The cignet's down is harfh, and fpirit of fenfe
Hard as the palm of ploughman. This thou tell'ft me;
(As, true thou tell'ft me) when I fay, I love her :
But faying thus, inftead of oil and balm,

Thou lay'ft, in every gash that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.

Pan. I fpeak no more than truth.

Troi. Thou doft not speak fo much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as the is, if the be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fhe be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

Troi. Good Pandarus; how now, Pandarus?

Pan. I have had my labour for my travel, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

Troi. What art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; and she were not kin to me, fhe would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an fhe were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me. Troi. Say I, she is not fair?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no, fhe's a fool to stay behind her father: let her to the Greeks, and fo I'll tell her the next time I fee her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i'th' matter.

Troi. Pandarus,

Pan. Not I.

Troi. Sweet Pandarus,

Pan. Pray you, fpeak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there's an end. [Exit Pandarus. [Sound Alarm., Tr.Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude founds! Fools on both fides.- Helen muft needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument,

It is too ftarv'd a fubject for my

fword:

But Pandarus· O Gods! how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Creffid, but by Pandar;
And he's as teachy to be woo'd to wooe,
As he is ftubborn-chafte against all fute.

Tell

Tell me, Apolio, for thy Daphne's love,
What Crefid is, what Pandar, and what we:
Her bed is India, there fhe lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where the refides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourself the merchant, and this failing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
[Alarm.]
Enter Æneas.

Ene. How now, Prince Troilus? wherefore not i'th' field?

Troi. Because not there; this woman's answer forts For womanish it is to be from thence:

What news, Eneas, from the field to-day?

Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.

Troi. By whom, Æneas?

Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus.

Troi. Let Paris bleed, 'tis but a fcar to scorn;

Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.

[Alarm Ene. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day? Troi. Better at home, if would I might, were may

But to the fport abroad

Ene. In all swift hafte.

-are you bound thither ?

Troi. Come, go we then together.

[Exeunt

SCENE changes to a publick Street, near the Walls

Cre.

of Troy.

Enter Creffida, and Alexander, her Servant.

HO were those went by?

WHO

Serv. Queen Hecuba and Helen.

Cre. And whither go they?

Serv. Up to th' eastern tower,

Whofe height commands as fubject all the vale,
To fee the fight. Hector, whofe patience

Is, as the Virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd: (5)

-whofe patience

He

(5)Is as a virtue fix'd,] What's the meaning of Hector's patience being fix'd as a virtue ? Is not patience a virtue? What roon then for the

He chid Andromache, and ftruck his armorer;
And like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the fun rofe, he was harness-dight, (6).
And to the field goes he; where ev'ry flower
Did as a prophet weep what it forefaw,

In Hedor's wrath..

.

Cre. What was his caufe of anger?

Serv. The noife goes thus; There is among the Greeks A Lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector,

They call him Ajax.

Cre.. Good; and what of him?

Serv. They fay, he is a very man per fe, and ftands

alone..

Cre. So do all men, unless they are drunk, fick, or have no legs.

Serv. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion,, churlish as the bear, flow as the elephant; a man into whom Nature hath so crouded humours, that his valour is crufht into folly, his folly fauced with difcretion :: there is no man hath a virtue, that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries fome ftain

Aimilitude? The Poet certainly wrote, as I have conjecturally reform'd the text; and this is giving a fine character of it, to fay, His patience is as fedfaft as the virtue of Patience itself; or the Goddess fo call'd: For the poets have always perfonaliz'd the quality. So we find Troilus a little before faying;

Mr. Warburton.

Patience berfelf, what Godde's e'er the be, Doth leffer blench at fufferance than I do. (6) Before the fun rofe, be was harnest light,]. Why, harnest light ♬ Does the Poet mean, that Hector had put on light armour ? Or that he was sprightly in his arms, even before fun-rife? Or is a conun drum aim'd at, in fun rofe, and harnest light ? A very flight alteration makes all these conftructions unneceffary, and gives us the Poet's meaning in the propereft terms imaginable.

Before the fun rofe, be was harnefs-dight,

i. e. compleatly dreft, accoutred, in arms. It is frequent with our Poet, from his mafters Chaucer and Spenfer, to fay digbt for deck'dz pight for pitch'd, &c. and from them too he uses barness for armour. So, again, in Macbeth;

blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with barness on our back.

of it. He is melancholy without caufe, and merry against the hair; he hath the joints of every thing, but every thing fo out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no ufe; or purblind Argu, all eyes and no fight.

Cre. But how fhould this man, that makes me fmile, make He&or angry ?

Serv. They fay, he yesterday cop'd Hedor in the battle and ftruck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever fince kept Hector fafting and waking.

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. Who comes here?

Serv. Madam, your uncle Pandurus.
Cre. Hector's a gallant man.

Serv. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?

Cre. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow, coufin Cresfid; what do you talk of? (7) Good morrow, Alexander ;-how do you, coufin? when were you at Ilium ?

Cre. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came ? was. Hector arm'd and gone, ere you came to Ilium? Helen: was not up? was she?

(7) Good morrow, coufin Creffid; what do you talk of? Good more. FOW, ALEXANDER ;- ~How do you, coufin §] Good morrow, Alex.. ander is added in all the editions, fays Mr. Pope, very abfurdly Paris not being on the ftage.- -Wonderful acuteness! But, with fubmiffion, this gentleman's note is much more abfurd: for it falls out very unluckily for his remark, that tho' Paris is, for the generality, in Homer call'd Alexander; yet, in this play, by any one of the characters introduced, he is call'd nothing but Paris. The truth of the fact is this. Pandarus is of a bufy, impertinent, infinuating cha 1acter; and 'tis natural for him, fo foon as he has given his coufin the good morrow, to pay his civilities too to her attendant. This is purely eve, as the grammarians call it; and gives us an admirable touch of Pandarus's character. And why might not Alexander be the name of Creffid's man? Paris had no patent, I suppose, for engroffing. it to himself. But the late editor, perhaps, because we have had Alexander the Great, pope Alexander, and Alexander Pope, would not have fo eminent a name proftituted to a common valet.

Cre. Hor was gone; but Helen was not up.

Pan. E'en fo; Hector was ftirring early.

Cre. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Par. Was he angry?

Cre. So he fays, here.

Pan. True, he was fo; I know the caufe too: he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that; and there's Troilus will not come far behind him, let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cre. What is he angry too?

[the two. Pan. Who, Troilus? -Troilu is the better man of Cre. Oh, Jupiter! there's no comparifon.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? do you 1now a man, if you fee him?

Cre. Ay, if I ever faw him before, and knew him. Pan. Well, 1 fay, Troilus is Troilus.

Cre. Then you fay, as I fay; for, I am fure, he is int H. &or.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilu, in fome degrees. Cre. 'Tis juft to each of them, he is himself.

Pan. Himfelf? alas, poor Troilus! I would he were.
Cre. So he is.

Pan. 'Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India.
Cre. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself; 'would, he were himself! well, the Gods are above; time muft friend, or end; well, Troilus, well, I would, my heart were in her body!· -no, Hector is not a better man

than Troilus.

Cre. Excufe me.

Pan. He is elder.

Cre. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale, when th' other's come to't: Hector fhall

not have his wit this year.

Cre. He fhall not need it, if he have his own.

Pan. Nor his qualities.

Cre. No matter.

Pan. Nor his beauty.

Cre. 'Twould not become him, his own's better.

Pan.