Gar. But, Sir, Sir,

Hear me, Sir Thomas: you're a gentleman
Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;
And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well,-
'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take 't of me,-
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she,
Sleep in their graves.

Lov. Now, Sir, you speak of two

The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell,-
Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master
O' the rolls, and the king's secretary: further, Sir,
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments,
With which the time will load him. The archbishop

Is the king's hand and tongue; and who dare speak
One syllable against him?

Gar. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,

There are that dare; and I myself have ventured
To speak my mind of him: and, indeed, this day,

Sir, (I may tell it you,) I think I have
Incensed the lords o' the council, that he is
(For so I know he is, they know he is)
À most arch heretic, a pestilence

That does infect the land: with which they moved,
Have broken with the king; who hath so far
Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace
And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs
Our reasons laid before him,) he hath commanded
To-morrow morning to the council-board

He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas,
And we must root him out. From your affairs
I hinder you too long: good night, Sir Thomas.
Lov. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant
[Exeunt GARDINER and Page.
AS LOVELL is going out, enter the KING and the DUXE
OF SUFFOLK.

K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night;
My mind's not on 't, you are too hard for me.
Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before
K. Hen. But little, Charles;
Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.-
Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news?
Lov. I could not personally deliver to her
What you commanded me, but by her woman
I sent your message; who return'd her thanks

Lov. So said her woman; and that her sufferance Almost each pang a death.

[made

K. Hen. Alas, good lady!

Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and With gentle travail, to the gladding of Your highness with an heir!

K. Hen. 'Tis midnight, Charles;

Pr'ythee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
Th' estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone;
For I must think of that which company
Will not be friendly to.

Suf. I wish your highness

A quiet night; and my good mistress will
Remember in my prayers.

K. Hen. Charles, good night.

[Exit SUFFOLK

Lov. [Aside.] This is about that which the bishop I am happily come hither.

Re-enter DENNY, with CRANMER.

[spake;

K. Hen. Avoid the gallery. [LOVELL seems to stay. Ha! I have said.-Begone. What!

[Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY. Cran. [Aside] I am fearful:-Wherefore frowns he 'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well. [thus!

K. Hen. How now, my lord? You do desire to know Wherefore I sent for you.

Cran. [Kneeling] It is my duty

To attend your highness' pleasure.

K. Hen. Pray you, arise,

My good and gracious lord of Canterbury.

Come, you and I must walk a turn together;

I have news to tell you: come, come, give me you

Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,
And am right sorry to repeat what follows:

[band.

I have, and most unwillingly, of late
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord,
Grievous complaints of you; which, being consider'd,
Have moved us and our council, that you shall
This morning come before us; where, I know,
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself,
But that, till further trial in those charges
Which will require your answer, you must take
Your patience to you, and be well contented
To make your house our Tower: you a brother of us,
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Would come against you.

Cran. I humbly thank your highness;

And am right glad to catch this good occasion
Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know,

There's none stands under more calumnious tongues
Than I myself, poor man.

K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury;
Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted

In us, thy friend: give me thy hand, stand up;
Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy-dame,
What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd
You would have given me your petition, that

I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you
Without indurance further.

Cran. Most dread liege,

The good I stand on is my truth and honesty;
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies,

Will triumph o'er my person: which I weigh not,
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing
What can be said against me.

K. Hen. Know you not how

Your state stands I' the world, with the whole world!
Your enemies

Are many, and not small; their practices
Must bear the same proportion: and not ever
The justice and the truth o' the question carries
The due o' the verdict with it: at what ease
Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt
To swear against you? Such things have been done
You are potently opposed; and with a malice
Of as great size. Ween you of better luck,

I mean in perjured witness, than your Master,
Whose minister you are, whiles here he lived
Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to;
You take a precipice for no leap of danger,
And woo your own destruction.

Cran. God and your majesty

Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
The trap is laid for me!

K. Hen. Be of good cheer;

They shall no more prevail than we give way to.
Keep comfort to you; and this morning see

You do appear before them: if they shall chance,
In charging you with matters, to commit you,
The best persuasions to the contrary
Fail not to use, and with what vehemency
The occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties
Will render you no remedy, this ring

Deliver them, and your appeal to us

There make before them.-Look, the good man weeps!
He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother!
I swear he is true-hearted; and a soul

None better in my kingdom.-Get you gone,

And do as I have bid you.-[Exit CRANMER.] He has strangled

His language in his tears.

Enter an Old Lady.

Gent. [Within.] Come back: what mean you? Lady. I'll not come back: the tidings that I bring Will make my boldness manners.-Now, good angels Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person Under their blessed wings!

K. Hen. Now, by thy looks

I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd?
Bay, ay; and of a boy.

Lady. Ay, ay, my liege;

And of a lovely boy: the God of heaven

Both now and ever bless her!-'tis a girl,-
Promises boys hereafter.

Sir, your queen

Desires your visitation, and to be

Acquainted with this stranger: 'tis as like you As cherry is to cherry.

K. Hen. Lovell,

Lov. Sir?

Re-enter LovELL.

K. Hen. Give her a hundred marks. I'll to the queen. [Exit KING.

Lady. A hundred marks! By this light, I'll have An ordinary groom is for such payment. [more. I will have more, or scold it out of him.

Is this the honour they do one another? 'Tis well there's one above them yet. I had thought They had parted so much honesty among them, (At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer

A man of his place, and so near our favour,

To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures,
And at the door too, like a post with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery:
Let them alone, and draw the curtain close;
We shall hear more anon.-

THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER.

[Exeunt

Enter the LORD CHANCELLOR, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, the DUKE OF NORFOLK, EARL OF SURREY, Lord Chamberlain, GARDINER, and CROMWELL. The CHANCELLOR places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand; a seat being left void above him, as for the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. The rest seat themselves in order on each side. CROMWELL at the lower end, as secretary.

Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary: Why are we met in council?

Crom. Please your honours,

The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury.
Gar. Has he had knowledge of it?
Crom. Yes.

Nor. Who waits there?

D. Keep. Without, my noble lords?
Gar. Yes.

D. Keep. My lord archbishop;

And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. Chan. Let him come in.

D. Keep. Your grace may enter now.

[CRANMER approaches the Council-table. Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry To sit here at this present, and behold

That chair stand empty: but we all are men,

In our own natures frail, and capable

Of our flesh; few are angels: out of which frailty,
And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,
Have misdemeard yourself, and not a little,
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
The whole realm, by your teaching and your chaplains,
(For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions,
Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle, But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur Till they obey the manage. If we suffer [them, (Out of our easiness and childish pity

To one man's honour) this contagious sickness,
Farewell all physic: and what follows then?
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint

Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours,
The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

Cran My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,
And with no little study, that my teaching,
And the strong course of my authority,
Might go one way, and safely; and the end
Was ever to do well: nor is there living
(I speak it with a single heart, my lords)
A man that more detests, more stirs against,
Both in his private conscience and his place,
Defacers of a public peace, than I do.
Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart
With less allegiance in it! Men, that make
Envy and crooked malice nourishment,

Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships
That, in this case of justice, my accusers,

Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
And freely urge against me.

Suf. Nay, my lord,

That cannot be: you are a counsellor,

And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.

Gar. My lord, because we have business of more moment,

We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' pleasure
And our consent, for better trial of you,

From hence you be committed to the Tower;
Where, being but a private man again,
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.

Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you You are always my good friend; if your will pass,

I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,

You are so merciful: I see your end,-
'Tis my undoing: love and meekness, lord,

Become a churchman better than ambition:
Win straying souls with modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience,
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary;
That's the plain truth: your painted gloss discovers,
To men that understand you, words and weakness.

Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect

For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty
To load a falling man.

Gar. Good master secretary,

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst

Of all this table, say so.

Crom. Why, my lord?

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer

Of this new sect? ye are not sound.
Crom. Not sound?

Gar. Not sound, I say.

Crom. Would you were half so honest!

Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. Gar. I shall remember this bold language.

Crom. Do.

Remember your bold life too.

Chan. This is too much;

Forbear, for shame, my lords.

Gar. I have done.

Crom. And I.

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord:-it stands agreed,

I take it, by all voices, that forthwith

You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;
There to remain till the king's further pleasure
Be known unto us-are you all agreed, lords?
All. We are.

Cran. Is there no other way of mercy,
But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?
Gar. What other

Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.Let some o' the guard be ready there.

Cran. For me?

Enter Guard.

Must I go like a traitor thither?

Gar. Receive him,

And see him safe i' the Tower.

Cran. Stay, good my lords,

I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;

By virtue of that ring, I take my cause

Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it

To a most noble judge, the king my master.
Cham. This is the king's ring.

Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit.

Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, "Twould fall upon ourselves.

Nor. Do you think, my lords,

The king will suffer but the little finger

Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham. 'Tis now too certain:

How much more is his life in value with him?
Would I were fairly out on't.

Crom. My mind gave me,

In seeking tales and informations

Against this man, (whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,)

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye.

Enter the KING, frowning on them; takes his seat.
Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to
In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; [heaven
Not only good and wise, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal self in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commenda-
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not [tions,
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
They are too thin and base to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach: you play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure
Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.-

[To CRANMER.] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest

He that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
By all that's holy, he had better starve

Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
Sur. May it please your grace,--

K. Hen. No, Sir, it does not please me.

I had thought I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom of my council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man.
This good man, (few of you deserve that title,,
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy

At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Power as he was a counsellor to try him,
Not as a groom: there's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
Which ye shall never have while I live.

Chan. Thus far,

My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed Concerning his imprisonment, was rather

(If there be faith in men) meant for his trial And fair purgation to the world, than malice,I am sure, in me.

K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. I will say thus much for him,-if a prince May be beholden to a subject, I

[bury,

Am, for his love and service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
Be friends, for shame, my lords.-My lord of Canter
I have a suit which you must not deny me;
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour: how may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you?
K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your
spoons: you shall have

Two noble partners with you; the old duchess of Nor-
And lady marquis Dorset: will these please you? [folk
Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you,
Embrace and love this man.

Noise and tumult within Enter Porter and his Man. Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: de you take the court for Paris-garden? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder. Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue! Is this a place to roar in?-Fetch me a dozen crabtree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to them. I'll scratch your heads: you must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?

Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons) To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep On May-day morning; which will never be: We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them. Port. How got they in, and be hang'd? Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in? As much as one sound cudgel of four foot (You see the poor remainder) could distribute, I made no spare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, to mow them down before me: but if I spared any that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again; and that I would not for a cow, God save her! [Within.] Do you hear, master porter?

Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.-Keep the door close, sirrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come

court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, Sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face; for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dogdays now reign in 's nose: all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance. That firedrake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me: he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed upon me till her pinked porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out, "Clubs!" when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place at length they came to the broomstaff with me; I defied them still: when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work. The devil was amongst them, I think, surely.

Port. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but the Tribulation of Tower hill, or the Limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is to come.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain.

Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves ?-Ye have made a fine hand, fellows: There's a trim rabble let in are all these

Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, When they pass back from the christening.

Port. An't please your honour,

We are but men; and what so many may do,
Not being torn a pieces, we have done:
An army cannot rule them.

Cham. As I live,

If the king blame me for 't, I'll lay ye all
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: you are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when

Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
They are come already from the christening:
Go, break among the press, and find a way out

To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find

A Marshalsea shall hold you play these two months.

Port. Make way there for the princess.

Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or

I'll make your head ache.

Port. You i' the camblet, get up o' the rail; I'll peck you o'er the pales else.

SCENE IV.-The Palace.

[Ereund.

Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, DUKE OF NORFOLK, with his marshal's staff, DUKE OF SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, godmother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, d'c. Train borne by a Lady; then follows the MARCHIONESS OF DORSET, the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks.

Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth!

Flourish. Enter KING and train.

Cran. [Kneeling.] And, to your royal grace and the My noble partners and myself thus pray: [good queen, All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, May hourly fall upon ye!

K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop; What is her name?

Cran. Elizabeth.

K. Hen Stand up, lord.- [The KING kisses the child.

For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth.
This royal infant, (heaven still move about her!)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be
(But few now living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed: Saba 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 loved and fear'd: her own shall bless her;
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with
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 neighbours:
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new create another heir,

As great in admiration as herself;

So shall she leave her blessedness to one

[her:

His honour 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 children
Shall see this, and bless heaven.

K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders.

Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England,
An agèd princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had nown 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 groun 1, and all the world shall mourn her.
K. Hen. O lord archbishop,

Thou hast made me now a man! never, before

This happy child, did I get anything:

This oracle of comfort has so pleased 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;
I have received much honour by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful.-Lead the way, lords:
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.
[Exeunt

EPILOGUE.

'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 Abused extremely, and to cry,-"That's witty!" Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, 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 shew'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.

PROLOGUE.

In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
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: now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruisèd Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-ga.ed city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr 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 com
A prologue arm'd,-but not in confidence
Of author's pen or actor's voice; but suite
In like conditions as our argument,-
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
'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.

ACT I

SCENE I.-TROY. Before PRIAM'S Palace Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS. Tro. Call here my varlet, 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? [strength, 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, fonder than ignorance; Less valiant than the virgin in the night, And skill-less as unpractised infancy.

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He 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 leaven ing. 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 be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit;

And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,-
So, traitor!-when she comes!-When is she thence!
Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever }
saw her 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 or 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,-bul I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister 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 cheeks, her gait, her voice;
Handlest 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 me,
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.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle 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 labour for my travail; ill-thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.

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 It 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 nor make no more in the matter. Tro. Pandarus, -

Pan. Not L.