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 fo early? Ene. Is not Prince Troilus here? Pan. Here! what thould 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? Ene. Pho!--nay, then :-- -come, come, you'll do him wrong, ere y'are aware: you'll be so true to him, to be falfe 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? Ene. My Lord, I fcarce have leisure to falute you, My matter is fo rafh: 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 expreffes it in his Othello. He would fay, 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 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) 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. Why 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 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 Verfe 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 profefles 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 Naturæ, the Myfteries of Nature, of occult Philofophy, or of religious Ceremonies. Our Poet has Allufions of this Sort in feveral other Paffages. 5 gentleman gentleman! a plague upon Antenor ! Cre. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees, I befeech 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. Cre. I will not, uncle: I've forgot my father, No kin, no love, no blood, no foul so near me, If ever she leave Troilus. Time, Force, and Death, (20) But the strong Bafe and Building of my Love Is as the very center of the earth, Drawing all to it.-I'll go and weep, Pan. Do, do. Cre. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, Crack my clear voice with fobs, and break my heart SCENE, before Pandarus's House. [Exe. Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Deiphobus, Antenor, and Diomedes. Par. IT T is great morning, and the hour prefixt Of her Delivery to this valiant Greek Comes faft upon us: good my brother Troilus, -Time and Death (20)- The first Folio reads, Time, orce and death. When the Second Impreffion came to be publish'd, the Editors, I prefume, were at a Lofs, and fo funk the Word upon us which they could not make out. There is no Doubt, but the Poet wrote; Time, Force, and Death, i. e. The Compulfion of Fate, that, which the Latines called Sava Neceffitas. VOL. VII. R Tell Tell you the Lady what fhe is to do, I'll bring her to the Grecian presently; And 'would, as I fhall pity, I could help! [Exeunt. SCENE, an Apartment in Pandarus's House. Pan. Enter Pandarus and Creffida. E moderate, be moderate. BE Cre. Why tell you me of moderation ? Enter Troilus. No more my grief, in fuch a precious lofs. Pan. Here, here, here he comes,-a, fweet duck! Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! let me embrace too: Oh heart, (as the goodly faying is ;) O heart, O heavy heart, Why fight thou without breaking? where he answers again; Because thou can'ft not cafe thy smart, There was never a truer rhyme. Let us caft away nothing, for we may live to have need of fuch a verfe; we fee it, we fee it. How now, lambs ? Troi. Creid, I love thee in fo ftrange 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 cafe. Cre. And is it true, that I must go from Troy? Cre. What, and from Troilus too? Cre. Is it poffible? Troi. And fuddenly: while injury of chance Our lock'd embraces, ftrangles our dear vows, Eneas within.] My Lord, is the lady ready? Troi. Hark! you are call'd. Some fay, the Genius fo Cries, come, to him that inftantly must die. Bid them have patience; fhe fhall 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 Crefid 'mongst the merry Greeks! When fhall we see 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 muft ufe expoftulation kindly, For it is parting from us : I fpeak not, be thou true, as fearing thee: R 2 For |