Cre. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers As infinite, as imminent: but, I'll be true.

Troi. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this fleeve.

Cre. And you this glove. When fhall I fee you?
Troi. I will corrupt the Grecian Centinels

To give thee nightly visitation.

But yet be true.

Cre. O heav'ns! be true, again?

Troi. Hear, why I speak it, love:

The Grecian youths are full of fubtle qualities,
They're loving, well compos'd, with gift of nature
Flowing, and fwelling o'er with arts and exercise;
How novelties may move, and parts with perfon-
Alas, a kind of godly jealoufie

(Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous fin)
Makes me afraid.

Cre. O heav'ns, you love me not!

Troi. Die I a villain then!

In this, I do not call your faith in question
So mainly as my merit: I cannot fing,

Nor heel the high Lavolt; nor fweeten talk ;
Nor play at fubtle games; fair virtues all,
To which the Grecians are most

prompt and But I can tell, that in each grace of these

pregnant.

There lurks a ftill and dumb-difcourfive Devil,
That tempts moft cunningly but be not tempted.
Cre. Do you think, I will?

Troi. No.

But fomething may be done, that we will not:
And fometimes we are devils to our felves,
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Prefuming on their changeful potency.
Eneas within.] Nay, good my lord,-
Troi. Come kifs, and let us part.
Paris within.] Brother Troilus,
Troi. Good brother, come you hither,

And bring Eneas and the Grecian with you:
Cre. My lord, will You be true?

Troi. Who I? alas, it is my Vice, my fault:
While others fish with craft for great opinion;
I, with great truth, catch meer fimplicity.
While fome with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainnefs I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth; the moral of
my wit
Is plain and true, there's all the reach of it.

Enter Æneas, Paris, and Diomedes.
Welcome, Sir Diomede; here is the lady,
Whom for Antenor we deliver you.

At the Port (lord) I'll give her to thy hand,
And by the way poffefs thee what fhe is.
Entreat her fair; and by my foul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou ftand at mercy of my fword,
Name Crefid, and thy life fhall be as fafe
As Priam is in Ilion.

Diom. Lady Crefid,

So please you, fave the thanks this Prince expects :
The luftre in your eye, heav'n in your cheek,
Pleads your fair ufage; and to Diomede

You fhall be miftrefs, and command him wholly.
Troi. Grecian, thou doft not use me courteously,
To fhame the zeal of my petition towards thee, (35)
By praifing her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,
She is as far high-foaring o'er thy praises,
As thou unworthy to be call'd her fervant.
I charge thee, ufe her well, even for my Charge:
For by the dreadful Pluto, if thou doft not,
(Tho' the great bulk Achilles be thy guard)
I'll cut thy throat.

(35) To fhame the Seal of my Petition tow'rds thee

By praifing ber] There is great Room for hefitating at this Expreffion. To shame the Seal of a Petition, carries no fenfible Idea that I can find out. The Change of a fingle Letter makes Troilus's Complaint apt and reasonable; and the Senfe is this: "Grecian, you use me difcourteoufly; "you fee, I am a paffionate Lover, by my Petition to you; and there"fore you fhould not fhame the Zeal of it, by promifing to do, what I "require of you, for the Sake of her Beauty: when, if you had good "Manners, or a Sense of a Lover's Delicacy, you would have promised "to do it in Compassion to his Pangs and Sufferings." Mr. Warburton.

Diom. Oh, be not mov'd, Prince Troilus.
Let me be priviledg'd, by iny place and meffage,
To be a Speaker free. When I am hence,
I'll answer to my lift: and know, my lord,
I'll nothing do on Charge; to her own worth
She fhall be priz'd: but that you fay, be't fo;
I'll fpeak it in my spirit and honour-no.

Troi. Come, to the Port--I'll tell thee, Diomede,
This Brave fhalt oft make thee to hide thy head.
Lady, give me your hand and as we walk,
To our own felves bend we our needful talk.

Par. Hark, Hector's trumpet!

[Sound trumpet.

Ene. How have we spent this morning? The Prince must think me tardy and remifs, That fwore to ride before him in the field.

Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault. Come, come, to field with him.

Diom. Let us make ready ftrait.

Ene. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity

Let us addrefs to tend on Hector's heels:

The Glory of our Troy doth this day lye
On his fair worth, and fingle chivalry.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Grecian Camp.

Enter Ajax armed, Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulyffes, Neftor, &c.

Aga.

H

ERE art thou in appointment fresh and fair, (36)

Anticipating time with ftarting courage.

Give with thy Trumpet a loud note to Troy,
Thou dreadful Ajax, that th' appalled air

(36) Here art thou in Appointment free and fair, Anticipating Time. With ftarting Courage,

Give with thy Trumpet, &c.] I have alter'd the Pointing of this Paffage for this Reason: The Poet feems to mean, that Ajax fhew'd his starting Courage in coming into the Field before the Challenger.

May pierce the head of the great Combatant,
And hale him hither.

Ajax. Trumpet, there's my purfe;

Now crack thy lungs, and fplit thy brazen pipe:
Blow, villain, till thy fphered bias cheek
Out-fwell the cholick of puft Aquilon:

Come, ftretch thy cheft, and let thy eyes fpout blood
Thou blow'ft for Hector.

Uly. No trumpet answers.
Achil. 'Tis but early day.

Aga. Is not yond' Diomede with Calchas' daughter?
Uly. 'Tis he, Iken the manner of his gate;
He rifes on his toe; that spirit of his

In afpiration lifts him from the earth.

Enter Diomede, with Creffida.

Aga. Is this the lady Cressida?

Dio. Ev'n fhe.

Aga. Moft dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady. (37) Neft. Our General doth falute you with a kiss.

Uly. Yet is the kindness but particular;

Twere better, fhe were kifs'd in general.

Neft. And very courtly counfel: I'll begin.

So much for Neftor.

Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady: Achilles bids you welcome.

Men. I had good argument for kiffing once.

Patr. But that's no arguiment for kiffing now:

(37) Moft dearly welcome to the Greeks, fweet Lady.] From this Line Mr. Pope has thought fit to degrade, or throw out of the Text, the Quantity of a whole Page. But is it not very abfurd, that Diomede fhould bring Creffid on, where fo many Princes are prefent, and preparing to give her a Welcome, and then lead her off abruptly, fo foon as ever Agamemnon has faid a fingle Line to her? An ideò tantùm venerat, ut exiret? as Martial fays of Cato's coming into the Theatre. But is it not ftill more abfurd for Creffid to be led off without uttering one fingle Syllable, and for Neftor and Ulyffes to obferve that fhe is a Woman of quick Senfe, and glib of Tongue, as if fhe had faid feveral witty Things? Methinks, Neftor's Character of her Wit, from her faying Nothing, is as extraordinary as the two Kings of Brentford hearing the Whisper, tho' they are not prefent, in the REHEARSAL.

For

For thus pop'd Paris in his hardiment,
And parted, thus, you and your argument.

Uly. O deadly gall, and theme of all our fcorns,
For which we lofe our heads to gild his horns!
Patr. The firft was Menelaus' kifs-this mine-
Patroclus kiffes you.

Men. O, this is trim.

Patr. Paris and I kifs evermore for him.

Men, I'll have my kifs, Sir: lady, by your leave,Cre. In kiffing do you render or receive?

Patr. Both take and give.

Cre. I'll make my match to live,

The kiss you take is better than you give;
Therefore no kifs.

Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one.
Cre. You are an odd man, give even, or give none.
Men. An odd man, lady? every man is odd.
Cre. No, Paris is not; for you know, 'tis true,
That you are odd, and he is even with you.
Men. You fillip me o'th' head.

Cre. No, I'll be sworn.

Ulys. It were no match, your nail against his horn: May I, fweet lady, beg a kiss of you?

Cre. You may.

Uly. I do defire it.

Cre. Why, beg then.

Ulyf. Why then, for Venus fake, give me a kjfs,
When Helen is a maid again, and his

Cre. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.
Ulyf. Never's my day, and then a kifs of you.
Neft. A woman of quick fenfe!

Dio. Lady, a word- -I'll bring you to your Father,

Ulyf. Fie, fie upon her!

[Diomede leads out Creffida.

There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip:
Nay, her foot fpeaks; her wanton fpirits look out
At every joint, and motive of her body:
Oh, thefe Encounterers! So glib of tongue,
They give a Coafting welcome ere it comes;
And wide unclafp the tables of their thoughts

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