Par. His purpofe meets you; 'twas, to bring this

Greek

To Calchas' houfe, and there to render him
(For the enfree'd Antenor) the fair Crefid.
Let's have your company; or, if you pleafe,
Haste thee before. I conftantly do think,
(Or rather call my thought a certain knowledge)
My brother Troilus lodges there to night.
Roufe him, and give him note of our approach,
With the whole quality whereof; I fear,
We shall be much unwelcome.

Ene. That affure you.

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece,
Than Creffid borne from Troy.

Par. There is no help;

The bitter difpofition of the time

Will have it fo. On, lord, we'll follow you.
Ene. Good morrow all.

Par. And tell me, noble Diomede; tell me true,

Ev'n in the foul of good found fellowship,
Who in your thoughts merits fair Helen moft?
My felf, or Menelaus?

Dio. Both alike.

He merits well to have her, that doth feek her,
(Not making any fcruple of her foilure,)
With fuch a hell of pain, and world of charge..
And you as well to keep her, that defend her
(Not palating the taste of her difhonour,)
With fuch a coftly lofs of wealth and friends.
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
You, like a letcher, out of whorish loins
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors:
Both merits pois'd, each weighs no less nor more,
But he as he, which heavier for a whore.

[Exit.

Par. You are too bitter to your Country-woman.
Dio. She's bitter to her Country: hear me, Paris,
For ev'ry false drop-in her baudy veins

A Grecian's life hath funk; for every fcruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,

*

A Trojan hath been flain. Since fhe could fpeak,
She hath not giv'n fo many good words breath,
As, for her, Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.
Par. Fair Diomede, you do as chapmen do,
Difpraise the thing that you defire to buy:
But we in filence hold this virtue well;
We'll not commend what we intend to fell.
Here lyes our way.

Troi.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Pandarus's House,

DE

Enter Troilus and Creffida.

EAR, trouble not your felf; the morn is cold. Cre. Then, fweet my lord, I'll call my uncle He fhall unbolt the gates.

Troi. Trouble him not

To bed, to bed fleep feal thofe pretty eyes,
And give as foft attachment to thy fenfes,
As infants empty of all thought!

Cre. Good morrow then,

Troi. I pr❜ythee now, to bed.

Cre. Are you a weary of me?

Troi. O Crefida! but that the bufie day,
Wak'd by the lark, has rous'd the ribald crows,
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
I would not from thee.

Cre. Night hath been too brief.

[down:

Troi. Befhrew the witch! with venomous wights fhe ftays,

Tedious as hell; but flies the grasps of love,

With wings more momentary-fwift than thought:
You will catch cold, and curfe me.

Cre. Pr'ythee, tarry-you men will never tarry-
O foolish Crefida I might have still held off,

And then you would have tarried. Hark, there's one up.
Pan. within] What's all the doors open here?
Troi. It is your uncle.

Enter

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. A peftilence on him! now will he be mocking; I fhall have fuch a life

Pan. How now, how now? how go

maiden-heads?

Hear you, maid; where's my coufin Creffida?

Gre. Go hang your felf, you naughty mocking uncle: You bring me to do and then you flout me too. Pan. To do what? to do what? let her fay what: What have I brought you to do?

Cre. Come, come, befhrew your heart; you'll never be good; nor fuffer others.

Pan. Ha, ha! alas, poor wretch; a poor Capocchia,— (32) haft not slept to night? would he not (a naughty man) let it fleep? a bugbear take him!

[One knocks. Cre. Did not I tell you?would, he were knock'd o'th' head! -who's that at door? good uncle, go and fee. My lord, come you again into my chamber: you fmile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

Troil. Ha, ha

Cre. Come, you are deceived, I think of no fuch

thing.

How earnestly they knock

[Exeunt.

I would not for half Troy have you seen here.

Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the door? how now? what's the matter?

Enter Æneas.

Ene. Good morrow, lord, good morrow.

(32) A poor Chipochia,] This Word, I am afraid, has fuffer'd under the Ignorance of the Editors, for it is a Word in no living Language that I can find. Pandarus fays it to his Neice, in a jeering Sort of Tenderness, upon her having made wanton the Night with Troilus, as our Author expreffes it in his Othello. He would fay, I think, in English,Poor Innocent! Poor Fool! haft not flept to Night? Thefe Appellations are very well anfwer'd by the Italian Word Capocchia: for Capocchio fignifies the thick Head of a Club; and thence metaphorically, a Head of not much Brain, a Sot, Dullard, heavy Gull; un balordo, lourdaut, tête fans cerwelles.ox cabeça fin fefo, as the Spaniards exprefs it.

Pan.

Pan. Who's there? my lord Æneas? by my troth, I knew you not; what news with you so early? Ane. Is not Prince Troilus here?

Pan. Here! what should he do here?

Ene. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him. It doth import him much to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, fay you? 'tis more than I know, I'll be sworn; for my own part, I came in late: what fhould he do here?

Ene. Pho!

nay, then:

come, come, you'll do him wrong, ere y'are aware: you'll be so true to him, to be false to him: do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither, go. [As Pandarus is going out,

Enter Troilus.

Troi. How now? what's the matter?

Ene. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
My matter is fo rafh: there is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,

The Grecian Diomede, and our Antenor
Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first facrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Creffida.

Troi. Is it concluded fo?

Ene. By Priam, and the general State of Troy.
They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
Troi. How my atchievements mock me!

I will go meet them; and (my lord Eneas)

We met by chance, you did not find me here.

Ene. Good, good, my lord; the fecret'ft things of

Nature (33)

Have not more gift in taciturnity,

[Exeunt.

Enter

Have not more Gift in Taciturnity.] This is the Reading of both the Elder Folio's; but the firft Verfe manifeftly halts, and betrays its being defective. Mr. Pope fubftitutes

The Secrets of Neighbour Pandar.

If This be a Reading ex fide Codicum (as he profeffes all his various

Read

Enter Creffida to Pandarus.

Pan. Is't poffible? no fooner got, but loft: the Devil take Antenor! the young Prince will go mad: a plague upon Antenor! I would, they had broke's neck.

Cre. How now? what's the matter? who was here?

Pan. Ah, ah!

Cre. Why figh you fo profoundly? where's my lord? gone! tell me, fweet uncle, what's the matter?

Pan. Would, I were as deep under the earth, as I am above!

Cre. O the Gods! what's the matter?

Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in; would, thou hadft ne'er been born: I knew, thou would't be his death. O poor gentleman! a plague upon Antenor!

Cre. Good uncle, I befeech you, on my knees, I befeech you, what's the matter?

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone: thou art chang'd for Antenor; thou must go to thy father, and be gone from Troilus: 'twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

Cre. O you immortal Gods! I will not go.

Pan. Thou must.

Cre. I will not, uncle: I've forgot my father. I know no touch of Confanguinity:

Readings to be) it is founded on the Credit of fuch Copies, as it has not been my Fortune to meet with. I have ventur'd to make out the Verfe thus ;

The Secret'ft Things of Nature, &c.

i. e. the Arcana Natura, the Myfteries of Nature, of occult Philofophy, or of religious Ceremonies. Our Poet has Allufions of this Sort in feveral other Paffages.

That knows the Tine

Plutus himself,

and multiplying Medicine,

Hath not in Nature's Mystery more Science, &c.

All's Well, &c.

There are more Things in Heav'n and Earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your Philofophy.

Coriolanus.

Hamlet.
No