Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Power as he was a counsellor to try him,
Not as a groom: There's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
Which ye shall never have, while I live.
Chan.

Thus far,
My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather
(If there be faith in men) meant for his trial,
And fair purgation to the world, than malice;
I am sure, in me.

K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him;
Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him, If a prince
May be beholden to a subject, I
Am, for his love and service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
Be friends, for shame, my lords.-My lord of
Canterbury,

I have a suit which you must not deny me;
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.
Cra.The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour; How may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you?
K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare
your spoons1; you shall have
Two noble partners with you; the old duchess
of Norfolk,

And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please you?
Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you,
Embrace, and love this man.

With a true heart,

Gar.
And brother-love, I do it.
Cran.
And let heaven
Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.
K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show
thy true heart.

The common voice, I see, is verified [bury
Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canter-
A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.-
Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
To have this young one made a Christian,
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.

his Man.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-THE PALACE YARD. Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: Do you take the court for Paris-garden2! ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue: Is this the place to roar in?-Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to them.-I'll scratch your heads: You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cake here, you rude rascals? M.Pray,sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons,) 3 Bawling.

1 As a present to god-children. 2 A bear-garden.

Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy,1nor Colbrand,2 to mow them down before me: but, if I spared any, that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, let me never hope to see a chine again.

[Within.] Do you hear, master porter? Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.-Keep the door close, sirrah. Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Bless me, what a fry is at door! on my Christian conscience, here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in 's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance: That firedrake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed upon me till her pink porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteors once, and hit that woman, who cried out clubs! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff with me, I defied them still; when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work: The devil was amongst them, I think, surely.

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play-house, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum,7 and there they are like to dance these three days: besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is to come.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain. Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! They grow still too, from all parts they are As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porcoming, [ters, These lazy knaves?-Ye have made a fine hand, fellows.

There's a trim rabble let in: Are all these

In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of Greece

The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf'd, Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, Fraught with the ministers and instruments Of cruel war: Sixty, and nine, that wore Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay Put forth toward Phrygia: and their vow is made, To ransack Troy; within whose strong immures The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel. To Tenedos they come;

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Their warlike fraughtage 2: Now on Dardan plains

The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,
Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr3 up the sons of Troy.

Now, expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek
Sets all on hazard:-And hither am I come
A prologue arm'd,-but not in confidence
Of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited
In like conditions as our argument,—
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play [broils,
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings 5 of those

'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are;
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry

the bolting.1

Tro. Have I not tarried?

the leavening.

Tro. Still have I tarried.

Pan. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the word-hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench2 at sufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit; Andwhen fair Cressid comes into mythoughts, So, traitor!-when she comes!When is she thence?

Pan. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than I saw her look, or any woman else. [ever Tro. Iwas about to tell thee,-When my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rives in twain; Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, I have (as when the sun doth light a storm,) Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more comparison between the women, But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her,-But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but

Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,— When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd, Reply not in how many fathoms deep They lie indrench'd. tell thee, I am mad In Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, She is fair; Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, In whose comparison all whites are ink, Writing their own reproach; towhose soft seizure The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou

Lell'st me,

As true thou tell'st me, when I say,-I love her;
But, saying this, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given
The knife that made it.

[me

Pan. I speak no more than truth. Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. Pun. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands. Tro. Good Pandarus! how now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labour for my travail; illthought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me. 2 Shrink. 3 Split.

1 Sifting.

time I see her: For my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the matter.

Tro. Pandarus,—
Pan. Not I.

Tro. Sweet Pandarus,

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me; I will leave all as I found it, and there an end.

[Exit Pandarus. An Alarum.

Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds!

Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
But, Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchyl to be woo'd to woo,
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where she resides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourself, the merchant; and this sailing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Alarum. Enter Eneas.

Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not a-field?

Tro. Because not there: This woman's answer For womanish it is to be from thence. [sorts,2 What news, Æneas, from the field to-day? Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. Tro. By whom?

Ene.

Tro.

By Menelaus.

Let him bleed. [Alarum. Ene. Hark! what good sport is out of town [may.

to-day?

Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were But, to the sport abroad;-Are you bound thither? Ene. In all swift haste.

Tro. Come, go we then together. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A STREET.

Enter Cressida and Alexander.

Cres. Who were those went by?
Alex.
Queen Hecuba, and Helen.
Cres. And whither go they?
Alex.
Up to the eastern tower,
Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd:
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;
And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light,
And to the field goes he; where every flower,
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.

Cres.
What was his cause of anger?
Alex. The noise goes, this: There is among
the Greeks

A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
They call him Ajax.
Cres.
Good; and what of him?
Alex. They say he is a very man per se,1
And stands alone.

Cres. So do all men; unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their particular additions2; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours, that his valour is crushed into3 folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: He hath the joints of every thing; but everything so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?

Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the battle, and struck him down; the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

Enter Pandarus.

Cres. Who comes here?

Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cres. Hector's a gallant man.
Alex. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of?-Good morrow, Alexander.-How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium? Cres. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she?

Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early.
C. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?

Cres. So he says, here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that: and there is Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cres. What, is he angry, too?

Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.

Cres. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison. Pan. What, not between Troilus and Ilector? Do you know a man, if you see him?

C. Ay, if ever I saw him before, and knew him. Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. Cres. Then you say as I say; for I am sure he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees.

Cres. "Tis just to each of them; he is himself. Pan. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were,

Cres. So he is.

Pan.-'Condition I had gone barefoot to Cres. He is not Hector. [India. Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself.-'Would 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above; Time must friend, or end: Well, Troilus, well, -I would my heart were in her body!-No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus. Cres. Excuse me. Pan. He is elder.

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. The other's not come to 't; you shall tell me another tale, when the others come to't. Hector shall not have his wit this year. Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. Pan. Nor his qualities;Cres. No matter.

Pan. Nor his beauty.

C. "Twould not become him, his own's better. Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen herself swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,)— Not brown neither.

Cres. No, but brown.

P. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cres. To say the truth, true and not true.
P. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough.
Pan. So he has.

Cres. Then Troilus should have too much: if she praised him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief1 Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.

Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris.

Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed.

Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him the other day into a compassed' window,and, you know, he has not passed three or four hairs on his chin.

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetick may soon bring his particulars therein to a total.

Pan. Why, he is very young; and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector.

C. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter3? Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen love him;-she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin,

C. Juno have mercy!-How came it cloven? Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think, his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.

Cres. O, he smiles valiantly.

Pan. Does he not?

Cres. O yes, and 'twere a cloud in autumn. Pan. Why, go to then :-But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus,

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so.

Pan. Troilus? why he esteemns her no more than I esteem an addle egg.

C. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the shell. Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how 1 Willingly.

2 Bow.

3 Thief.