Achil. Nay, I must hold you.

Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom

he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, fool!

Ther. I would have peace and quietnefs, but the fool will not: he there, that he, look

you

Ajax. O thou damn'd cur, I fhall

there.

Achil. Will you fet your wit to a fool's?

Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will fhame it. Pat. Good words, Therfites.

Achil. What's the quarrel?

Ajax. I bad the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.

Ther. I ferve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I ferve here voluntary.

Achil. Your laft fervice was fufferance, 'twas not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

Ther. Ev'n fo a great deal of your wit too lies in your finews, or else there be liars. Hector fhall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; he were as good crack a fufty nut with no kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Therfites?

Ther. There's Ulyffes and old Neftor, (whofe wit was mouldy ere your Grandfires had nails on their toes,) (10) yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough up the

wair.

Achil: What! what!

(10) There's Ulyffes, and old Neftor, whofe Wit was mouldy ere their Grandfires had Nails on their toes,] This is one of thefe Editors wife Riddles. This is no Folly of Thefites's venting. What! Was Neftor's Wit mouldy, before his Grandfire's Toes had any Nails? that is, was the Grandfon an old Man, before the Grandfather was out of his Swathing-cloaths? Prepofterous Nonfenfe and yet fo eafy a Change, as one poor Pronoun for another fets all right and clear.

P 5

Ther.

Ther. Yes, good footh; to, Achilles ! `to, Ajax ! to— Ajax. I fhall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter, I shall speak as much as thou afterwards.

Pat. No more words, Therfites.

Ther. I will hold my peace, when Achilles' brach bids me, fhall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus,

Ther. I will fee you hang'd like clotplotes, ere I come any more to your Tents. I will keep where there is wit ftirring, and leave the faction of fools.

Pat. A good riddance.

[Exit.

Achil. Marry, this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our Hoft,

That Hector, by the fifth hour of the Sun,

Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy,
To morrow morning call fome Knight to arms,
That hath a stomach, fuch a one that dare
Maintain I know not what: 'tis trash, farewel.
Ajax. Farewel! who fhall anfwer him?

Achil. I know not, 'tis put to lott'ry: otherwise
He knew his man.

Ajax. O, meaning you: I'll go learn more of it. [Exe. SCENE changes to Priam's Palace in Troy. Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus.

Pri. After fo many hours, lives, fpeeches spent,

Thus once again fays Neftor from the Greeks : Deliver Helen, and all damage elfe

(As honour, lofs of time, travel, expence,

Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is confum'd

In hot digeftion of this cormorant war)

Shall be ftruck off. Hector, what fay you to't?

Hed. Though no man leffer fears the Greeks than I, As far as touches my particular, yet

There is no lady of more softer bowels,
More fpungy to fuck in the fense of fears

More ready to cry out, who knows what follows?
Than Hector is. The Wound of Peace is Surety,

Surety

Surety fecure; but modeft Doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wife; the tent that fearches.
To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen,
go.
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,.
Ev'ry tithe foul 'mongst many thousand difmes.
Hath been as dear as Helen. I mean, of ours.
If we have loft fo many tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, not worth to us
(Had it our name) the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reafon which denies
The yielding of her up?

Tro. Fie, fie, my brother:

Weigh you the worth and honour of a King
(So great as our dread father) in a scale
Of common ounces; will you with counters fum
The vaft proportion of his infinite?

And buckle in a waste most fathomless,

With spans and inches fo. diminutive

As fears and reafons? fie, for godly fhame!

Hel. No marvel, though you bite fo fharp at reafons, You are so empty of them. Should not our father Bear the great fway of his affairs with reafons; Because your fpeech hath none, that tells him fo?

Troj. You are for dreams and flumbers, brother Priest, You fur your gloves with reafons. Here are your reafons.. You know, an enemy intends you harm ;

You know, a fword imploy'd is perillous ;.
And reason flies the object of all harm.
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his fword, if he do fet.
The very wings of reason to his heels,
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Or like a ftar diforb'd! -Nay, if we talk of reafon,
Let's fhut our gates, and fleep: manhood and honour
Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm'd reafon : reafon and respect
Make livers pale, and luftyhood deject.

Hect. Brother, fhe is not worth what fhe doth cot The holding.

Troi. What is aught, but as 'tis valued.?

He. But Value dwells not in particular will;
It holds its eftimate and dignity

As well wherein 'tis precious of it felf,
As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry,
To make the fervice greater than the God;
And the Will dotes, that is inclinable
To what infectiously itself affects,

Without fome image of th' affected merit.
Troi. I take to day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of Will and Judgment; how may I avoid
(Although my will diftafte what is elected)
The wife I chufe? there can be no evasion
To blench from this, and to ftand firm by honour.
We turn not back the filks upon the merchant,

When we have spoil'd them; nor th' remainder viands
We do not throw in unrefpective place,

Because we now are full. It was thought meet,
Paris fhould do some vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath of full confent bellied his fails;
The feas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce,
And did him fervice: he touch'd the Ports defir'd;
And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive,
He brought a Grecian Queen, whose youth and freshnefs
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes ftale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt,
Is the worth keeping? why, the is a pearl,
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand fhips,
And turn'd crown'd Kings to merchants
If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd, go, go:-)
If you'll confefs, he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clap'd your hands,
And cry'd, ineftimable!) why do you now
The iffue of your proper wifdoms rate,
And do a deed that fortune never did,
Beggar that eflimation which you priz'd
Richer than fea and land? O theft most base!

That

That we have stolen what we do fear to keep!
But thieves, unworthy of a thing fo ftol'n,
Who in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place!
Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans, cry!

Pri. What noife? what thriek is this?

Troi. "Tis our mad fifter, I do know her voice.
Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans !

Hect. It is Caffandra.

Enter Caffandra, avith her hair about her ears.

Caf. Cry, Trojans, cry; lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetick tears.

Het. Peace, fifter, peace.

Caf. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled old, Soft infancy, that nothing can but cry, Add to my clamour! let us pay betimes A moiety of that mafs of moan to come: Cry, Trojans, cry; practise your eyes with tears. Troy muit not be, nor goodly Ilion ftand: Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all. Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a wo;

Cry, cry, Troy burns, or elfe let Helen go.

[Exit.

Het. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains

Of Divination in our fifter work

Some touches of remorfe? Or is your blood

So madly hot, that no difcourfe of reason,
Nor fear of bad fuccefs in a bad cause,
Can qualifie the fame?

Troi. Why, brother Hector,

We may not think the juftness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it;
Nor once deject the courage of our minds,
Because Caffandra's mad; her brain-fick raptures
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel,
Which hath our feveral honours all engag'd
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's fons;
And, Jove forbid! there fhould be done amongst us
Such things, as might offend the weakest spleen

To