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What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where she resides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourself, the merchant; and this sailing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Alarum. Enter ÆNEAS.
Æne. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not

afield ? Tro. Because not there; This woman's answer

sorts,
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, Æneas, from the field to-day?

Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Tro. By whom, Æneas?
Æne.

Troilus, by Menelaus.
Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scai to scorn;
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum.
Æne. Hark! what good sport is out of town to-

day! Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were may.But, to the sport abroad ;—Are you bound thither?

Æne, In all swift haste.
Tro.

Come, go we then together.

[Excunt.

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SCENE III.

The Same. A Street,

Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER.

Cres. Who were those went by?
Aler.

Queen Hecuba, and Helen.
Cres. And whither go they?
Aler.

Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, To see the battle. Hector, whose patience Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd: He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer; And, like as there were husbandry in war, Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light, And to the field goes he; where every flower Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw In Hector's wrath. Cres.

What was his eause of anger? Aler. The noise goes, this: There is among the

Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
They call him, Ajax.
Cres.

Good; And what of him?
Alex. They say he is a very man per se,
And stands alone.

Cres. So do all men; unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

Alex. This man, lady, hath robb’d many teasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours, that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue, that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: He hath the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?

Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the battle, and struck him down; the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

Enter PANDARUS.

Cres. Who comes here?
Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cres. Hector's a gallant man.
Aler. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?
Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid : What do you talk of?-Good morrow, Alexander'.-How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium?

Cres. This morning, uncle.
Pan. What were you talking of, when I came?

Was Hector arm’d, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium?
Helen was not up, was she?

Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early.
Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?
Cres. So he says here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that: and there is Troilus will not come far behind him ; let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too.

Cres. What, is he angry too?

Pan. Who, Troilus ? Troilus is the better man of the two.

Cres. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man, if you see him?

Cres. Ay; if I ever saw him before, and knew him.

Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.

Cres. Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some des grees.

Cres. 'Tis just to each of them ; he is himself.

Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would, he were,

Cres. So he is.

Pan. -Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India.

Cres. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself.-'Would 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above ; Time must friend, or end : Well, Troilus, well,-I would, my heart were in her body !--No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

Cres. Excuse me.
Pan. He is elder.
Cres. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. The other's not come to't; you shall tell me, another tale, when the other's come to't. Hector shall not have his wit this year.

Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own.
Pan. Nor his qualities;
Cres. No matter.
Pan. Nor his beauty.
Cres. 'Twould not become him, his own's better.

Pan. You have no judgement, niece : Helen herself swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,)-Not brown neither.

Cres. No, but brown.
Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cres. To say the truth, true and not true.
Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough.
Pan. So he has.

Cres. Then Troilus should have too much : if sho prais'd him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief,

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