Puslapio vaizdai
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Pan. Who's there? my lord Æneas? by my troth,
I knew you not; what news with you fo early?
Ene. Is not Prince Troilus here?

Pan. Here! what should he do here?

Ene. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him. It doth import him much to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, fay you? 'tis more than I know, I'll be fworn; for my own part, I came in late: what fhould he do here?

Ene. Pho!nay, then: come, come, you'll do him wrong, ere y'are aware: you'll be fo true to him, to be falfe to him: do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither, go. [As Pandarus is going out,

Enter Troilus.

Troi. How now? what's the matter?

Ene. My lord, I fcarce have leifure to falute you,
My matter is fo rash: there is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,

The Grecian Diomede, and our Antenor
Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first facrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Creffida.

Troi. Is it concluded fo?

Ene. By Priam, and the general State of Troy.
They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
Troi. How my atchievements mock me!

I will go meet them; and (my lord Æneas)

We met by chance, you did not find me here.

Ene. Good, good, my lord; the fecret'ft things of
Nature (33)

Have not more gift in taciturnity.

[Exeunt. Enter

(33)

The Secrets of Nature

Have not more Gift in Taciturnity.] This is the Reading of both the Elder Folio's; but the first Verse manifeftly halts, and betrays its being defective. Mr. Pope fubftitutes

The Secrets of Neighbour Pandar.

If This be a Reading ex fide Codicum (as he profeffes all his various

Read

Enter Creffida to Pandarus.

Pan. Is't poffible? no fooner got, but loft: the Devil take Antenor! the young Prince will go mad: a plague upon Antenor! I would, they had broke's neck.

Cre. How now? what's the matter? who was here? Pan. Ah, ah!

Cre. Why figh you fo profoundly? where's my lord? gone! tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

Pan. Would, I were as deep under the earth, as I am above!

Cre. O the Gods! what's the matter?

Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in; would, thou hadft ne'er been born: I knew, thou would'st be his death. O poor gentleman! a plague upon Antenor!

Cre. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees, I befeech you, what's the matter?

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone: thou art chang'd for Antenor; thou muft go to thy father, and be gone from Troilus: 'twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

Cre. O you immortal Gods! I will not go.

Pan. Thou must.

Cre. I will not, uncle: I've forgot my father. I know no touch of Confanguinity:

Readings to be) it is founded on the Credit of fuch Copies, as it has not been my Fortune to meet with. I have ventur❜d to make out the Verfe

thus;

The Secret'ft Things of Nature, &c.

i.e. the Arcana Natura, the Mysteries of Nature, of occult Philofophy, or of religious Ceremonies. Our Poet has Allufions of this Sort in feveral other Paffages.

Plutus himself,

That knows the Tin&t and multiplying Medicine,

Hath not in Nature's Mystery more Science, &c.

Cats, that can judge as fitly of bis Worth,
As I can of thofe Myfteries which Heav'n
Will not have Earth to know.

All's Well, &c.

Coriolanus.

There are more Things in Heav'n and Earth, Horatio,

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Than are dreamt of in your Philofophy.

VOL. VII.

F

Hamlet.
No

No kin, no love, no blood, no foul so near me,
As the fweet Troilus. O you Gods divine!

Make Crefid's name the very Crown of falfhood,

If ever the leave Troilus. Time, Force, and Death, (34) Do to this body what extreams you can ;

But the strong Bafe and Building of my Love

Is, as the very centre of the earth,

Drawing all to it. I'll go and weep,

Pan: Do, do.

Cre. Tear my bright hair, and fcratch my praised

cheeks,

Crack my clear voice with fobs, and break my heart.
With founding Troilus. I'll not go from Troy.

SCENE, before Pandarus's House.

[Exe.

Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Deiphobus, Antenor, and Diomedes.

Par. T is great morning, and the hour prefixt

I

Of her Delivery to this valiant Greek
Comes faft upon us: good my brother Troilus,
Tell you the Lady what fhe is to do,
And hafte her to the purpose.

Troi. Walk into her house:

I'll bring her to the Grecian prefently;
And to his hand when I deliver her,
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus
A prieft, there offering to it his heart.
Par. I know, what 'tis to love;

And would, as I fhall pity, I could help!
Please you, walk in, my lords.

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Do to this Body, &c.]

The firft Folio reads,

Time, orce and Death

[Exeunt.

When the Second Impreffion came to be publish'd, the Editors, I prefume, were at a Lofs, and fo funk the Word upon us which they could not make out. There is no Doubt, but the Poet wrote;

Time, Force, and Death,

i. e. The Compulfion of Fate; That, which the Latines call'd Seva Neceffitas.

SCENE,

SCENE, an Apartment in Pandarus's Houfe.

Enter Pandarus and Creffida.

E moderate, be moderate.

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Cre. Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect that I talte,
And in its fenfe is no lefs ftrong, than That
Which caufeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection,
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief;
My love admits no qualifying drofs.

Enter Troilus.

No more my grief, in fuch a precious lofs.

Pan. Here, here, here he comes,-a, fweet duck!Cre. O Troilus, Troilus!

Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! let me em

brace too:

Ob beart, (as the goodly faying is ;)

O heart, O heavy heart,

Why figh'st thou without breaking?

where he answers again;

Because thou can't not ease thy fmart,
By friendship, nor by speaking.

There was never a truer rhyme. Let us caft away nothing, for we may live to have need of fuch a verse; we fee it, we fee it. How now, lambs?

Troi. Creffid, I love thee in fo ftrange a purity,
That the bleft Gods, as angry with my fancy,
(More bright in zeal than the devotion, which
Cold lips blow to their Deities) take thee from me.
Cre. Have the Gods envy?

Pan. Ay, ay, 'tis too plain a cafe.

Cre. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?
Troi. A hateful truth !

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Cre. What, and from Troilus too?

Troi. From Troy, and Troilus.
Cre. Is it poffible?

Troi. And fuddenly: while injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, juftles roughly by
All time of paufe, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoyndure, forcibly prevents
Our lock'd embraces, ftrangles our dear vows,
Ev'n in the birth of our own labouring breath.
We two, that with fo many thousand fighs
Each other bought, muft poorly fell our felves
With the rude brevity and difcharge of one.
Injurious Time now, with a robber's hafte,
Crams his rich thiev'ry up, he knows not how.
As many farewels as be ftars in heaven,
With diftinct breath and confign'd kiffes to them,
He fumbles up all in one loose adieu;
And fcants us with a single famish'd kiss,
Diftafted with the falt of broken tears.

Eneas within.] My lord, is the lady ready?

Troi. Hark! you are call'd. Some fay, the Genius fo Cries, come, to him that inftantly muft die.

Bid them have patience; fhe fhall come anon.

Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root. [Exit Pandarus. Cre. I muft then to the Grecians?

Troi. No remedy.

Cre. A woeful Crefid 'mongst the merry Greeks! When fhall we see again?

Troi. Hear me, my love; be thou but true of heart— Cre. I true? how now? what wicked Deem is this? Troi. Nay, we must use expoftulation kindly,

For it is parting from us:

I fpeak not, be thou true, as fearing thee:
For I will throw my Glove to Death himself,
That there's no maculation in thy heart;
But, be thou true, fay I, to fashion in
My fequent proteftation: be thou true,
And I will fee thee.

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