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IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece

The princes orgillous, their high blood chafod,
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 ravisk'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
With wanton Paris peeps; And that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come ;
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage : Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions : Priam's fix-gated city
(Dardan, and Thymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Troyan,
And Antenoridas) with masy staples,
And corresponsive andfulfilling bolts,

Sperrs up the Sons of Troy.
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on bazard:And bither 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
Leaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
'Ginning in the middle ; starting thence away
To wbat 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.



* orgillsus,]-proud, haughty. b immures)-walls. fulfilling]-nicely fitting their sockets. Sperrs]- Shuts up, barricadoes. arm’d,)-in a dress adapted to the character I fuftain in this warlike play. the gaunt and firflings]-high speeches, and first essays, the prelude. & Now good, now bad.



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MARGARELON, a Bastard Son of PRIAM.


CASSANDRA, Daughter to PRIAM, a Prophetess.
CRESSIDA, Daughter to Calchas.
Boy, Page to TROILUS.
Servant to DIOMED.
Trojan and Greek Soldiers, with other Attendants.

SCENE-Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.

THIS PLAY was probably written in the year 1602; the principal circumstances of it are extracted from LYDGATE's TROY-BOKE, and CHAUCER'S TALE OF TROILUS AND CRISSEIDE,


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Troi. Call here my varlet", I'll unarm again :
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within ?
Each Trojan, that is master of his heart,
Let him to field; Troilus, alas ! hath none.

Pan. · Will this geer ne'er be mended ?
Troi. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their

Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant ;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than sheep, * fonder than ignorance ;
Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy.

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my

Will this guer ne'er be mended?]-Will this foolery never end?
fonder ]-more childih.


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part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will
have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding.

Troi. Have I not tarry'd ?
Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the boulting.
Troi. Have I not tarry'd ?

Pan. Ay, the boulting; but you must tarry the leavening

Troi. Still have I tarry’d.

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.

Troi. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
Doth leffer' blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,
So, traitor !-when she comes !-When is she thence ?

Pan. Well, she look'd yester-night fairer than ever I saw her look'; or any woman else.

Troi. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart,
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain ;
Left 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 coniparison 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

Troi. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd, " blench]-Ihrink.


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Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench’d. I 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;
Handleft, in thy discourse, that her hand,
In whose comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, "in spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell’st me,
As true thou tell’st me, when I say--I love her ;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Troi. Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan, '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.

Troi. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus ?
Pan. I have had my labour for my travel ; ill-thought

; on of her, and ill-thought on of you : gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Troi. 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; 'ris all one to me,

Troi. Say I, she is not fair?
Pan. I do not care whether you do or no.

She's a fool, to stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks;


m in spirit of fenfe]-in the judgment of a truly refined sense, of the moft exquisite sensibility-and spirit of Jense.

" foe bas tbe mends] - the means of improving her complexion, the power of amending it by cosmetics.


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