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IN Troy, there lies the fcene. From ifles of Greece
With wanton Paris fleeps; And that's the quarrel.
And the deep-drawing barks do there difgorge
Now expectation, tickling skittish fpirits,
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
fulfilling-nicely fitting their fockets.
d Sperrs]-fhuts up,
arm'd,]-in a drefs adapted to the character I fuftain in this warlike play. the vaunt and firftlings]-high speeches, and first effays, the prelude. Now good, now bad.
MARGARELON, a Baftard Son of PRIAM.
HELEN, Wife to MENELAUS.
ANDROMACHE, Wife to HECTOR.
CASSANDRA, Daughter to PRIAM, a Prophetefs.
ALEXANDER, CRESSIDA's Servant.
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 CRESSEIDE,
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Enter Pandarus, and Troilus.
Troi. Call here my varlet, I'll unarm again :
Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended ?
Troi. The Greeks are ftrong, and skilful to their
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant ;
Lefs valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skill-lefs as unpractis'd infancy.
Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my
Will this geer ne'er be mended?]—Will this foolery never end?
part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will
you must tarry the boulting.
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 fhe be, Doth leffer blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I fit;
And when fair Creffid comes into my thoughts,
So, traitor!-when fhe comes!-When is fhe thence?
Pan. Well, fhe look'd yefter-night fairer than ever I faw her look; or any woman elfe.
Troi. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart,
Pan. An her hair were not fomewhat darker than He-
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Pan. I fpeak no more than truth.
Troi. Thou doft not speak fo much.
Pan, 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as fhe is: if fhe be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fhe be not, " fhe 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 fhe's not fo fair as Helen: an fhe were not kin to me, fhe would be as fair on friday, as Helen is on funday. But what care I? I care not an fhe were a black-a-moor;
'tis all one to me.
Troi. Say I, fhe 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;
min fpirit of fenfe]-in the judgment of a truly refined fenfe, of the moft exquifite fenfibility-and Spirit of fenfe.
fbe bas the mends]-the means of improving her complexion, the power of amending it by cofmetics.