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This Lord go to him? Jupiter forbid,
Neft. O this is well, he rubs the Vein of him.
Ajax. If I go to him with my armed Fift, I'll pash him o'er the Face. Aga, o no, you shall not go.
; me go to him.
Ulys. Not for the worth that hangs upon our Quarrel.
Ajax. A should not bear it so, a should eat Swords Grft; shall Pride carry it?
Neft. And 'would, you'd carry half.
Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him supple, he's not yet through warm.
Neft. Force him with Praises, pour in, pour in, his Ambition is dry.
Vlyf. My Lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
Vlys. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm.
Neft. Wherefore should you so ?
Ulys. Know the whole World, he is: as valiant.
Ajax. A whorlon Dog! that shall palter thus with us would he were a Trojan.
Neft. What a Vice were it in Ajax now---
Dio. Or strange, or self-affected.
(posure Ulys. Thank the Heavens, Lord, thou art of a sweet ComPraise him that got thee, the that gave thee fuck: Fame be thy Tutor, and thy parts of Nature Thrice fam'd beyond, beyond all Erudition;
But he that disciplin'd thy Arms to fight, | Let Mars divide Eternity in twain,
And give him half; and for thy Vigor,
Ajax. Shall I call you Father?
Ulys. There is no tarrying here, the Hart Achilles
Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles sleep;
[Exeunt. Mufick sounds within.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Pax. Friend! you pray you a word : Do not you follow
Par. You depend upon him, I mean?
Pan. You depend upon a Noble Gentleman : I must needs praise him.
Ser. The Lord be praised.
Pan, Grace, not so, Friend, Honour and Lordship are my
Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is Musick in parts,
Pan. Friend, we understand not one another: I an too courtly, and thou are too cunning. At whose request do these Men play?
Ser. That's to' indeed, Sir ; marry, Sir, at the request of Paris, my Lord, who's there in Person ; with him the mortal Venus, the Heart-blood of Beauty, Love's invisible Soul
Pan. Why, my Cousin Cressida ?
Ser. No, Sir, Helen; could you not find out that by her
Pan. It Mould seem, Fellow, that thou hast not seen the
Enter Paris and Helen.
Helen. Diar Lord, you are full of fair Words.
Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet Queen : fair Prince, here is good broken Musick.
Par. You have broken it, Cousin; and by my Life you fhall make it whole again, you shall piece it out with a peice of your performance. Nel, he is full of Harmony,
Pan. Truly, Lady, no.
Pan. I have Business to my Lord, dear Queen; my Lord, will you vouchsafe me a Word?
Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out, we'll hear you fing certainly
Pan. Well, sweet Queen, you are pleasant with me; but, marry thus, my Lord, my dear Lord, and most esteemed Friend, your Brother Troilus
Helen. My Lord Pandarus, hony-sweet Lord,
Pan. Go to, sweet Queen, go to
Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody:
Pan. Sweet Queen, sweet Queer, that's a sweet Queen, l'faith
Helen. And to make a sweet Lady sad, is a lower Offence, Nay, that shall not serve your curn, that shall it not in truth la. Nay, I care not for such Words, no, no
Pan. And, my Lord, he defires you, that if the King call for him at Supper, you will make his excusę.
Helen. My Lord Pandarus
Pan. What says my sweet Queen, my very, very sweet Queen?
Par. What Exploit's in hand, where sups he to Night?
Helen. You must not know where he sups.
Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide, come, your disposer is sick. Rar. Well, I'll make excuse.
Pan. Ay, good my Lord; why should you say Creffida? No, your poor disposer's lick.
Par. I spy
Pan. You spy, what do you spy? Come, give me an Inftrument now, sweet Queen.
Helen. Why this is kindly done.
Pan. My Niece is horrible in love with a thing you have, sweet Queen.
Helen. She shall have it, my Lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.
Pan. He? no, she'll none of him, they two are twain. Helen. Falling in after falling out, may make them three.
Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this, I'll fing you a Song now.
Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now; by my troth, sweet Lord, thou hast a fine Fore-head.
Pan. Ay, you may, you may
Hel. Let thy Song be Love: This Love will undo us all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid.
Pan. Love! ay, that it shall, i'faith.
Love, Love, nothing but Love, ftill more:
Helen. In Love i'faith to the very tip of the Nose.
Par. He eats nothing but Doves, Love, and that breeds hot Blood, and hot Blood begets hot Thoughts, and hot Thoughts beget hot Deeds, and hot Deeds are Love.