Ther. Why, thou full dish of Fool, from Troy.
Patr. Who keeps the Tent now?

Ther. The Surgeon's Box, or the Patient's Wound. Patr. Well Said, Adverfity; and what need these Tricks? Ther. Prithee be filent, Boy, I profit not by thy talk, Thou art thought to be Achilles's Male-Varlet.

Patr. Male-Varlet, you Rogue? What's that?

Ther. Why, his masculine Whore. Now the rotted Difcafes of the South, Guts-griping, Ruptures, Catarrhs, loads o' Gravel i'th' Backs, Lethargies, cold Palfies, and the like, take and take again fuch prepofterous Discoveries,

Potr. Why, thou damnable Box of Envy, thou, what mean'ft thou to Curfe thus?

Ther. Do I curfe thee?

Patr. Why no, you ruinous Butt, you whorefon indiftinguishable Cur.

Ther. No? Why art thou then exafperate, thou idle immatterial Skein of fley'd Silk; thou green Sarcenet flap for a fore Eye; thou Taffel of a Prodigal's purfe, thou? Ah, how the poor World is peftred with fuch Water-flies, dimi nutives of Nature.

Patr. Out Gall!

Ther. Finch Egg!

Achil. My fweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to morrow's Battel:
Here is a Letter from Queen Hecuba,

A Token from her Daughter, my fair Love,
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep

An Oath that I have fworn. I will not break it,
Fall Greek, fail Fame, Honour, or go, or stay,
My major Vow lyes here; this I'll obey:
Come, come, Therfites, help to trim my Tent,
This Night in Banqueting muft all be spent.
Away, Patroclus.

[Exit. Ther. With too much Blood, and too little Brain, thefe two may run mad: But if with too much Brain, and too little Blood, they do, I'll be a Curer of Mad-men. Here's Agamemnon, an honeft Fellow enough, and one that loves Quails, but he has not fo much Brain as Ear-wax; and the good Transformation of Jupiter there his Brother, the Bull, the primitive Statue, and oblique Memorial of Cuckolds,

a thrifty fhooting-horn in a Chain, hanging at his Brother's Leg; to what Form, but that he is, fhould Wit larded with Malice, and Malice forced with Wit turn him to? to an Afs were nothing, he is both Afs and Ox; to an Ox were nothing, he is both Ox and Afs; to be a Dog, a Mule, a Cat, a Fitchew, a Toad, a Lizard, an Owl, a Puttock, or a Herring without a Roe, I would not care: lans, I would confpire against Destiny. I would be, if I were Therfites; for I Lowfe of a Lazar, fo I were not Menelaus.

rits and Fires.

But to be MeneAsk me not what care not to be the Hoy-day, Spi

Enter Hector, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulyffes, Neftor, and Diomede, with Lights.

Aga. We go wrong, we go wrong.

Ajax. No, yonder 'tis, there where we fee the light.
Hest. I trouble you.

Ajax. No, not a whit.

Enter Achilles.

Vlyf. Here comes himself to guide you.

Achil. Welcome brave Hector, welcome Princes all. Aga. So, now fair Prince of Troy, I bid good Night, Ajax commands the Guard to tend on you.

Hect. Thanks, and good Night to the Greek's General. Men. Good Night, my Lord.

Hect. Good Night, fweet Lord Menelaus.

Ther. Sweet Draught----sweet quoth a--fweet Sink, fweet Sewer.

Achil. Good Night, and welcome, both at once, to those that go or tarry.

Aga. Good Night.

Achil. Old Neftor tarries, and you too, Diomede, Keep Hector Company an hour or two.

Dio. I cannot, Lord, I have important Bufinefs,

The tide whereof is now; Good Night, great Hector.
Hect. Give me your Hand.

Vlyf. Follow his Torch, he goes to Calchas's Tent,

I'll keep you Company.

Troi. Sweet Sir, you honour me.

Helt. And fo good Night.

Asbil. Come, come, enter my Tent.

[To Troilus.

[Exeunt

Ther.

Ther. That fame Diomede's a falfe-hearted Rogue, a moft unjuft Knave; I will no more truft him when he leers, than I will a Serpent when he hiffes: He will fpend his Mouth and Promife, like Brabler the Hound; but when he performs, Aftronomers foretel it, that it is prodigious, there will come fome change: The Sun borrows of the Moon, when Diomede keeps his Word. I will rather leave to fee Hector, than not to dog him: They fay, he keeps a Trojan Drab, and ufes the Traitor Calchas his Tent. I'll afterNothing but Lechery; all incontinent Varlets.

SCENE II.

Calchas Tent.

Enter Diomede.

Dio. What are you up here, ho? speak.

Cal. Who calls?

[Exeunt.

Dio. Diomede; Calchas, I think; where's your Daughter? Cal. She comes to you,

Enter Troilus and Ulyffes, after them Therfites. Vlyf. Stand where the Torch may not discover us. Enter Creffid.

Troi. Creffid, come forth to him!

Dio. How now, my charge?

Cre. Now my fweet Guardian; hark, a word with you.

Troi. Yea, fo familiar?

Uly. She will fing to any Man at first fight.

[Whifpers.

Ther. And any Man may find her, if he can take her life: fhe's noted.

Dio. Will you remember?

Cre. Remember? yes.

Dio. Nay, but do then; and let your mind be coupled with your words.

Troi. What fhould the remember?

Vlyf. Lift.

Cre. Sweet, Honey Greek, tempt me no more to Folly. Ther. Roguery

Dio. Nay, then.

Cre. I'll tell you what.

Dio. Fo, fo, come tell a pin, you are a forfworn

Cre.

Cre. In Faith I cannot: what would you have me do? Ther. A jugling Trick, to be fecretly open.

Dio. What did you fwear you would beftow on me? Cre. I prithee do not hold me to mine Oath; Bid me do any thing but that, fweet Greek.

Die. Good Night.

Troi. Hold, Patience

Vlyf. How now, Trojan?

Cre. Diomede.

Dio. No, no, good Night: I'll be your Fool no more. Troi. Thy better muft.

Cre. Hark, one word in your Ear.

Troi. O Plague and Madness!

Vlyf. You are mov'd, Prince; let us depart, I pray you,

Left your difpleasure should enlarge it felf

To wrathful Terms: this place is dangerous;

The time right deadly: I befeech you go.
Troi. Behold, I pray you

Vlyf. Nay, good my Lord go off:

You flow to great diftraction: Come, my Lord.
Troi. I pray thee stay?

Ulys. You have not patience; come.

Troi. I pray you ftay; by Hell, and Hell's Torments,

I will not fpeak a word.

Dio. And fo good Night.

Cre. Nay, but you 'part in anger.

Troi. Doth that grieve thee? O wither'd truth!

Vlyf. Why, how now, Lord?

Troi. By Jove, I will be patient.

Cre. Guardian

why, Greek

Dio. Fo, fo, adieu, you palter.

Cre. In Faith, I do not: come hither once again.
Vlyf. You shake, my Lord, at fomething; will you go!

You will break out.

Troi. She ftroaks his Cheek.

Vlyf. Come, come.

Troi. Nay, ftay; by Jove, I will not speak a word. There is between my Will, and all Offences,

A guard of patience, ftay a little while.

Ther

Ther. How the Devil Luxury with his fat Rump, and Potato Finger, tickles thefe together: Fry, Letchery, fry.

Dio. But will you then?

Cre. In Faith I will come; never truft me else.

Dio. Give me fome token for the furety of it.

Cre. I'll fetch you one.

Ulys. You have fworn patience.
Troi. Fear me not, fweet Lord,

I will not be my felf, nor have cognition
Of what I feel: I am all Patience.

Enter Creffida.

Ther. Now the Pledge, now, now, now.
Cre. Here, Diomede, keep this Sleeve.
Troi. O Beauty! where is thy Faith?
Vlyf. My Lord.

Troi. I will be patient, outwardly I will.
Cre. You look upon that Sleeve; behold it well:---
He lov'd me :-O falfe Wench:-.Give't me again.
Dio. Whofe was't?

Cre. It is no matter now I have't again,

I will not meet with you to morrow Night:
I prithee, Diomede, vifit me no more.

Ther. Now the sharpens: well faid Whetstone.
Dio. I fhall have it.

Gre. What, this?

Dio, Ay, that.

Cre. O all you Gods-O pretty, pretty Pledge;
Thy Mafter now lyes thinking in his Bed,

Of thee and me, and fighs, and takes my Glove,
And gives memorial dainty Kiffes to it:

As I kiss thee.

Dio. Nay, do not fnatch it from me.

Cre. He that takes that, takes my Heart withal.
Dio. I had your Heart before, this follows it.

Troi. I did fwear Patience.

[Exit.

Cre. You shall not have it, Diomede: 'Faith you shall not,

I'll give you fomething elfe.

Dio. I will have this: Whofe was it?

Cre. It is no matter.

VOL IV.

A a

Die