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And to the field goes he ; where ev'ry flower
Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw,
In HeEtor's wrath.

Cre. What was his cause of anger?

Serv. The noise goes thus; There is among the Greeks A Lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Heilor, They call him Ajax.

Cre. Good; and what of him ?

Serv. They say, he is a very man per se, and stands 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, churlith as the bear, slow as the elephant; a man into whom Nature hath so crouded humours, that his valour is crusht into folly, his folly fauced with discretion : there is no man hath a virtue, that he has not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain of it. He is melancholy without cause, 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 use ; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

Cre. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry

y? Serv. They say, he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle and struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector falling and waking.

Enter Pandarus. Cre. Who comes here?

Conundrum aim'd at, in Sun rose, and harnest light ? A very slight Alteration makes all these Constructions unnecellary, and gives us the Poet's meaning in the propereft Terms imaginable.

Before the Sun rose, be was harness-dight, i. e. compleatly drest, accoutred, in Arms. It is frequent with our Poet, from his Masters Chaucer and Spenser, to say dight for deck'd;

for pitch'd; &c, and from them too he uses Harness for Armour

Serv. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cre. He stor'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, cousin Cresid; what do

you

talk of? (3) Good morrow, Alexander ; - how do you, cousin? 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 the ?

Cre. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early.
Cre. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?
Cre. So he says, here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause 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.

(3) Good morrow, cousin Cressid; What do you talk of? Good morrow, ALEXANDER; How do you, cousin ? ] Good morrow, Alexander.

is added in all the Editions, says Mr. Pope, very absurdly, Paris not being on the Stage. Wonderful Acuteness : But, with Submission, this Gentleman's Note is much more absurd : for it falls out very unluckily for his Remark, that tho' Paris is, for the Generality, in Homer callid Alexander ; yet, in this Play, by any one of the Characters introduc'd, he is call'd pothing but Paris. ' The truth of the fact is this. Pandarus is of a busy, impertinent, insinuating Character; and 'tis natural for him, so soon as he has given his Coufin the good-morrow, to pay his Civilities too to her Attendant. This is purely év. Det, as the Grammarians call it; and gives us an admirable Touch of Pandaruss Character. And why might not Alexander be the Name of Crefid's Man? Paris had no Patent, I suppose, for engrossing it to himself. But the late Editor, perhaps, because we have had Alexander the Great, Pope Alexander, and Alexander Pope, would not have so eminent a Name prostituted to a common Valet..

Cre,

Cre. What is he angry too?
Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of

the two.
Cre. Oh, Jupiter ! there's no comparison.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector ? do you know a man, if you see him ?

Cre. Ay, if I ever saw him before, and knew him. Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.

Cre. Then you say, as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in fome degrees.
Cre. 'Tis just to each of them, he is himself.
Pan. Himself? 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 must friend, or end; well, Troilus, well, I would, my heart were in her body! -no, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

Cre. Excuse 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 shall 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. You have no judgment, Niece; Helen herself swore th’ other day, that Troilus for a brown favour, (for so ʼtis, I must confess) not brown neither

Cre. No, but brown.
Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown..
Cre. To say truth, true and not true.
Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris..
Pre. Why, Paris hath colour enough..

Pan.

Pan. So he has.

Cre. Then Troilus should have too much; if she prais'd him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too faming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lieve Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.

Pan. I swear to you, I think, Helen loves him better than Paris.

Cre. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed.

Pan. Nay, I am fure, she does. She came to him th' other day into the compass-window; and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin.

Cre. Indeed, a tap ter's arithmetick may foon bring his particulars therein to a total.

Pai. Why, he is very young; and yet will he within three pound lift as much as his brother Hector.

Cre. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter ?

Pan. But to prove to you that Helen loves him, she came and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin.

Cre. Juno, have mercy! how came it cloven?

Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled. I think, his smiling becomes him better, than any man in all Phrygia.

Cre. Oh, he smiles valiantly.
Pan. Does he not?
Cre. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.
Pan. Why, go to then-but to prove to you

that Helen loves Troilus.

Cre. Troilus will fland to the proof, if you'll prove it so.

Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg. Cre. If

you

love addle egg, as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i'th' fhell.

Pan. I cannot chufe but laugh to think how she tickled his chin ; indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess.

Cre. Without the Rack.

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin. Cre. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.

Pan.

an

Pan. But there was such laughing. Queen Hecuba laught, that her eyes run o'er.

Cre. With milftones.
Pan. And Calandra laught.

Cre. But there was more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes ; did her eyes run o'er too ?

Pan. And Hector laught.
Cre. At what was all this laughing?

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus's chin.

Cre. An't had been a green hair, I should have laught too.

Pan. They laught not so much at the hair, as at his pretty answer.

Cre. What was his answer ?

Pan. Quoth she, here's but one and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.

Cre. This is her question.

Pan. That's true, make no question of that: one and fisty hairs, (4) quoth he, and one white; that white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. Jupiter ! quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris, my husband ? the forked one, quoth he, pluck it out and give it him : but there was such laughing, and Helen so blush'd, and Paris fo chaf'd, and all the reft fo laught, that it past.

Cre. So let it now, for it has been a great while going by

Pan. 'Well, cousin, I told you a thing Yesterday ; think on't.

Cre, So I do.

Pan. I'll be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep you, an 'twere a man born in April.

[Sound a retreat. Cre. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle against May.

.

(4) Two and fifty hairs, quoth be, and one white; that white Hair is my Faiber, and all the rest are bis Sons.] The Copyists must have erred here in the Number; and I have ventured to substitute one and fifty, I think, with some Certainty. How else can the number make out Priam, and his fifty Sons ?

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