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man) let it sleep? 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 see !My Lord, come you again into my chamber ;

-you smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. Troi. Ha, haCre. Come, you are deceived, I think of no such thing. How earnestly they knock-pray you, come in, [ Knock. I would not for half Troy have you seen here. [Exe. Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will

you

beat down the door ; how now? what's the matter :

Enter Æneas.
Æne. 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 ?

Æne. Is not Prince Troilus here?
Pan. Here! what should he do here?

Æne. Come, he is here, my Lord, do not deny hiin. It doth import him much to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than I know, I'll be sworn; for my own part, I came in late : what should he do here?

Æne. Pho!--nay, then :--come, come, you'll do him wrong, ere y’are aware : you'll be so true to him, to be false to him : do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither, go. [As Pandarus is going out,

Enter Troilus. Troi. How now? what's the matter? Æne. My Lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash : there is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,

jeering Sort of Tenderness, upon her having made wanton the Night with Troilus, as our Author expresies it in his Othello. He would fay, I think, in English-Poor Innocent ! Poor Fool ! ba't not slept to Night? These Appellations are very well answer'd by the Italian Word Capocchio: for Capocchio signifies the thick Head of a Club; and thence metaphorically, a Head of not much Brain,

Sot, Dul lard, heavy Gull.

The

The Grecian Diomede, and our Antenor
Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the firit sacrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Craffida.

Troi. Is it concluded so?

Æne. 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 Ancas)
We met by cliance, you did not find me here.
Æne. Good, good, my Lord; the fecret'st things of

Nature (19)
Have not more gift in taciturnity.

[Exeunt. Enter Cressida to Pandarus. Pan. Is’t possible? no sooner got, but lost : the Devil take Antener! 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, ali !

Cre. Why figh you so profoundly? where's my Lord? gone! tell ine, sweet 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 hadít ne'er been born: I knew, thou wouldst 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 manifestly halis, and betrays its being defective, Mr. Pope substitutes

The Secrets of Neighbour Pandar.' If this be a Reading ex fide Codicum as he profelles 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 Verse thus;

The Secret'st Things of Nature, &c. i.e. the Arcana Naturæ, the Mysteries of Nature, of occult Philosophy, or of religious Ceremonies. Our Poet has Allusions of this Sort in leveral other Passages. 5

gentleman

Is as

gentleman! a plague upon Antenor !

Cre. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees, I beseech you,

what's the matter? Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone: thou art chang'd for Antenor; thou must go to thy father, and be gone from Troilus : 'twill be his death ; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

Cre. O you immortal Gods! I will not go.
Pan. Thou must.

Cre. I will not, uncle: I've forgot my father,
I know no touch of Confanguinity :
No kin, no love, no blood, no foul so near me,
As the sweet Troilus. O you Gods divine !
Make Cresid's name the very Crown of falfhood,
If ever she leave Troilus. Time, Force, and Death, (20)
Do to this body what extreams you can;
But the strong Base and Building of my Love

the very center of the earth, Drawing all to it.-I'll go and weep,

Pan. Do,ido.
Cre. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised

cheeks,
Crack
my clear voice with sobs, and break

my

heart With sounding Troilus. I'll not go from Troy. · [Exe.

SCENE, before Pandarus's House. · Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Deiphobus, Antenor,

and Diomedes. Par, T is great morning, and the hour prefixt

Of her Delivery to this valiant Greek Comes fast upon us : good my brother Troilus, (20)

Time and Deatb
Do to this Body &c.)
The first Folio reads,

Time, orce and death.
When the Second Impresfion came to be publish'd, the Editors,
I presume, were at a Lofs, and so funk the Word upon us which
they could not make out. There is no Doubt, but ihe Poet wrote;

Time, Force, and Death, i. e. The Compullion of Fate, that, which the Latines called Sæva Necesitas. VOL. VII.

R

Tell

IT

BE

Tell you the Lady what she is to do,
And hatte her to the purpose.

Troi. Walk into her house:
I'll bring her to the Grecian presently;
And to his hand when I deliver her,
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus
A priest, there offering to it his heart.

Par. I know, what 'tis to love ;
And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help!
Please you, walk in, my Lords.

(Exeunt. SCENE, an Apartment in Pandarus's House.

Enter Pandarus ånd Creffida.
Pan. E moderate, be moderate.

Cre. Why tell you me of moderation ?
The grief is fine, full, perfect that I taste,
And in its sense is no less strong, than that
Which caufeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection,
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief :
My love admits no qualifying drofs :

Enter Troilus.
No more my grief, in such a precious lofs.

Pan, Here, here, here he comes, -a, sweet duck!
Cre. O Troilus, Troilus !
Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! let me em-

brace too:
Ob heart, (as the goodly saying is ;)

O heart, O heavy heart,

Why figh's thou without breaking ? where he answers again ;

Because thou can's not ease thy smart,

By friendship, nor by Speaking. There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse; we fee it, we see it. How now, lambs ?

Troi. Crejid, I love thee in so strange a purity, That the bleft Gods, as angry with my fancy,

(More

(More bright in zeal than the devotion, which
Cold lips blow to their Deities) take thee from me.

Cre. Have the Gods envy ?
Pan. Ay, ay, 'tis too plain a case.
Cre. And is it true, that I must go from Troy?
Troi. A hateful truth !
Cre. What, and from Troilus too?
Troi. From Troy, and Troilas.
Cre. Is it poflible ?

Troi. And suddenly: while injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
Our lock'd embraces, strangles our dear vows,
Ev'n in the birth of our own labouring breath.
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Each other bought, must poorly fell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious Time now, with a robber's hafte,
Crams his rich thiev'ry up, he knows not how.'
As many farewels as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them,
He fumbles up all in one loose adieu ;
And scants us with a single familh'd kiss,
Diftafted with the salt of broken tears.

Æneas within] My Lord, is the lady ready?

Troi. Hark! you are call’d. Some say, the Genius fo Cries, come, to him that instantly must die. Bid them have patience ; she shall come anon.

Pan. Where are my tears ? rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root. (Exit Pandarus,

Cre. I must then to the Grecians ?
Troi. No remedy.

Cre. A woeful Crellid ’mongst the merry Greeks !
When shall we fee again ?

Troi. Hear me, my love; be thou but true of heart Cre. I true ! how now? what wicked Deem is this?

Troi. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, For it is par

from us : I speak not; be thou true, as fearing thee :

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