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Of cruel war.

P R O L O G U E. IN 'N Troy, there lies the scene : from Isles of Greece

The Princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd,
Have to the Port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments

Sixty and nine, that wore
Their Crownets regal, from th' Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia, and their vow is made
To ransack Troy ; within whose strong Immures,
The ravishd 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. Now on Dardan plains,
The fresh, and yet unbruised, Greeks do pitch
Their brave Pavillions. Priam's fix Gates i'th' City,
(Dardan, and Thymbria, Ilia, Scæa, Troian
And Antenorides,) with maly staples
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,

Sperre up the sons of Troy.-
Now expe&tation tickling skittish spirits
On one and other fide, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard. And hither am I comie
A Prologue arm’d, (but not in confidence
Of Author's pen, or Aétor's.vvice.; but fråied
In like conditions as our Argument :)
To tell you, (fair Beholders) that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstiings of ihile broils,
"Ginning i th' middle : starting thencé away,,
To what may be digested ina Piciy.
Like, or find fault, -do, as your pleasures are ;
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

* Stir up the Sons of Troy.) - We should [ read sperre, &c. to sperre, or spar, from the old Teutonic Word (Sperren) signifies to shut up, defend by Bars.

Theobald.
Dramatis

*

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Helen, Wife zo Menelaus; in lovė with Paris.
Andromache. Kife:to. Hedor.
Cassandra, Daughter: 10 Prjam, a Prophetess.
Cressida, Daughter:to.Galckas; in love with Troilus.
Alexander, Creffida's Män.
Boy, Page to Troilus.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, with other Attendants.

SCENE, Troy; and the Grecian Camp, before it.

Ꭲ Ꭱ 0 I L U S S.

Α Ν D

C R E S S I D A.

A cТІ. S C Ε Ν Ε Ι.

The Palace in TROY.

C

Enter Pandarus and Troilus.

TRO ILUS.
ALL 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 ntended ?
Troi. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their

strength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant.
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than sleep, 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 part, I'll not meddle nor make any farther. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, muft needs tarry the grinding.

Troi. Have I not tarried ?

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

Pan.

A 5

Pan. Ay, the boulting ; but you must tarry.the leav'ning.

Troi. Still have I tarried.

Pan. Ay, to the leav'ning: 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 lesser blench at sufferance, than I do. At Priam's royal table do 1 lit; And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, So, traitor!-when she comes ? when is she thence ?

Pan. Well, fhe look'd yesternight 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 figh, would rive in twain,
Left Hečtor or my father should perceive me ;
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm)
Buried this figh in wrinkle of a Imile :
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth Fate turns to sudden sadness.

Pan. An her hair were not somewbat 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 lifter Cassandra's wit, but,

Troi. O Pandarus ! I tell thee, PandarusWhen I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd, Reply not in how many fathoms deep They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad In Cresid's love. Thou answer'st, she is fair ; Pour'it in the open ulcer of my heart Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice ; Handleft in thy discourse-O that! her hand! (In whose comparison, all whites are ink

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