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With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
Cre. Prythee, tarry—you men will never tarry.
Pan. [witbin.] What's all the doors open here?
Cre. A pestilence on him! now will he be mocking. I shall have such a life
Pan. How now, how now? How go maiden-heads? Hear you! maid! Where's my cousin Cressida ?
Cre. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle! You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.
Pen. To do what? to do what? Let her say what. What have I brought you to do?
Cre. Come, come, beshrew your heart! you'll never be good, nor suffer others.
Pan. Ha! ha! alas, poor wretch! 3 a poor Capocchia !-hast not Nept to-night? Would he not, a naughty man let it seep? a bugbear take him!
[One knocks. Cre. Did not I tell you ?--'would he were knock'd
o the head!
- a poor Chipochia !] This word, I am afraid, has suffered under the ignorance of the editors; for it is a word in no living language that I can find. Pandarus says it to his niece, in a jeering fort of tenderness. He would say, I think, in English - Poor innocent! Poor fool! bast nut Sept to-night? These appellations are very well answered 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. THEOBALD.
Troi. Ha, hal.
thing; How earnestly they knock! Pray you, come in ;
[Knock. I would not for half Troy have you seen here. [Exeunt.
Pan. Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the door? how now? what's the matter?
Pan. Who's there? my lord Æneas ? By my troth I knew you not; what news with you so early?
Æne. Is not prince Troilus here?
Æne. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him. It doth import him much to speak with me.
Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than I know, I'll be sworn. For my own part, I came in late. What should he do here?
Æne. Who!-nay, thenCome, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are aware: You'll be so true to him, to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet fetch him hither; Go.
As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus. Troi. How now? what's the matter?
Æne. My Lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My 4 matter is fo rafh. There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 5 Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
matter is to rak.--) My business is so hafly and fa abrupt. JOHNSON, s Deliver'd to us, &c.) So the folio. The quarto thus, Delivered to him, and forthwith. JOHNSON.
Ere the first facrifice, within this hour,
Troi. Is it concluded fo?
Æne. 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, iny lord Æneas, We met by chance; you did not find me here. Æne. Good, good, my lord; 6 the secrets of
neighbour Pandar Have not more gift in taciturnity.
Enter Cresida. 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!
Cre. How now? what is the matter? Who was here?
Pan. Ah, ah!
Cre. Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my lord ? gone?
Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?
the secrets of nature, Have not more gift in taciturnity.] This is the reading of both the elder folio's : but the firit 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 professes all his various readings to be) it is founded on the credit of such copies, as it has not been my fortune to meet with. I have ventured to make out the verse thus :
The secret'A things of nature, &c. i. e. the arcana naturæ, the mysteries of nature, of occult philosophy, or of religious ceremonies. Our poet has allusions of this sort in several other passages. THEOBALD.
Mr. Pope's reading is in the old quarto. So great is the necessity of collation. JOHNSON. VOL. IX.
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 hadft ne'er been born! I knew thou wouldst be his death. O poor gentleman! a plague upon Antenor !
Cre. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees 'Befeech you, what's the matter?
Pan. Thou must be gone, wench; thou must be
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.
Cre. I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father,
in and weep. Pan. Do, do. Cre. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised
cheeks; Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my
heart With founding Troilus. I will not go from Troy.
Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Diomedes, & Co Par. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd Of her delivery to this valiant Greek
Comes fast upon: good my brother Troilus,
Troi. Walk into her house :
Think it an altar; and thy brother Troilus
Par. I know what 'tis to love;
-Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exeunt.
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
Cre. Why tell you me of moderation ?
' The grief, &c.] The folio reads,
The grief is fine, full perfect, that I taste,
As that which causeth it.
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
As that which causeth it. Violenteth is a word with which I am not acquainted, yet perhaps it may be right. The reading of the text is without authority.
JOHNSON I have followed the quarto.
The modern reading was,