Serv. You are in the state of gia

[Mick within. Pan. Grace! not so, friend; honour anerdship are my titles:-What musick is this?

Serv. I do but partly know, sir; it is musica parts.

Pan. Know you the musicians?

Serv. Wholly, sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Serv. To the hearers, sir.

Pan. At whose pleasure, friend?

Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love musick.
Pan. Command, I mean, friend.

Serv. Who shall I command, sir?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning: At whose request do these men play?

Serv. That's to't, indeed, sir: Marry, sir, at the request of Paris, my lord, who is there in person; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul,

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ?

Serv. No, sir, Helen: Could you not find out that by her attributes?

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus: I will make a complimental assault upon him, for my business seeths. Serv. Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase, indeed!

Enter PARIS and HELEN, atte

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to this fair company! fair desires, in all fair measure, airly guide them! especially to you, fair queen. fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

Helen. Dear

you are full of fair words. Pan. Youeak your fair pleasure, sweet queen.Fair prin, here is good broken musick.

PaYou have broke it, cousin: and, by my life,u shall make it whole again; you shall piece itt with a piece of your performance:-Nell, he fill of harmony.

Pan. Truly, lady, no.

Helen. O, sir,

Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude. Par. Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits2.

queen:

:

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word? Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll hear you sing, certainly.

Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me.—But (marry) thus, my lord,-My dear lord, and most esteemed friend, your brother TroilusHelen. My Lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to:-commends himself most affectionately to you.

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody; If you do, our melancholy upon your head!

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet queen, i'faith.

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour offence.

Pan. Nay, that shall shall it not, in truth, la. words; no, no. 3 And,

not serve your turn; that Nay, I care not for such my lord, he desires you,

2 A quibble is intended. A fit was a part or division of a song or tune. The equivoque lies between fits, starts, or sudden impulses, and fits in its musical acceptation.

3 And, my lord,' &c. I think with Johnson, that the speech of Pandarus should begin here; and that the former part should be added to that of Helen.

that, if the king call for him at pper, you will make his excuse.

Helen. My Lord Pandarus,

Pan. What says my sweet queen,-my very very sweet queen?

Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups he to-night?

Helen. Nay, but my lord,

Pan. What says my sweet queen?-My cousi will fall out with you.

he sups1.

You must not know where

Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer 5 Cressida. Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come, your disposer is sick.

Par. Well, I'll make excuse.

Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say— Cressida? no, your poor disposer's sick.

Par. I spy.

Pan. You spy! what do you spy?—Come, give me an instrument.-Now, sweet queen.

Helen. Why, this is kindly done.

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.

4 You must not know where he sups.' These words in the old copies are erroneously given to Helen.

5 Steevens would give this speech to Helen, and read deposer instead of disposer. Helen, he thinks, may address herself to Pandarus; and by her deposer, mean that Cressida had deposed her in the affections of Troilus. In the Epistle Dedicatorie to Chapman's Homer, Learning is made the disposer [dispensator] of Poetry:

Then let not this divinitie in earth

(Deare Prince) be slighted, as she were the birth

Of idle Fancie, since she workes so high;

Nor let her poore disposer (Learning) lye

Still bed-rid.'

Disposer appears to have been an equivalent term anciently for steward, or manager. If the speech is to be attributed to Helen, she may mean to call Cressid her hand-maid.

Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris.

Pan. He! no, she'll none of him: they two are twain.

Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.

Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing you a song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may.

Helen. Let thy song be love; this love will undo us all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!

Pan. Love! ay, that it shall, i̇'faith.

Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. Pan. In good troth, it begins so:

Love, love, nothing but love, still more!

For, oh, love's bow

Shoots buck and doe:
The shaft confounds,
Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore.

These lovers cry-Oh! oh! they die!
Yet that which seems the wound to kill,
Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!
So dying love lives still:

Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!
Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha!

Hey ho!

Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose. Par. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.

Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds?-Why, they are vipers: Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who's a-field to-day?

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy: I would fain have armed How to-night, but Nell would not have it so.. my chance my brother Troilus went not?

Helen. He hangs the lip at something;—you know all, Lord Pandarus.

Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen.-I long to hear how they sped to-day.-You'll remember your brother's excuse?

Par. To a hair.

Pan. Farewell, sweet queen.

Helen. Commend me to your niece.

Pan. I will, sweet queen.

[Exit.

[A Retreat sounded. Par. They are come from field: let us to Priam's

hall,

To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles, With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel,

Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more
Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector.
Helen. Twill make us proud to be his servant,
Paris:

Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty,
Give us more palm in beauty than we have;
Yea, overshines ourself.

Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee

Exeunt.