Par. A valiant Greek, Æneas; take his hand : Witness the process of your speech, wherein You told how Diomed, a whole week by days, Did haunt you in the field.

Ene.

Health to you, valiant sir,

During all question of the gentle truce;

But when I meet you armed, as black defiance
As heart can think or courage execute.

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces.
Our bloods are now in calm, and, so long, health :
But when contention and occasion meet,

By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life.

With all my force, pursuit, and policy.

Ene. And thou shalt hunt a lion that will

fly

With his face back ward.-In human gentleness,
Welcome to Troy: now, by Anchises' life,
Welcome, indeed. By Venus' hand I swear,
No man alive can love, in such a sort,
The thing he means to kill, more excellently.
Dio. We sympathise.-Jove, let Æneas live,
If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
A thousand complete courses of the sun!
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die,
With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow!
Ene. We know each other well

Dio. We do; and long to know each other

worse.

Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greet

ing,

The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of.—
What business, lord, so early?

Ene. I was sent for to the king; but why, I know not.

Par. His purpose meets you: 't was to bring this Greek

To Calchas' house; and there to render him,
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid.
Let's have your company; or, if you please,
Haste there before us. I constantly do think,—
Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,—
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night :
Rouse him, and give him note of our approach,
With the whole quality wherefore: I fear,

We shall be much unwelcome.

Ene.

That I assure you:

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece,

Than Cressid borne from Troy.

Par.

The bitter disposition of the time.

There is no help;

Will have it so. On, lord: we'll follow you.

Ene. Good morrow, all.

[Exit

Par. And tell me, noble Diomed; 'faith, tell me

true,

Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,-
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen most,
Myself, or Menelaus ?

He merits well to have her that doth seek her,
Not making any scruple of her soilure

With such a hell of pain and world of charge;
And you as well to keep her, that defend her,
Not palating the taste of her dishonour,
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends:
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat taméd piece;
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
Are pleased to breed out your inheritors:
Both merits poised, each weighs nor less nor more;
But he as he the heavier for a whore.

Par. You are too bitter to your country-woman.
Dio. She's bitter to her country.
Hear me,

For

Paris:

every false drop in her bawdy veins A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple Of her contaminated carrion weight

A Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak She hath not given so many good words breath,

As, for her, Greeks and Trojans suffered death.
Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy ;
But we in silence hold this virtue well,—
We'll not commend what we intend not sell.
Here lies our way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Troy. A Court before the House of PANDARUS.

Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA.

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn is cold.

Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle

down ;

He shall unbolt the gates.

Tro.

Trouble him not;

To bed, to bed: sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses
As infants' empty of all thought!

Tro. O Cressida ! but that the busy day,

Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows,

And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,

I would not from thee.

Cres.

Night hath been too brief.

Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights

she stays

Tedious as hell; but flies the grasps of love

With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will catch cold, and curse me.

Cres.

You men will never tarry.

Pr'ythee, tarry.

O foolish Cressid !—I might have still held off, And then you would have tarried.—Hark! there's

one up.

Pan. [Within.] What's all the doors open here? Tro. It is your uncle.

Cres. A pestilence on him; now will he be mocking:

I shall have such a life.

Enter PANDARUS.

Pan. How now, how now! how go maidenheads?

Here, you maid! where's my cousin Cressid? Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle !

You bring me to do,--and then you flout me too.