a

This Lord go to him? Jupiter forbid,
And say in Thunder, Achilles go to him.

Neft. O this is well, he rubs the Vein of him.
Dio. And how his filence drinks up his Applause.

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.

O
Ajax. And a be proud with me, I'll phese his Pride ; let

; me go to him.

Ulys. Not for the worth that hangs upon our Quarrel.
Ajax. A paultry Insolent Fellow-
Neft. How he describes himself.
Ajax. Can he not be sociable ?
Vlys. The Raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his Humours Bload.
Aga. He will be the Phyfician, that should be the patient.
Ajax. And all Men were a my Mind
Ulys. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. A should not bear it so, a should eat Swords Grft; shall Pride carry it?

Neft. And 'would, you'd carry half.
Vlys. A would have ten shares.

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.
Neft. Our noble General, do not do so.
Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.

Vlys. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm.
Here is a Man-..-but 'tis before his Face.....
I will be filent.

Neft. Wherefore should you so ?
He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

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---
Ulys. If he were proud.
Dio. Or covetous of Praise.
Ulys. Ay, or surly born.

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,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
To Sinewy Ajax: I will not praise thy Wisdom
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts; here's Nestor
Instructed by the Antiquary times:
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise.
But pardon, Father Nestor, were your Days
As green as Ajax, and your Brain so temper’d,
You should not have the eminence of him
But be as Ajax.

Ajax. Shall I call you Father?
Ulys. Ay, my good Son.
Dio. Be ruld by him, Lord Ajax.

Ulys. There is no tarrying here, the Hart Achilles
Keeps thicket; please it our General,
To call together all this State of War;
Fresh Kings are come to Troy ; to Morrow
We must with all our main of Power stand fast :
And here's a Lord (come Knights from East to West,
And cull their Flower) Ajax Thall cope the best.

Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles sleep;
Light Boats may fail swift, though great bulks draw deep.

[Exeunt. Mufick sounds within.

ACT III. SCENE I.

SCENE Troy.
Enter Pandarus, and a Servant.

Pax. Friend! you pray you a word : Do not you follow

!

Lord
Ser. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.

Pan,

Par. You depend upon him, I mean?
Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the Lord.

Pan. You depend upon a Noble Gentleman : I must needs praise him.

Ser. The Lord be praised.
Pan. You know me, do you not?
Ser. Faith, Sir, superficially.
Pan. Friend, know me better, I am the Lord Pandaruse
Ser. I hope I th all know your Honour better.
Pan. I do defire it,
Ser. You are in the state of Grace?

Pan, Grace, not so, Friend, Honour and Lordship are my
Titles: What Musick is this?

Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is Musick in parts,
Pan. Know you the Musicians ?
Ser. Wholly, Sir.
Pan. Who play they to?
Ser. To the hearers, Sir.
Pan. At whose pleasure, Friend?
Ser. A mine, Sir, and theirs that love Musick.
Pan. Command, I mean, Friend.
Ser. Who shall I command, Sir ?

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
Attributes?

Pan. It Mould seem, Fellow, that thou hast not seen the
Lady Creslida. Itome to speak with Paris from the Prince
Troilus: I will make a compleniental Assault upon him, for
my Bufness feethes.
Ser. Sodden Business, there's a stew'd Phrase indeed.

Enter Paris and Helen.
Pan. Fair be to you, my Lord, and to all this fair Com-
pany : Fair desires in all fair measure fairly guide them,
especially to you, fair Queen, fair Thoughts be your fair
Pillow.

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.
Helen. O, Sir-
Pan. Rude in sooth, in good sooth very

rude.
Par. Well said, my Lord; well, you say so in fits.

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
Commends himself most affe&ionately to you.

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody:
If you do, our Melancholy upon your Head.

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. Nay, but my Lord.
Pan. What says my sweet Queen? my Cousin will fall out

with you.

Helen. You must not know where he sups.
Par. With my disposer Cressida.

Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide, come, your disposer is sick. Rar. Well, I'll make excuse.

Pan.

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.
• Par. Ay, good now, Love, Love, nothing but Love.
Pan. In good troch it begins so.

Love, Love, nothing but Love, ftill more:
For 0, Love's Bow
Shoots both Buck and Doe :
The Shaft confounds not that it wounds,
But tickles still the Sore:
These Lovers cry, oh ho they dye;
,

;
Yet that which seems they wound to kills
Doth turn ob bo, to ha ha he:
So dying Love lives still,
O ho a while, but ha ha ha;
O ho groans out for ha ha ha hey ho.

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.

Pan.