PAN. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the boultTRO. Have I not tarry'd?

[ing. PAN. Ay, the boulting; but you must tarry the leav'ning.

TRO. Still have I tarry'd.

PAN. Ay, to the leav'ning: but here's yet in the word -hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating the oven, and the baking; nay, you must ftay the cooling too, or you may chance burn your lips.

TRO. Patience herfelf, what goddess e'er fhe be, Doth leffer blench at fufferance than I do.

At Priam's royal table do I fit;

And when fair Crefid comes into my thoughts,-
So, traitor!- when she comes, - When is the thence?
PAN. Well, the look'd yefter-night fairer than ever I
faw her look; or any woman elfe.

TRO. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart,
As wedged with a figh, would rive in twain;
Left Hector or my father fhould perceive me,
I have (as when the fun doth light a storm)
Bury'd this figh in wrinkle of a smile:

But forrow, that is couch'd in feeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to fudden fadnefs.

PAN. An her hair were not fomewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to) there were no more comparison between the women, But, for my part, fhe is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her,But, I would, fomebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not difpraise your fifter Caffandra's wit; but

TRO. O, Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,·

When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep

They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad

In Crefid's love: Thou anfwer'ft, She is fair;
Pour'it in the open ulcer of my heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait; her voice
Handl'ft in thy difcourfe:-O that her hand!
In whose comparison all whites are ink,

Writing their own reproach; to whose foft feizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, in spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of plowman! this thou tell'ft me,
As true thou tell'ft me, when I fay - I love her;
But, faying thus, instead of oil and balm,

Thou lay'it in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

PAN. I fpeak no more than truth.

TRO. Thou doft not speak so much.

PAN. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as fhe is: if the be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fhe be not, she has the mends in her own hands.

TRO. Good Pandarus! Why, how now, Pandarus? PAN. I have had my labour for my travel; ill-thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but fmall thanks for my labour.

TRO. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? PAN. Because fhe's kin to me, therefore she's not fo fair as Helen: an fhe were not kin to me, she would be as fair o'friday as Helen is on funday. But what care I? I care not, an fhe were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one

to me.

TRO. Say I, fhe is not fair?

PAN. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a

10 harsh, and fpirit

PAN. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the boultTRO. Have I not tarry'd?

[ing. PAN. Ay, the boulting; but you muft tarry the leav'ning.

TRO. Still have I tarry'd.

PAN. Ay, to the leav'ning: but here's yet in the word -hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating the oven, and the baking; nay, you must ftay the cooling too, or you may chance burn your lips.

TRO. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth leffer blench at fufferance than I do.

At Priam's royal table do I fit;

And when fair Crefid comes into my thoughts,-
So, traitor!—when she comes,

When is the thence?

PAN. Well, the look'd yefter-night fairer than ever I faw her look; or any woman elfe.

TRO. I was about to tell thee,- When my heart,
As wedged with a figh, would rive in twain;
Left Hector or my father fhould perceive me,
I have (as when the fun doth light a storm)
Bury'd this figh in wrinkle of a smile :

But forrow, that is couch'd in feeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to fudden fadnefs.

PAN. An her hair were not fomewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to) there were no more comparison between the women, But, for my part, fhe is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, But, I would, fomebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your fifter Cassandra's wit; but

TRO. O, Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,

When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep

They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Crefid's love: Thou answer'ft, She is fair;
Pour'it in the open ulcer of my heart

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait; her voice
Handl'ft in thy discourse: - O that her hand!
In whose comparison all whites are ink,

Writing their own reproach; to whose foft feizure
The cygnet's down is harfh, in fpirit of sense
Hard as the palm of plowman! this thou tell'st me,
As true thou tell'ft me, when I fay- I love her;
But, faying thus, inftead of oil and balm,

Thou lay'it in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

PAN. I speak no more than truth.

TRO. Thou doft not speak so much.

PAN. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as fhe is: if fhe be fair, 'tis the better for her; an fhe be not, fhe has the mends in her own hands.

TRO. Good Pandarus! Thy, how now, Pandarus? PAN. I have had my labour for my travel; ill-thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but fmall thanks for my labour.

TRO. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? PAN. Because fhe's kin to me, therefore fhe's not fo fair as Helen: an fhe were not kin to me, she would be as fair o'friday as Helen is on funday. But what care I? I care not, an fhe were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one

to me.

TRO. Say I, fhe is not fair?

PAN. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a

10 harfh, and fpirit

fool, to ftay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and fo I'll tell her, the next time I fee her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i'th' matter.

PAN. Pray you, fpeak no more to me; I will leave all as I found it, and there an end.

[Exit PANDARUS. Alarums heard. TRO. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude founds!

Fools on both fides! Helen muft needs be fair,

When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;

It is too ftarv'd a fubject for my

fword.

But Pandarus-O, gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Creffid, but by Pandar;
And he's as teachy to be woo'd to woo,
As she is stubborn-chaft against all fuit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Crefid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there fhe lies, a pearl :
Between our Ilium, and where the resides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring flood;
Ourself, the merchant; and this failing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
Other Alarums. Enter ÆNEAS.

ENE. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield? TRO. Because not there; This woman's answer forts, For womanish it is to be from thence.

What news, Eneas, from the field to-day?

ENE. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.

19 ftubborne, chaft,