The bitter difpofition of the time

Will have it fo. On, lord, we'll follow you.

Ene. Good morrow all.

[Exit.

Par. And tell me, noble Diomede; tell me true,

Ev'n in the foul of good found fellowship,
Who in your thoughts merits fair Helen most?
My felf, or Menelaus?

Dio. Both alike.

And

He merits well to have her, that doth feek her,
(Not making any fcruple of her foilure,)
With fuch a hell of pain, and world of charge.
you as well to keep her, that defend her
(Not palating the tafte of her dishonour,)
With fuch a coftly lofs of wealth and friends.
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
You, like a letcher, out of whorish loins
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors:
Both merits pois'd, each weighs no lefs nor more,
But he as he, which heavier for a whore.

Par. You are too bitter to your Country-woman.
Dio. She's bitter to her Country: hear me, Paris,
For ev'ry falfe drop in her baudy veins

A Grecian's life hath funk; for every fcruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,

A Trojan hath been flain. Since the could speak,
She hath not giv'n fo many good words breath,
As, for her, Greeks and Trojans fuffer'd death.
Par. Fair Diomede, you do as chapmen do,
Difpraife the thing that you defire to buy:
But we in filence hold this virtue well;
We'll not commend what we intend to fell.
Here lyes our way.

Trei.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Pandarus's House.

DEA

Enter Troilus and Creffida.

EAR, trouble not your felf; the morn is cold. Cre. Then, fweet my lord, I'll call my uncle He fhalt unbolt the gates...

[down:

Troi. Trouble him not

To bed, to bed

fleep feal thofe pretty eyes,

And give as foft attachment to thy fenfes,

As infants empty of all thought!

Cre. Good morrow then.

Troi. I pr'ythee now, to bed.

Cre. Are you a weary of me?

Troi. O Crefida! but that the bufie day, Wak'd by the lark, has rous'd the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide our joy's no longer, I would not from thee.

Cre. Night hath been too brief.

Troi. Befhrew the witch! with venomous wights fhe stays,

Tedious as hell; but flies the grafps of love,

With wings more momentary-fwift than thought:
You will catch cold, and curfe me.

Cre. Pr'ythee, tarry-you men will never tarry-
O foolish Creffida—I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark, there's one up,
Pan. [within.] What's all the doors open here ?
Troi. It is your uncle.

Enter Pandarus.

Cre. A peftilence on him! now will he be mocking; I fhall have fuch a life

Pan. How now, how now? how go maiden-heads? Hear you, maid; where's my cousin Creffida?

Cre. Go hang your felf, you naughty mocking uncle: You bring me to da- and then you flout me too.

Pan. To do what? to do what? let her fay, what: What have I brought you to do?

Cre. Come, come, befhrew your heart; you'll never be good; nor fuffer others.

Pan. Ha, ha! alas, poor wretch; a poor Capocchia,(18) haft not flept to night? would he not (a naughty man)

(18) A poor Chipochia,] This Word, I am afraid, has fuffer'd under the Ignorance of the Editors, for it is a Word in no living Language that I can find. Pandarus fays it to his

man) let it fleep? a bugbear take him!

[Ong knocks. Cre. Did not I tell you?'would, he were knock'd oth' head! -who's that at door?. -good uncle, go and fee! My lord, come you again into my chamber; -you smile 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 seen here. [Exe. Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the door; how now? what's the matter?

Enter Eneas..

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 fhould 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 fo 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 Deiphobu,

Neice, in a 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! haft 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
Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first facrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Creffida.

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 Eneas)
We met by chance, you did not find me here.

Ene. Good, good, my lord; the fecret'st things of
Nature (19)

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 hadst ne'er been born: I knew, thou would'st 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 halts, and betrays its being defective. Mr. Pope substitutes

The Secrets of Neighbour Pandar.

If This be a Reading ex fide Codicum (as he profeffes 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 Natura, the Mysteries of Nature, of occult Philofophy, or of religious Ceremonies. Our Poct has Allufions of this Sort in feveral other Paffages.

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.
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 fo near me,
As the fweet Troilus. O you Gods divine!
Make Creffid's name the very Crown of falfhood,

If ever the leave Troilus. Time, Force, and Death, (20)
Do to this body what extreams you can;

But the ftrong Bafe and Building of my Love

Is as the very centre of the earth,

Drawing all to it.

Pan. Do, do.

I'll go and weep,

Cre. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised
cheeks,

Crack my clear voice with fobs, and break my heart
With founding Troilus. I'll not go from Troy.

SCENE, before Pandarus's Houfe.

[Exe.

Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Deiphobus, Antenor, and Diomedes.

Par I

Par.TT is great morning, and the hour prefixt
Of her Delivery to this valiant Greek
Comes faft upon us: good my brother Troilus,

When the Second Impreffion came to be publish'd,theEditors, I prefume, were at a Loss, and so sunk 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 call'd Sava Neceffitas.

VOL. VII.

R

Tell