Æne.

Health to you, valiant sir, During all question* of the gentle truce: But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance, As heart can think, or courage execute.

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health: But when contention and occasion meet, By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life, With all my force, pursuit, and policy.

With his face backward. In humane gentleuess,
Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchises' life,
Welcome, indeed! By Venus' hand I swear,
No man alive can love, in such a sort,
The thing he means to kill more excellently.

Dio. We synipathise :-Jove, let Æneas live,
If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
A thousand complete courses of the sun !
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die,
With every joint a wound; and that to-morrow!

Æne. We know each other well.
Dio. We do; and long to know each other worse.

Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting,
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of.
What business, lord, so early?
Ane. I was sent for to the king; but why, I know

not. Par. His purpose meets you; 'Twas to bring this

Greek To Calchas' house; and there to render him, For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid: Let's have your company; or, if you please, Haste there before us: I constantly do think (Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge), My brother Troilus lodges there to-night; Rouse him, and give him note of our approach, With the whole quality wherefore : I fear, We shall be much unwelcome.

* Conversation.

Æne.

That I assure you;
Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece,
Than Cressid borne from Troy.
Par.

There is no help;
The bitter disposition of the time
Will have it so. Ou, lord ; we'll follow you.
Æne. Good morrow, all.

(Exit. Par. And tell me, noble Diomed ; 'faith, tell me

true,
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best,
Myself, or Menelaus?
Dio.

Both alike:
He merits well to have her, that doth seek her
(Not making any scruple of her soilure),
With such a hell of pain, and world of charge;
And you as well to keep her, that defend her
(Not palating the taste of her dishonour),
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends:
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loivs
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors :
Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more;
But he as he, the heavier for a whore.

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman.
Dio. She's bitter to her country: Hear me, Pa.

ris,
For every false drop in her bawdy veins
A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,
A Trojan hath been slain: since she could speak,
She hath not given so many good words breath,
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.

Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy:
But we in silence hold this virtue well,
We'll not commend what we intend to sell.
Here lies our way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The same. Court before the house of Pandarus.'

Enter Troilus and Cressida. Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold, Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle

down;
He shall unbolt the gates.
Tro.

Trouble him not;
To bed, to bed : Sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses,
As infants' empty of all thought!
Cres.

Good morrow then,
Tro. Prythee now, to bed.
Cres.

Are you aweary of me? Tro. O Cressida! but that the busy day, Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'the ribald* crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from thee. Cres.

Night hath been too brief. Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights

she stays, As tediously as hell; but flies the grasps of love, With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will catch cold, and curse me. Cres.

Pr'ythee, tarry; You men will never tarry. O foolish Cressid !-I might have still held off, And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's

one up. Pan. (Wilhin.) What, are all the doors open here? Tro. It is your uncle.

Enter Æneas.
Ene. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. .

• To do is here used in a wanton sense,

Ill betide.
An Italian word for poor fool

Tro. How now? what's the matter?

Æne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash: There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes' hand The lady Cressida. Tro.

Is it so concluded? Æne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy: They are at hand, and ready to effect it.

Tro. How my achievements mock me! I will go meet them; and, my lord Æneas, We met by chance; you did not find me here, Æne. Good, good, my lord; the secrets of na

ture Have not more gift in taciturnity.

[Exeunt Troilus and Æneas. Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner got, but lost? The devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor: I would, they had broke's neck !

Hasty,