For I will throw my Glove to Death himself,
That there's no maculation in thy heart;
But, be thou true, fay I, to fashion in
My fequent proteftation: be thou true,
And I will fee thee.

Cre. O, you fhall 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 shall 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 qualites,
They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of nature
Flowing, and fwelling o'er with arts and exercise;
How novelties may move, and parts with perfon-
Alas, a kind of godly jealoufy

(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 la Volt; nor fweeten talk

Nor play at fubtle games; fair virtues all,

;

To which the Grecians are moft prompt and pregnant.
But I can tell, that in each grace of thefe
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 ourselves,
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Prefuming on their changeful potency.
Eneas within] Nay, good my Lord,-
Troi. Coine, 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?

fault:

Troi. Who I? alas, it is my Vice, my
While others fifh, with craft, for great opinion;
I, with great truth, catch meer fimplicity.
While fome with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness 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 he is.
Entreat her fair; and by my foul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou stand at mercy
of my
fword,
Name Creffid, and thy life fhall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilion.

Dio. Lady Creffid,

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 shame the zeal of my petition towards thee, (21)
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:

(21) To frame the Seal of my Petition tow'rds thee

By praifing ber.] There is great Room for hesitating at this Expres fion. To fhame 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 reafonable; and the Senfe is this: "Grecian, you "ufe me difcourteously; you fee, I am a passionate Lover, by my "Petition to you; and therefore 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 Senfe of a "Lover's Delicacy, you would have promised to do it in Compaffion to his Pangs and Sufferings.” Mr. Warburton. R 3

For

For by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
(Tho' the great bulk Achilles be thy guard)
I'll cut thy throat.

Dio. Oh, be not mov'd, pince Troilus.
Let me be privileg'd by my place and message,
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 say, be't so;
I'll fpeak it in my fpirit and honour
Troi. Come, to the Port - I'll tell thee, Diomede,
This Brave fhall 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!

-no.

[Sound trumpet.

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

Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault. Come, come, to field with him.
Dio. Let me 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 lie

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, (22)
Anticipating time with starting courage.

Give with thy Trumpet a loud note to Troy,

(22) Here art thou in Appointment fresh and fair, Anticipating Time. With farting Courage,

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

Thou

Thou dreadful Ajax, that th' appalled air
May pierce the head of the great Combatant,
And hale him hither.

Ajax. Trumpet, there's my purfe;

Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe:
Blow, villain, till thy fphered bias check

Out-fwell the cholick of puft Aquilon:

Come, ftretch thy cheft, and let thy eyes fpout blood: Thou blow't for Hector.

Uly. No trumpet answers.

Achil. 'Tis but early day.

Aga. Is not yond' Diomede with Calchas' daughter? Uly. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait;

He rifes on his toe; that spirit of his

In afpiration lifts him from the earth.

Enter Diomedes, with Creffida.

Aga. Is this the lady Creffida?

Dio: Ev'n fhe.

Aga. Moft dearly welcome to the Greeks, fweet lady.
Neft. Our General doth falute you with a kiss.
Uly. Yet is the kindnefs 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 argument for kiffing now:

For thus popp'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 firit 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.

R 4

Cre

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 ev'n, 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 ev'n with you,
Men. You fillip me o'th' head.

Cre. No, I'll be fworn.

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

Cre. You may.

Ulf. I do defire it.

Cre. Why, beg then.

Uly. Why then, for Venus' fake, give me a kifs,
When Helen is a maid again, and his

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

Dio. Lady, a word

Ulf. Fy, fy, upon her!

I'll bring you to your Father.
[Diomedes 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
To every ticklish reader: fet them down
For fluttish Spoils of Opportunity,
And Daughters of the Game.

[Trumpet within.

Enter Hector, Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Helenus, and

Attendants.

All. The Trojans' trumpet!

Aga. Yonder comes the troop.

ne. Hail, all the State of Greece! what fhall be done

To him that Victory commands? Or do

you purpose,

A Victor fhall be known? will you, the Knights

Shal