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IN Troy, there lies the fcene. From ifles of Greece
The princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd,
Have to the port of Athens fent their ships
Fraught with the minifters and inftruments
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 ranfack Troy; within whofe ftrong immures
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris fleeps; And that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come;

And the deep-drawing barks do there difgorge
Their warlike fraughtage: Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruifed Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's fix-gated city
(Dardan, and Thymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Troyan,
And Antenoridas) with maffy ftaples,
And correfponfive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperrs up the fons of Troy.

Now expectation, tickling skittish fpirits,
On one and other fide, 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 fuited
In like conditions as our argument,

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To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firftlings of those broils,
'Ginning in the middle; ftarting thence away
To what may be digefted in a play.
Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are;
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

ergilleus,]-proud, haughty.

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.

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MARGARELON, a Baftard Son of PRIAM.












CASSANDRA, Daughter to PRIAM, a Prophetefs.


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,


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Priam's Palace.

Enter Pandarus, and Troilus.

Troi. Call here my varlet, I'll unarm again :
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find fuch 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 ftrong, and skilful to their


Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant ;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than fheep, fonder than ignorance;

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?
fonder]-more childish.

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part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will
have a cake out of the wheat, muft tarry the grinding.
Troi. Have I not tarry'd?
Pan. Ay, the grinding; but
Troi. Have I not tarry'd?

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,
As wedged with a figh, would rive in twain;
Left Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have (as when the fun doth light a storm)
Bury'd this figh in wrinkle of a smile:
But forrow, that is couch'd in feeming gladness,
Is like that mirth, fate turns to fudden sadness.

Pan. An her hair were not fomewhat darker than He-
len's, (well, go to) there were no more comparison be-
tween the women,-But, for my part, fhe is my kinf-
woman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, -But I
would fomebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did.
I will not dispraise your fifter Caffandra's wit: but-
Troi. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,-
When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd,
1 blench]-fhrink.


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Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Creffid's love: Thou anfwer'ft, She is fair;
Pour'ft in the open ulcer of my heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handleft, in thy difcourfe, that her hand,
In whose comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harfh, " in fpirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me,
As true thou tell'ft me, when I fay-I love her;
But, faying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

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.

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