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But few now living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all princes living with her,

And all that shall suceed: Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue,
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces,
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,
With all the virtues that attend the good,

Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her,
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:
She shall be lov'd and fear'd; Her own shall bless

Shall see this, and bless heaven.

K. Hen.
Thou speakest wonder: ]
Crun. She shall be, to the hapless Of England,
An aged princess; many days shall see her.

Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,

And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows And yet no day without a deed to crown it.

'Would I had known no more! but she must die,
She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass

To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
K. Hen. O lord archbishop,


Who, from the sacred ashes of her honor,
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,

with her:

In her days, every man shall eat in safety
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors.
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honor,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
[Nors shall this peace sleep with her: But as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new create another heir,

Thou hast made me now a inan; never, before
This happy child, did I get any thing:
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me,
That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.-
I thank ye all:-To you, my good lord mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much beholden;

As great in admiration as herself;

So shall she leave her blessedness to one,

(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of I have received much honor by your presence, And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords;

This and the following seventeen lines were probably written by B. Jonson, after the accession of king James.

That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to ban;
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honor and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
To all the plains about him:-Our children s

'Tis ten to one, this play can never please
All that are here: Some come to take their ease,
And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,
We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,
They'll say, 'tis naught: others, to hear the city
Abus'd extremely, and to cry,-that's witty!
Which we have not done neither: that I lear


Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye,
She will be sick else. This day, no man think
He has business at his house; for all shall stay:
This little one shall make it holiday.


All the expected good we are like to hear
For this play at this time, is only in
The merciful construction of good women;
For such a one we show'd them; If they smile,
And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while
All the best men are ours; for, 'tis ill hap,
If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap.



his Sons.

PRIAM, King of Troy.







Trojan Commanders.


CALCHAS, a Trojan Priest, taking part with the THERSITES, á deformed and scurrilous Grecu Greeks.

PANDARUS, Uncle to Cressida.

MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam.
ALEXANDER, Servant to Cressida.

AGAMEMNON, the Grecian General.
MENELAUS, his Brother.


Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to CRESSIDA, Daughter to Calchas.


The princes orgulous,' their high blood chafed,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: Sixty and nine, that wore
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia and their vow is made,
To ransack Troy; within whose strong immures
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come;

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage:2 Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,

Grecian Commanders

HELEN, Wife to Menelaus.
ANDROMACHE, Wife to Hector.
CASSANDRA, Daughter to Priam, a Prophetess.

SCENE, Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.

SCENE I.-Troy. Before Priam's Palace.
Enter TROILUS, armed, and PANDARUS.
Tro. Call here my varlet,3 I'll unarm again:
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within?
Each Trojan, that is master of his heart,
Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.
Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended?
Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their

Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than sleep, tonder than ignorance;
Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy.

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for
my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He,
Proud, disdainful. 3 Freight. a Servant. • Habit.
• Weaker.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.


In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of | Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,

And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Speer up the sons of Troy.

Now, expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard:-And hither am I come
A prologue arm'd,-but not in confidence
Of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited
In like conditions as our argument,-
To tell you, tair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broin.
'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are:
Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war


that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding.

Tro. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.

Tro. Have I not tarried?

Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.

Tro. Still have I tarried.

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

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she

Doth lesser blerchs at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit:
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,
Avaunt, what went before.

• Shut.

• Shrink

So, traitor! when she comes!-When is she thence?

Frn. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw ner look, or any woman else.

Tro. I was about to tell thee, -When my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rive? in twain; Lest Hector of my father should perceive me, I have (as when the sun doth light a storm) Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: but sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more comparison between the women.-But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her,-But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister's 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 Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, She is fair; Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, In whose comparison all whites are ink, Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st


As true thou tell'st me, when I say, I love her; But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,

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

Pan. I speak no more than truth.

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much,

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

Tro. Good Pandarus! how now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labor for my travel; illthought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between,but small thanks for my labor. Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

Tro. Say I, she is not fair?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her: For my part, I'll meddle no make nor more in the


Tro. Pandarus,—
Pan. Not I.

Tro. Sweet Pandarus,

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

[Exit PANDARUS. An Alarum. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamors! peace, rude sounds!

Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
But, Pandarus-0 gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo,
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium, and where she resides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood;
Ourself, the merchant: and this sailing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Alarum. Enter ENEAS.

Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not a-field?

Tro. Because not there: This woman's answer

Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. Tro. By whom, Æneas? Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'Tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' born. Alarum Ene. Hark! what good sport is out of town to day!

Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were may.

But, to the sport abroad -Are you bound thither! Ene. In all swift haste.



Co womanish it is to be from thence.
Wa' news, Æneas, from the field to-day?

• Split.

1 Suits.

Come, go we then together [Exeunt

SCENE II-A street.

Cres. Who were those went by?

Queen Hecuba, and Helen.

Cres. And whither go they? Alex. Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, To see the battle. Hector, whose patience Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd: He chid Andromache, and struck his armorer; And like as there were husbandry in war, Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light, And to the field goes he; where every flower, Did as a prophet, weep what it foresaw In Hector's wrath.


What was his cause of anger? Alex. The noise goes, this: There is among the Greeks

A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; They call him Ajax.


Good; and of him? Alex. They say he is a very man per se,2 And stands alone.

Cres. So do all men; unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their particular additions ;3 he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humors, that his valor is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of i: he is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: He hath the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?

Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the battle, and struck him down; the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

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Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man, if you see him?

Cres. Ay, if ever I saw him before, and knew nim.

Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.

Cres. Then you say as I say; for I am sure he is Lot Hector.

Pun. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees.

Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself. Pan. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he


Cres. So he is.

Pan. Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. Cres. He is not Hector.

Pan. Himself! no, he's not himself.-'Would 'a were himself? Well, the gods are above; Time must friend, or end: Well, Troilus, well,-1 would my heart were in her body!-No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

Cres. Excuse me.

Pan. He is elder.

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me.

Pan. The other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale, when the other's come to't. Hector shall not have his wit this year.

Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. Pan. Nor his qualities:

Cres. No matter.

Pan. Nor his beauty.

Cres. Twould not become him, his own's bet


Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen herself swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favor, (for so 'tis, I must confess,)-Not brown,


Cres. No, but brown.

Pun. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cres. To say the truth, and not true.

Pan. She praised his complexion above Paris.
Cres. Why, Paris hath color enough.
Pan. So he has.

Cres. Then Troilus should have too much if she praised him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having color enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as her Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose.

Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris.

Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed.

Pun. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him the other day into a compass'd window,and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin.

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to a total.

Pan. Why, he is very young; and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector.

Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter?? Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him; -she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin,

Cres. Juno have mercy!-How came it cloven? Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think, his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.

Cres. O, he smiles valiantly.

Pan. Does he not?

Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.

Pan. Why, go to then-But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus,

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so.

Pun. Troilus? why he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the shell.

Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled his chin;-Indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess.

Cres. Without the rack.

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hur on his chin.

res. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer. Ian. But, there was such laughing;-Queen Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er.

1 Thief.


Cres. With mill-stones.8

Pan. And Cassandra laughed.

Cres. But there was a more temperate fire unde: the pot of her eyes;-Did her eyes run o'er too! Pan. And Hector laughed.

Cres. At what was all this laughing?

Pan. Merry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin.

Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed too.

Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.

Cres. What was his answer?

Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifly hairs on your chin, and one of them is white. Cres. This is her question.

Pan. That's true; make no question of that. One and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one white: That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his rons. Jupiter! quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris my husband? The forked one, quoth he; pluck i out, and give it him. But there was such laughing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed.?

Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by.

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on't.

Cres. So I do.

Pan. I'll be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep you an 'twere a man born in April."

Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle against May. [A Retreat sounded. Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field: Shall we stand up here, and see them, as they pass toward Ilium? good niece, do; sweet niece Cressida. Cres. At your pleasure.

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PARIS passes over.

Pan. Swords? any thing, he cares not: an the devil come to him, it's all one: By god's lid it does one's heart good:-Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: look ye yonder, niece; Is't not a gal lant man, too, is't not?-Why, this is brave now.

Who said, he came hurt home to-day he's not hurt: why this will do Helen's heart good now.Ha! would I could see Troilus now!-you shall see Troilus anon.

Cres. Who's that?

HELENUS passes over. Pan. That's Helenus,-I marvel, where Troilus A proverbial saying. Went beyond bounds, A term in the game at cards called uoddy.

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Is-That's Helenus;-I think he went not forth to-day-That's Helenus.

Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle?

Pan. Helenus? no;-yes, he'll fight indifferent well:-1 marvel, where Troilus is!-Hark; do you not hear the people cry, Troilus-Helenus is a priest.

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder?

TROILUS passes over.

Pan. Where yonder that's Deiphobus: 'Tis Troilus! there's a man, niece!-Hem!-Brave Troilus! the prince of chivalry!

Cres. Peace, for shame, peace! Pan. Mark him; note him;-0 brave Troilus! -look well upon him, niece; look you, how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than Hector's; And how he looks, and how he goes! - admirable youth! he ne'er saw three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way: had I a sister were a grace, or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris? -Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye to boot.

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SCENE III.-The Grecian Camp. Before
Agamemnon's Tent.

MENELAUS, and others.

Agam. Princes,

What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks
The ample proposition, that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below,
Fails in the promis'd largeness; checks and disaster
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd;
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain
Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us,
That we come short of our suppose so far,
That, after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls stand
Sith every action that hath gone before,
Whereof we have record, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works;
And think them shames, which are, indeed, nought


But the protractive trials of great Jove,
To find persistive constancy in men?
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune's love; for them, the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affined and kin;
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown,
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan
Puthing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath mass, or matter, by itself
Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled.

Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance,
Lies the true proof of men; The sea being smooth,
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk!

But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold
The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains


Bounding between the two moist elements,
Like Perseus' horse: Where's then the saucy boat,
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rival'd greatness? either to harbor fled,
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valor's show, and valor's worth, divide,
In storms of fortune: For, in her ray and bright-


The herd hath more annoyance by the brize,7
Than by the tiger: but when the splitting wind
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
And flies fled under shade, why, then, the thing
of courage,

As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize,
And, with an accent tuned the self-same key,
Returns to chiding fortune.



Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit,
In whom the tempers and the minds of all
Should be shut up,-hear what Ulysses speaks.
Besides the applause and approbation,
The which,-most mighty for thy place and
And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life,-
I give to both your speeches,-which were such,
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
Should hold up high in brass; and such again,
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver,
Should with a bond of air, (strong as the axle-tree
On which heaven rides,) knit all the Greekish ears
To his experienced tongue,-yet let it please
Thou great, and wise,-to hear Ulysses speak.
Agam. Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be1t of less

That matter needless, of importless burden,
Divide thy lips: than we are confident,
When rank Thersites opes his mastiff jaws,
We shall hear music, wit, and oracle.

4 Twisted and rambling. Since.
The gad-fly that stings cattle.

Joined by affinity • Expectation.

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