Ther. Yes, good footh; to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to➡ Ajax. I fhall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter, I fhall speak as much as thou afterwards.

Pat. No more words, Therfites.

Ther. I will hold my peace, when Achilles' brach bids me, fhall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will fee you hang'd like clotplotes, ere I come any more to your Tents. I will keep where there is wit ftirring, and leave the faction of fools.

Pat. A good riddance.

[Exit.

Achil. Marry, this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our
Hoft,

That Hector, by the fifth hour of the Sun,

Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy,
To morrow morning call fome Knight to arms,
That hath a ftomach, fuch a one that dare
Maintain I know not what: 'tis trafh, farewel.
Ajax. Farewel! who fhall answer him?

Achil. I know not, 'tis put to lott'ry; otherwise
He knew his man.

Ajax. O, meaning you: I'll go learn more of it. [Exe

SCENE changes to Priam's Palace in Troy.

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus. Fter fo many hours, lives, fpeeches spent,

Pri. Thus once again fays Neflor from the Greeks:

Deliver Helen, and all damage elfe

(As honour, lofs of time, travel, expence, Wounds, friends, and what elfe dear that is confum'd In hot digeftion of this cormorant war)

Shall be ftruck off. Hector, what fay you to't?

Heat. Though no man leffer fears the Greeks than I, As far as touches my particular, yet

There is no lady of more fofter bowels,
More fpungy to fuck in the fenfe of fear,

More ready to cry out, who knows what follows?
Than Hector is. The Wound of Peace is Surety,

Surety

Surety fecure; but modeft Doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wife; the tent that fearches
To th' bottom of the worft. Let Helen go.
Since the first fword was drawn about this question,
Ev'ry tithe foul 'mongst many thousand difmes
Hath been as dear as Helen. I mean, of ours.
If we have loft so many tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, not worth to us
(Had it our name) the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reafon which denies
The yielding of her up

Tro. Fie, fie, my brother:

Weigh you the worth and honour of a King
(So great as our dread father) in a scale

Of common ounces? will you with counters fum
The vaft proportion of his infinite?

And buckle in a waste most fathomless,

With spans and inches fo diminutive

As fears and reafons? fie, for godly fhame!

Hel. No marvel, though you bite fo fharp at reasons, You are fo empty of them. Should not our father Bear the great fway of his affairs with reasons ; Because your fpeech hath none, that tells him fo?'

Troi. You are for dreams and flumbers, brother Prieft,
You fur your gloves with reafons. Here are your reasons.
You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a fword imploy'd is perillous ;
And reason flies the object of all harm.
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his fword, if he do fet
The very wings of reafon to his heels,
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Or like a ftar diforb'd!- -Nay, if we talk of reafon,
Let's fhut our gates, and fleep: manhood and honour
Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thought
With this cramm'd reafon: reafon and refpect
Make livers pale, and luftyhood deject.

Het. Brother, fhe is not worth what the doth coft
The holding.

Troi. What is aught, but as 'tis valued ?

He

Hec. But Value dwells not in particular will;
It holds its estimate and dignity

As well wherein 'tis precious of it self,
As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry,

To make the fervice greater than the God;
And the Will dotes, that is inclinable
To what infectiously itself affects,
Without fome image of th' affected merit.

Troi. I take to day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous fhores
Of Will and Judgment; how may I avoid
(Although my Will distaste what is elected)
The wife I chufe? there can be no evafion
To blench from this, and to ftand firm by honour.
We turn not back the filks upon the merchant,
When we have spoil'd them; nor th' remainder viands
We do not throw in unrefpective place,

Because we now are full. It was thought meet,
Paris fhould do fome vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath of full confent bellied his fails;

The feas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce,
And did him fervice: he touch'd the Ports defir'd ;
And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive,
He brought a Grecian Queen, whofe youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes ftale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
Is fhe worth keeping? why, fhe is a pearl,
Whofe price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
And turn'd crown'd Kings to merchants-
If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd, go, go:)
If you'll confefs, he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clap'd your hands,
And cry'd, ineftimable!) why do you now
The iffue of your proper wisdoms rate,
And do a deed that fortune never did,
Beggar that eftimation which you priz'd

Richer than fea and land? O theft moft base!

That

That we have ftoln what we do fear to keep!
But thieves, unworthy of a thing so stol'n,
Who in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place!
Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans, cry!

Pri. What noife? what fhriek is this?

Troi. 'Tis our mad fifter, I do know her voice:
Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans !

Hect. It is Caffandra.

Enter Caffandra, with her hair about her ears."

Caf. Cry, Trojans, cry; lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetick tears.

Hect. Peace, fifter, peace.

Caf. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled old,
Soft infancy, that nothing can but cry,
Add to my clamour! let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come :
Cry, Trojans, cry; practife your eyes with tears.
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion tand:
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a wo;

Cry, cry, Troy burns, or elfe let Helen go.

[Exit.

Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high trains

Of Divination in our fifter work

Some touches of remorfe? Or is your blood

So madly hot, that no difcourfe of reafon,

Nor fear of bad fuccefs in a bad caufe,

Can qualifie the same ?

Troi. Why, brother Hector,

We may not think the juftness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it;
Nor once deject the courage of our minds,
Becaufe Caffandra's mad; her brain-fick raptures
Cannot diftafte the goodness of a quarrel,
Which hath our several honours all engag'd
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's fons;
And, Jove forbid! there fhould be done amongst us
Such things, as might offend the weakest spleen

To

To fight for and maintain.

Par. Elfe might the world convince of levity
As well my undertakings, as your counfels:
But I atteft the Gods, your full confent

Gave wings to my propenfion, and cut off
All fears attending on fo dire a project.
For what, alas, can these my fingle arms?
What propugnation is in one man's valour,
To ftand the push and enmity of those
This quarrel would excite? yet I protest,
Were I alone to pafs the difficulties,
And had as ample Power, as I have Will,
Paris fhould ne'r retract what he hath done,
Nor faint in the pursuit.

Pri. Paris, you speak

Like one befotted on your fweet delights;
You have the honey ftill, but these the gall
So, to be valiant, is no praife at all.

Par. Sir, I propofe not meerly to myself
The pleasures fuch a Beauty brings with it:
But I would have the foil of her fair rape
Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ranfack'd Queen,
Difgrace to your great worths, and fhame to me,
Now to deliver her poffeffion up,

On terms of base compulfion? can it be,
That fo degenerate a train, as this,

Should once fet footing in your generous bofoms?
There's not the meaneft fpirit on our party,
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw,
When Helen is defended: none fo noble,

Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam❜d,
When Helen is the fubject. Then, I fay,

Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well,
The world's large spaces cannot parallel.

He&t. Paris and Troilus, you have both faid well: (1)

(1) Paris and Troilus, you have both faid well;

And on the Caufe and Question now in hand

But

Have gloss'ds but superficially.] I can never think that the Poet

express'd