a blacker fiend.  
Let her—  Cressi. 
Enough my Lord; you've said enough:  
This faithless, perjured, hated Cressida,  
Shall be no more, the subject of your Curses:  
Some few hours hence, and grief had done your work;  
But the your eyes had missed the satisfaction  
Which thus I give you— thus—  [She stabs herself they both run to her. Diom. 
Help; save her, help.  Cressi. 
Stand off; and touch me not, thou Traitor, Diomedes:  
But you, my only Troilus come near:  
Trust me the wound which I have given this breast  
Is far less painful, than the wound you gave it.  
Oh, can you yet believe, that I am true!  Troil. 
This were too much, even if thou hadst been false!  
But, Oh, thou purest, whitest innocence,  
(For such I know thee now) too late I know it!  
May all my curses, and ten thousand more  
Heavier than they, fall back upon my head,  
Pelion and Ossa from the Giant's graves,  
Be torn by some avenging Deity,  
And hurled at me, a bolder wretch than they,  
Who durst invade the Skies!  Cressi. 
Hear him not Heavens!  
But hear me bless him with my latest breath:  
And since I question not your hard decree,  
That doomed my days unfortunate and few,  
Add all to him, you take away from me;  
And I die happy that he thinks me true.  [Dies. Troil. 
She's gone for ever, and she blessed me dying!  
Could she have cursed me worse! she died for me;  
And like a woman, I lament for her:  
Distraction pulls me several ways at once,  
Here pity calls me to weep out my eyes;  
Despair then turns me back upon myself,  
And bids me seek no more, but finish here:  [Sword to his breast. 
Ha, smil'st thou Traitor, thou instruct'st me best,  
And turn'st my just revenge to punish thee.  Diom. 
Thy worst, for mine has been before hand with thee,  
I triumph in thy vain credulity,  
Which levels thy despairing state to mine:  
But yet thy folly to believe a foe;  
Makes thine the sharper, and more shameful loss.  Troil. 
By my few moments of remaining life;  
I did not hope for any future joy,  
But thou hast given me pleasure ere I die:  
To punish such a Villain.— Fight a part.  [To his Soldiers. 
For Heaven and hell have marked him out for me,  
And I should grudge even his least drop of blood,  
To any other hand.—  [Troilus and Diomedes fight, and both parties engage at the same time: The Trojans make the Greeks retire, and Troilus makes Diomedes give ground and hurts him, Trumpets sound, Achilles Enters with his Myrmidons, on the backs of the Trojans, who fight in a Ring encompassed round: Troilus singling Diomedes gets him down and kills him: and Achilles kills Troilus upon him. All the Trojans die upon the place, Troilus last. Enter Agamemnon, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, Ajax, and Attendants. Achilles. 
Our toils are done, and those aspiring Walls  
(The work of Gods, and almost mateing Heaven,)  
Must crumble into rubbish on the plain.  Agam. 
When mighty Hector fell beneath thy Sword,  
Their Old foundations shook, their nodding Towers  
Threatened from high, the amazed Inhabitants:  
And Guardian Gods for fear forsook their fanes.  Achilles. 
Patroclus, now be quiet: Hector's dead:  
And as a second offering to thy Ghost,  
Lies Troilus high upon a heap of slain:  
And noble Diomedes beneath; whose death  
This hand of mine revenged.  Ajax. 
Revenged it basely.  
For Troilus fell by multitudes oppressed;  
And so fell Hector, but 'tis vain to talk.  Vlyss. 
Hail Agamemnon! truly Victor now!  
While secret envy, and while open pride,  
Among thy factious Nobles discord threw;  
While public good was urged for private ends,  
And those thought Patriots, who disturbed it most;  
Then like the headstrong horses of the Sun,  
That light which should have cheered the World, consumed it:  
Now peaceful order has resumed the reins,  
Old time looks young, and Nature seems renewed:  
Then, since from homebred Factions ruin springs,  
Let Subjects learn obedience to their Kings.  [Exeunt Omnes.    

The Epilogue.  Spoken by Thersites. 
THese cruel Critics put me into passion;  
For in their lowering looks I read damnation:  
Ye expect a satire, and I seldom fail,  
When I'm first beaten, 'tis my part to rail.  
You British fools, of the Old Trojan stock,  
That stand so thick one cannot miss the flock,  
Poets have cause to dread a keeping Pit,  
When womens' Cullyes come to judge of Wit.  
As we strew Ratsbane when we vermin fear,  
'Twere worth our cost to scatter fool-bane here.  
And after all our judging Fops were served,  
Dull Poets too should have a dose reserved,  
Such Reprobates, as past all sense of shaming  
Write on, and ne'er are satisfied with damning,  
Next, those, to whom the Stage does not belong  
Such whose Vocation only is to Song;  
At most to Prologue, when for want of time  
Poets take in for journywork in Rhyme.  
But I want curses for those mighty shoals,  
Of scribbling Chlorisses, and Phillis fools,  
Those Ophs should be restrained, during their lives,  
From Pen and Ink, as Madmen are from knives:  
I could rail on, but 'twere a task as vain  
As preaching truth at Rome, or wit in Spain,  
Yet to huff out our Play was worth my trying,  
John Lilbourn scaped his judges by defying:  
If guilty, yet I'm sure o'th' Church's blessing,  
By suffering for the Plot, without confessing.  
FINIS.   


Books Lately Printed.  
Contemplation's upon the remarkable Passages in the New Testament, Consisting in Divine Meditations upon; the Life of the Holy Jesus. Written by the Bishop of Exeter.  
Ten Tragical Histories, Containing God's Revenge against the Sin of Adultery, Illustrated with Cuts.  

Plays.  
The Feigned Courtesans, Or, A Night's Intrigue.  
Sir Patient Fancy.  
The Counterfeits.  
Brutus of Alba, a Tragedy, By M. Tate. Acted at the Duke's Theatre.   
All These Printed for Jacob Tonson at the judge's Head at Chancery-Lane-End next Fleetstreet.   

Medulla Historiae Anglicanae, Being a comprehensive History; of the Lives and Reigns of the Monarchs of England, From the time of the Conquest thereof by Julius Caesar to this present Year, 1679. With an Abstract of the Lives of the Roman Emperors Commanding in Britain. To which is added, A List of the Names of the Present Members of Parliament.  
Printed for Abel Swall at the Unicorn at the West End of S. Paul's.