With his face backward.—In humane gentleness,
Welcome to Troy-Now, by Anchifes' life,
Welcome, indeed!-by Venus' hand I swear,
No man alive can love, in fuch a fort,
The thing he means to kill, more excellently.
Dio. We fympathize.-Jove, let Eneas live
(If to my fword his Fate be not the Glory)
A thousand compleat courfes of the Sun:
But in mine emulous honour let him die,
With every joint a wound, and that to morrow.
Ene. We know each other well.

Dio. We do; and long to know each other worse.
Par. This is the most despightful, gentle greeting;
The nobleft, hateful love, that e'er I heard of.
What bufinefs, lord, fo early?

Ene. I was fent for to the king; but why, I know not.
Par. His purpofe meets you; 'twas to bring this Greek
To Calchas' house, and there to render him
(For the enfreed Antenor) the fair Creffid.
Let's have your company; or, if you please,
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 fhall be much unwelcome.

Ene. That affure you.

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

Par. There is no help;

other Lion fly. with his face turn'd' backward, it is, fighting all the way as he retreats: And in this Manner it is, Æneas profeffes that he shall fly when he's hunted. But where then are the Symptoms of bumane Gentleness! My Correction of the Pointing restores good Sense, and a proper Behaviour in Eneas. As foon as ever he has return'd Diomede's Brave, he stops short and corrects himself for expreffing so much Fury in a Time of Truce ; from the fierce Soldier becomes the Courtier at once; and, remembring his Enemy to be a Guest and an Ambassador, welsomes him as fuch to the Trojan Camp.

The

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 dishonour,)
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 falfe drop in her baudy veins

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

A Trojan hath been flain. Since he could speak,
She hath not giv'n fo many good words breath,
As, for her, Greeks and Trojans fuffer'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.
Enter Troilus and Creffida.

DEAR

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

[down:

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

Cre. Night has been too brief.

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

Tedious as hell; but flies the grafps of love,

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

Cre. Pr'ythee, tarry- you men will never tarry-
O foolish CrefidaI 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 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?

Cre. 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.

Pon. Ha, ha! alas, poor wretch; a poor Capocchia,(18) haft not slept to night? would he not (a naughty

man)

(18) 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

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. Troi. Ha, ha

Cre. Come, you are deceived, I think of no fuch thing. How earnestly they knock-pray you, come in. [Knock. I would not for half Troy have you feen here.

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

Pan. Here! what fhould 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 fworn; for my own part, I came in late: what fhould he do here?

Eno. Pho!

do him wrong, ere y'are aware:

:-nay, then :

-come, come, you'll · you'll be so true to him,

[As Pandarus is going out,

to be falfe to him: do not you know of him, but yet go

fetch him hither, go.

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,

Neice, in a jeering Sort of Tenderness, upon her having made wanton the Night with Troilus, as our Anthor expreffes it in his Othello. He would say, I think in English Poor Innocent! Poor Fool! ba't not slept to Night? Thefe Appellations are very well anfwer'd by the Italian Word Capocchio: for Capocchio fignifies the thick Head of a Club; and thence metaphorically, a Head of not much Brain, a Sot, Dullard, heavy Gull.

The

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 Crefida.

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 Æneas)
We met by chance, you did not find me here.
Ene. Good, good, my lord; the fecret'ft things of
Nature (19)

Have not more gift in taciturnity."

Enter Creffida to Pandarus.

[Exeunt.

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. What 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 (19)

-The Secrets of Nature

Have not more Gift in Taciturnity.] This is the Reading of both the Elder Folio's: but the first Verse 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 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 Phi. lofophy, or of religious Ceremonies. Our Poet has Allufions of this Sort in feveral other Passages,

gentleman!