Achil. Thou must be my ambaffador to him, Therfites. Ther. Who, I?why, he'll anfwer no body; he profeffes not answering; fpeaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in's arms. I will put on his presence; let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax. Achil. To him, Patroclus tell him, I humbly defire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my tent, and to procure fafe conduct for his perfon of the magnanimous and most illuftrious, fix or seven times honour'd, Captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon, &c. Do this. Pat. Jove blefs great Ajax. Ther. Hum Pat. I come from the worthy Achilles. Pat. Who moft humbly defires you to invite Hector to his tent. Ther. Hum Pat. And to procure fafe conduct from Agamemnon. Pat. Ay, my Lord. Ther. Ha! Pat. What fay you to't? Ther. God be wi'you, with all my heart. Pat. Your anfwer, Sir. Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven a clock it will go one way or other; howfoever, he fhall pay for me ere he has me. Pat. Your answer, Sir. Ther. Fare ye well with all my heart. Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? Ther. No, but he's out o' tune thus: what mufick will be in him, when Hector has knock'd out his brains, I know not. But I am fure none; unless the fidler Apollo get his finews to make Catlings on. Achil. Come, thou fhalt bear a letter to him straight. Ther. Ther. Let me carry another to his horfe; for that's the more capable creature. Acbil. My mind is troubled like a fountain stirr'd, And I myself fee not the bottom of it. [Exit. Ther. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an afs at it; I had rather be a tick in a fheep, than such a valiant ignorance. [Exe. ACT IV. SCENE I. Enter at one door Æneas with a torch; at another, Paris, PARIS. EE, ho! who is that there? Dei. It is the Lord Eneas. Ene. Is the Prince there in perfon? As you, Prince Paris, nought but heav'nly business Dio. That's my mind too: good-morrow, Lord Æneas. Witness the process of your speech, wherein Ene. Health to you, valiant Sir! Dio. The one and th' other Diomede embraces. By Jove I'll play the hunter for thy life, E 3 With With all my force, purfuit and policy. Ene. And thou fhalt hunt a lion that will flie With his face back in human gentleness now by Anchifes' life, by Venus' hand I swear, No man alive can love in fuch a fort The thing he means to kill, more excellently. Dio. We do; and long to know each other worse. Ene. I was fent for to the King; but why, I know not. Par. His purpose meets you; 'twas, to bring this Greek To Calchas' houfe, and there to render him (For the enfree'd Antenor) the fair Creffid. Ene. That affure you. Troilus had rather Troy were born to Greece, Par. There is no help; 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 moft? My My felf, or Menelaus ? Dio. Both alike. He merits well to have her that doth feek her Par. You are too bitter to your country-woman. A Trojan hath been flain. Since she could speak, We'll not commend 'what w'intend not to fell.> [Exeunt. Troi. DEA Pandarus's House. Enter Troilus and Creffida. EAR, trouble not yourfelf; the morn is cold. He shall unbolt the gates. 7 no E 4 8 as he, which 9 what we intend to fell. [down: Troi. Troi. Trouble him not To bed, to bed fleep, feal thofe pretty eyes, . Cre. Good-morrow then. Troi. I pr'ythee now to bed. Cre. Are you a weary of me? Troi. O Creffida! but that the bufie day, 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: Cre. Pr'ythee tarry : You men will never tarry "foolish Creffida! I might have still held off, and then you would 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 coufin Creffid? Cre. Go hang your felf, you naughty mocking uncle: You bring me to do 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 ne'er be good; nor fuffer others. Pan. Ha, ha! alas poor wretch; a poor "Capocchia, haft 3 Chipachia, ... eld edit. |