Chapter 1

THE TRAGEDIE OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

The Prologue

In Troy there lyes the Scene: From Iles of Greece The Princes Orgillous, their high blood chaf’d Haue to the Port of Athens ſent their ſhippes Fraught with the miniſters and inſtruments Of cruell Warre: Sixty and nine that wore Their Crownets Regall, from th’ Athenian bay Put forth toward Phrygia, and their vow is made To ranſacke Troy, within whoſe ſtrong emures The rauiſh’d Helen, Menelaus Queene, With wanton Paris sleepes, and that’s the Quarrell. To Tenedos they come, And the deepe-drawing Barke do there diſgorge Their warlike frautage: now on Dardan Plaines The freſh and yet unbruiſed Greekes do pitch Their braue Pauillions. Priams ſix-gated City, Dardan and Timbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien, And Antenonidus with maſsie Staples And correſponſiue and fulfilling Bolts Stirre up the Sonnes of Troy. Now Expectation tickling skittiſh ſpirits, On one and other ſide, Troian and Greeke, Sets all on hazard. And hither am I come, A Prologue arm’d, but not in confidence Of Authors pen, or Actors voyce, but ſuited In like conditions, as our Argument, To tell you (faire Beholders) that our Play Leapes ore the vaunt and firſtlings of those broyles, Beginning in the middle. ſtarting thence away, To what may be digeſted in a Play: Like, or finde fault, do as your pleaſures are, Now good, or bad, ’tis but the chance of Warre.

Actus Primus. Scœna Prima.

_Enter Pandarus and Troylus_

_Troylus_. Call here my Varlet, Ile vnarme againe. Why should I warre without the walls of Troy That finde ſuch cruell battell here within? Each Troian that is maſter of his heart, Let him to field, _Troylus_, alas hath none.

_Pan_. Will this geere nere be mended?

_Troy_. The Greeks are strong, & and skilful to their ſtrength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceneſſe Valiant: But I am weaker then a womans teare: Tamer then ſleepe, fonder then ignorance; Leſſe valiant then the Virgin in the night, And skillneſſe as vnpractis’d Infancie.

_Pan_. Well, I haue told you enough of this: For my part, Ile not meddle nor make no farther. Hee that will haue a Cake out of the Wheate muſt needes tarry the grinding.

_Troy_. Haue I not tarried?

_Pan_. I the grinding, but you muſt tarry the bolting.

_Troy_. Haue I not tarried?

_Pan_. I the bolting; but you muſt tarry the leau’ing.

_Troy_. Still haue I tarried.

_Pan_. I to the leauening: but heeres yet in the word hereafter the Kneading, the making of the Cake, the heating of the Ouen, and the Baking; nay, you muſt ſtay the cooling too, or you may chance to burne your lips.

_Troy_. Patience herſelfe, what Goddeſſe ere ſhe be, Doth leſſer blench at ſufferance, then I doe: At _Priams_ Royall Table doe I ſit; And when faire _Creſſid_ comes into my thoughts, So (Traitor) then ſhe comes, when ſhe is thence.

_Pan_. Well: She look’d yeſternight fairer, then euer I ſaw her looke, Or any woman eſſe.

_Troy_. I was about to tell thee, when my heart, As wedged with a ſigh, would riue in twaine, Leaſt _Hector_ or my Father ſhould perceiue me: I haue (as when the Sunne doth light a-ſcorne) Buried this ſigh, in wrinkle of a ſmile: But ſorrow, that is couch’d in ſeeming gladneſſe, Is like that mirth, Fate turnes to ſudden sadneſſe.

_Pan_. And her haire were not ſomewhat darker then _Helens_, well go too, there were no more compariſon betweene the Women. But for my part ſhe is my Kinſwoman, I would not (as they tearme it) praiſe it, but I wold ſome-body had heard her talk yeſterday as I did: I will not dispraiſe your ſiſter _Caſſandra’s_ wit, but—

_Troy_. Oh _Pandarus!_ I tell thee _Pandarus;_ When I doe tell thee, there my hopes lye drown’d: Reply not in how many Fadomes deepe They lye indrench’d. I tell thee, I am mad In _Creſſids_ loue. Thou anſwer’ſt ſhe is Faire, Powr’ſt in the open Vlcer of my heart, Her Eyes, her Haire, her Cheeke, her Gate, her Voice, Handleſt in thy diſcourſe. O that her Hand (In whoſe compariſon, all whites are Inke) Writing their owne reproach; to whoſe ſoft ſeizure, The Cignets Downe is harſh, and ſpirit of Senſe Hard as the palme of Plough-man. This thou tel’ſt me; As true thou tel’ſt me when I ſay I loue her: But ſaying thus, inſtead of Oyle and Balme, Thou lai’ſt in euery gaſh that loue hath giuen me, The Knife that made it.

_Pan_. I ſpeak no more then truth.

_Troy_. Thou do’ſt not ſpeake ſo much.

_Pan_. Faith, Ile not meddle in’t: Let her be as ſhee is, if ſhe be faire, ’tis the better for her, and ſhe be not, ſhe ha’s the mends in her owne hands.

_Troy_. Good _Pandarus:_ How now, _Pandarus?_

_Pan_. I haue had my Labour for my trauell, ill thought on of her, and ill thought on of you; Gone betweene and betweene, but ſmall thankes for my labour.

_Troy_. What art thou angry _Pandarus?_ what with me?

_Pan_. Becauſe ſhe’s Kinne to me, therefore ſhee’s not ſo fair as _Helen_, and ſhe were not kin to me, ſhe would be as faire on Friday, as _Helen_ is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not and ſhe were a Black-a Moore, ’tis all one to me.

_Troy_. Say I ſhe is not faire?

_Pan_. I doe not care whether you doe or no. Shee’s a Foole to ſtay behinde her Father: Let her to the Greeks, and ſo Ile tell her the next time I ſee her: for my part, Ile meddle nor make no more i’ th’ matter.

_Troy_. _Pandarus?_

_Pan_. Not I.

_Troy_. Sweete _Pandarus_.

_Pan_. Pray you ſpeak no more to me, I will leaue all as I found it, and there an end.

Exit _Pand_.

_Sound Alarum_

_Tro_. Peace you vngracious Clamors, peace rude ſounds, Fooles on both ſides, _Helen_ muſt needs be faire, When with your bloud you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight vpon this Argument: It is too staru’d a ſubiect for my Sword, But _Pandarus_. O Gods! How do you plague me? I cannot come to _Creſſid_ but by _Pandar_, And he’s as teachy to be woo’d to woe, As ſhe is ſtubborne, chast againſt all ſuite. Tell me _Apollo_ for thy _Daphnes_ Loue What _Creſſid_ is, what _Pandar_, and what we: Her bed is _India_, there ſhe lies, a Pearle, Between our Ilium, and where ſhee recides Let it be cald the wild and wandring flood, Our ſelf the Merchant, and this ſayling _Pandar_, Our doubtfull hope, our conuoy and our Barke.

_Alarum. Enter Æneas_.

_Æne_. How now Prince _Troylus?_ Wherefore not a field?

_Troy_. Becauſe not there; this womans anſwer ſorts. For womaniſh it is to be from thence: What newes _Æneas_ from the field to day?

_Æne_. That _Paris_ is returned home, and hurt.

_Troy_. By whom _Æneas?_

_Æne_. _Troylus_ by _Menelaus_.

_Troy_. Let _Paris_ bleed, ’tis but a ſcar to ſcorne, _Paris_ is gor’d with _Menelaus_ horne.

_Alarum_,

_Æne_. Harke what good ſport is out of Towne to day.

_Troy_. Better at home, if would I might were may: But to the ſport abroad, are you bound thither?

_Æne_. In all ſwift haſte.

_Troy_. Come, goe wee then togither.

_Exeunt_.

_Enter Creſſid and her man_.

_Cre_. Who were thoſe went by?

_Man_. Queen _Hecuba_, and _Hellen_.

_Cre_. And whether go they?

_Man_. Vp to the Eaſterne Tower, Whoſe height commands as ſubiect all the vaile, To ſee the battell: _Hector_ whoſe pacience, Is as a Vertue fixt, to day was mou’d. He chides _Andromache_ and ſtrooke his Armorer, And like as there were husbandry in Warre Before the Sunne rose, hee was harneſt lyte, And to the field goe’s he; where euery flower Did as a Prophet weepe what it foreſaw In _Hectors_ wrath.

_Cre_. What was his cauſe of anger?

_Man_. The noiſe goe’s this; There is among the Greekes, A Lord of Troian blood, Nephew to _Hector_, They call him _Aiax_.

_Cre_. Good; and what of him?

_Man_. They ſay he is a very man _per ſe_ and stands alone.

_Cre_. So do all men, vnleſſe they are drunke, ſicke, or haue no legges.

_Man_. This man Lady, hath rob’d many beaſts of their particular additions, he is as valiant as the Lyon, churliſh as the Beare, ſlow as the Elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humors, that his valour is cruſht into folly, his folly ſauced with diſcretion: there is no man hath a vertue, that he hath not a glimpſe of, nor any man an attaint, but he carries ſome ſtaine of it. He is melancholy without cauſe, and merry againſt the haire, hee hath the ioynts of euery thing, but euery thing ſo out of ioynt, that hee is a gowtie _Briareus_, many hands and no vſe; or purblinded _Argus_, all eyes and no ſight.

_Cre_. But how ſhould this man that makes me ſmile, make _Hector_ angry?

_Man_. They ſay he yeſterday cop’d _Hector_ in the battle and ſtroke him downe, the diſdaind & ſhame whereof, hath euer since kept _Hector_ fasting and waking.

_Enter Pandarus_.

_Cre_. Who comes here?

_Man_. Madam your Vncle _Pandarus_.

_Cre_. _Hectors_ a gallant man.

_Man_. As may be in the world Lady.

_Pan_. What’s that? what’s that?

_Cre_. Good morrow Vncle _Pandarus_.

_Pan_. Good morrow Cozen _Creſſid:_ what do you talke of? good morrow _Alexander_. how do you Cozen? when were you at Illium?

_Cre_. This morning Vncle.

_Pan_. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm’d and gon ere yea came to Illium? _Hellen_ was not vp? was ſhe?

_Cre_. _Hector_ was gone but _Hellen_ was not up?

_Pan_. E’ene ſo; _Hector_ was ſtirring early.

_Cre_. That were we talking of and of his anger.

_Pan_. Was he angry?

_Cre_. So he ſaies here.

_Pan_. True, he was ſo; I know the cauſe too, heele lay about him to day I can tell them that and there’s _Troylus_ will not come farre behind him, let them take heede of _Troylus;_ I can tell them that too.

_Cre_. What, is he angry too?

_Pan_. Who, _Troylus?_ _Troylus_ is the better man of the two.

_Cre_. Oh _Iupiter;_ there’s no compariſon.

_Pan_. What not betweene _Troylus_ and _Hector?_ do you know a man if you ſee him?

_Cre_. I, if I euer ſaw him before and knew him.

_Pan_. Well, I ſay _Troylus_ is _Troylus_.

_Cre_. Then you ſay as I ſay, For I am ſure he is not _Hector_.

_Pan_. No not _Hector_ is not _Troylus_ in ſome degrees.

_Cre_. ’Tis just to each of them he is himſelfe.

_Pan_. Himſelfe? alas, poore _Troylus_ I would he were.

_Cre_. So he is.

_Pan_. Condition I had gone bare-foote to India.

_Cre_. He is not _Hector_.

_Pan_. Himſelfe? no? hee’s not himſselfe, would a were himſelfe: well, the Gods are aboue, time muſt friend or end: well _Troylus_ well, I would my heart were in her body; no, _Hector_ is not a better man then _Troylus_.

_Cre_. Excuſe me.

_Pan_. He is elder.

_Cre_. Pardon me, pardon me.

_Pan_. Th’others not come too’t, you ſhall tell me another tale when th’others come too’t: _Hector_ ſhall not haue his will this yeare.

_Cre_. He ſhall not neede it if he haue his owne.

_Pan_. Nor his qualities.

_Cre_. No matter.

_Pan_. Nor his beautie.

_Cre_. ’Twould not become him, his own’s better.

_Pan_. You haue no iudgment Neece; _Hellen_ her ſelfe ſwore th’other day that _Troylus_ for a browne favour (for ſo ’tis I must confeſſe) not browne neither.

_Cre_. No, but browne.

_Pan_. Faith, to ſay truth, browne and not browne.

_Cre_. To ſay the truth, true and not true.

_Pan_. She prais’d his complexion above _Paris_.

_Cre_. Why _Paris_ hath colour inough.

_Pan_. So he has.

_Cre_. Then _Troylus_ should haue too much, if ſhe prasi’d him aboue, his complexion is higher then his, he hauing colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praiſe for a good complexion. I had as lieue _Hellens_ golden tongue had commended _Troylus_ for a copper noſe.

_Pan_. I ſweare to you, I think _Hellen_ loues him better then _Paris_.

_Cre_. Then ſhee’s a merry Greeke indeed.

_Pan_. Nay I am ſure ſhe does, ſhe came to him th’other day into the compaſt window, and you know he has not paſt three or foure haires on his chinne.

_Cre_. Indeed a Tapsters Arithmetique may ſoone bring his particulars therein to a totall.

_Pan_. Why he is very yong, and yet will he within three pound lift as much as his brother _Hector_.

_Cre_. Is he ſo young a man, and ſo old a lifter?

_Pan_. But to prooue to you that _Hellen_ loues him, ſhe came and puts me her white hand to his clouen chin.

_Cre_. _Juno_ haue mercy, how came it clouen?

_Pan_. Why, you know ’tis dimpled, I thinke his ſmyling becomes him better then any man in all Phrigia.

_Cre_. Oh he ſmiles valiantly.

_Pan_. Dooes hee not?

_Cre_. Oh yes, and ’twere a clow’d in _Autumne_.

_Pan_. Why go to then, but to proue to you that _Hellen_ loues _Troylus_.

_Cre_. _Troylus_ will ſtand to thee Proofe, if youle prooue it ſo.

_Pan_. _Troylus?_ why he eſteemes her no more then I eſteeme an addle egge.

_Cre_. If you loue an addle egge as well as you loue an idle head, you would eate chickens i’ th’ ſhell.

_Pan_. I cannot chuſe but laugh to thinke how ſhe tickled his chin, indeed ſhee has a maruel’s white hand I muſt needs confeſſe.

_Cre_. Without the racke.

_Pan_. And ſhee takes vpon her to ſpie a white haire on his chinne.

_Cre_. Alas poore chin? many a wart is richer.

_Pan_. But there was ſuch laughing, Queen _Hecuba_ laught that her eyes ran ore.

_Cre_. With Milſtones.

_Pan_. And _Caſſandra_ laught.

_Cre_. But there was a more temperate fire vnder the pot of her eyes: did her eyes run ore too?

_Pan_. And _Hector_ laught.

_Cre_. At what was all this laughing?

_Pan_. Marry at the white haire that _Hellen_ ſpied on _Troylus_ chin.

_Cre_. And t’had beene a greene haire, I ſhould haue laught too.

_Pan_. They laught not ſo much at the haire, as at his pretty anſwere.

_Cre_. What was his anſwere?

_Pan_. Quoth ſhee, heere’s but two and fifty haires on your chinne; and one of them is white.

_Cre_. This is her queſtion.

_Pand_. That’s true, make no queſtion of that, two and fiftie haires quoth hee, and one white, that white haire is my Father, and all the reſt are his Sonnes. _Iupiter_ quoth ſhe, which of theſe haires is _Paris_ my husband? The forked one quoth he, pluckt out and giue it him: but there was ſuch laughing, and _Hellen_ so bluſht, and _Paris_ ſo chaft, and all the reſt ſo laught, that it paſt.

_Cre_. So let it now, For it has beene a great while going by.

_Pan_. Well, Cozen, I told you a thing yeſterday, think on’t.

_Cre_. So I does.

_Pan_. Ile be ſworne ’tis true, he will weepe you an ’twere a man borne in Aprill.

_Sound a retreat_.

_Cre_. And Ile ſpring vp in his teares, an ’twere a nettle againſt May.

_Pan_. Harke they are comming from the field, shal we ſtand vp here and ſee them, as they paſſe toward Illium, good Neece do, ſweet Neece _Creſſida_.

_Cre_. At your pleaſure.

_Pan_. Heere, heere, here’s an excellent place, heere we may ſee moſt brauely, Ile tel you them all by their names, as they paſſe by, but mark _Troylus_ aboue the reſt.

_Enter Æneas_.

_Cre_. Speake not ſo low’d.

_Pan_. That’s _Æneas_. is not that a braue man, hee’s one of the flowers of Troy I can you, but merke _Troylus_. you ſhall ſee anon.

_Cre_. Who’s that?

_Enter Antenor_.

_Pan_. That’s _Antenor_, he has a ſhrow’d wit I can tell you, and hee’s a man good inough, hee’s one o’th ſoundeſt iudgment in Troy whoſoeuer, and a proper man of perſon: when comes _Troylus?_ Ile ſhew you _Troylus_ anon, if hee ſee me, you ſhall ſee him nod at me.

_Cre_. Will he giue you the nod?

_Pan_. You ſhall ſee.

_Cre_. If he do, the rich ſhall haue more.

_Enter Hector_.

_Pan_. That’s _Hector_, that, that, looke you, that there’s a fellow. Goe thy way _Hector_, there’s a braue man Neece, O braue _Hector!_ Looke how hee lookes? there’s a countenance; iſt not a braue man?

_Cre_. O braue man!

_Pan_. Is a not? It dooes a mans heart good, looke you what hacks are on his Helmet. looke you yonder, do you ſee? Looke you there? There’s no ieſting, laying on, tak’t off, who ill as they ſay, there be hacks.

_Cre_. Be thoſe with Swords?

_Enter Paris_.

_Pan_. Swords, any thing, he cares not, and the diuell come to him, it’s all one, by Gods lid it dooes ones heart good. Yonder comes _Paris_, yonder comes _Paris_: looke yee yonder Neece, iſt not a gallant man to, iſt not? Why this is braue now: who ſaid he came hurt home to day? Hee’s not hurt, why this will do _Hellens_ heart good now, ha? Would I could ſee _Troylus_ now, you ſhall _Troylus_ anon.

_Cre_. Whoſe that

_Enter Hellenus_.

_Pan_. That’s _Hellenus_, I maruell where _Troylus_ is, that’s _Helenus_, I thinke he went not forth to day: that’s _Hellenus_.

_Cre_. Can _Hellenus_ fight, Vncle?

_Pan_. _Hellenus_ no: yes heele fight indifferent, well, I maruell where _Troylus_ is; harke, do you not heare the people crie _Troylus?_ _Hellenus_ is a Prieſt.

_Cre_. What ſneaking fellow comes yonder?

_Enter Troylus_

_Pan_. Where? Yonder? That’s _Daphobus_. ’Tis _Troylus!_ Ther’s a man Neece, hem; Braue _Troylus_, the Prince of Chiualrie.

_Cre_. Peace, for ſhame, peace.

_Pan_. Marke him, not him: O braue _Troylus:_ looke well vpon him Neece, looke you how his Sword is bloudied, and his Helme more hackt than _Hectors_, and how he lookes, and how he goes. O admirable youth! he ne’er ſaw three and twenty. Go thy way _Troylus_, go thy way, had I a ſiſter were a _Grace_, or a daughter a Goddeſſe, hee ſhould take his choice. O admirable man! _Paris? Paris_ is durt to him, and, I warrant, _Helen_ to change, would giue money to boot.

_Enter common Soldiers_.

_Cre_. Heere come more.

_Pan_. Aſſes, fooles, dolts, chaff and bran, chaffe and bran; porredge after meat. I could liue and dye i’ th’ eyes of _Troylus_. Ne’re looke, ne’re looke; the Eagles are gon, Crowes and Dawes, Crowes and Dawes: I had rather be ſuch a man as _Troylus_, then _Agamemnon_ and all Greece.

_Cre_. There is among the Greekes _Achilles_, a better man then _Troylus_.

_Pan_. _Achilles?_ A Dray-man, a Porter, a very Camell.

_Cre_. Well well.

_Pan_. Well, well? Why haue you any diſcretion? haue you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good ſhape, diſcourſe, manhood, learning, gentleneſſe, vertue, youth, liberality, and ſo forth; the Spice, and ſalt that ſeaſon a man?

_Cre_. I, a minc’d man and then to be bak’d with no Date in the pye, for then the man’s dates out.

_Pan_. You are ſuch another woman, one knowes not at what ward you lye.

_Cre_. Vpon my backe, to defend my belly; vpon my wit, to defend my wiles; vppon my ſecrecy, to defend mine honeſty; my Maske, to defend my beauty, and you to defend all theſe: and at all theſe wardes I lye at, at a thouſand watches.

_Pan_. Say one of your watches.

_Cre_. Nay Ile watch you for that, and that’s one of the cheefeſt of them too. If I cannot ward what I would not haue hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the blow, unleſſ it ſwell paſt hiding, and then it’s paſt watching

_Enter Boy_.

_Pan_. You are ſuch another.

_Boy_. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.

_Pan_. Where?

_Boy_. At your own house; there he unarms him.

_Pan_. Good boy, tell him I come. Exit Boy I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.

_Cre_. Adieu, uncle.

_Pan_. I will be with you, niece, by and by.

_Cre_. To bring, uncle.

_Pan_. Ay, a token from Troylus. Exit

_Cre_. By the same token, you are a bawd. Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice, He offers in another’s enterprise; But more in Troylus thousand-fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be, Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing. That she belov’d knows nought that knows not this: Men prize the thing ungain’d more than it is. That she was never yet that ever knew Love got so sweet as when desire did sue; Therefore this maxim out of love I teach: Achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech. Then though my heart’s content firm love doth bear, Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. Exit

Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Vlyſſes, Diomedes, Menelaus, and others

_Agam_. Princes, What grief hath set these jaundies o’er your cheeks? The ample proposition that hope makes In all designs begun on earth below Fails in the promis’d largeness; checks and disasters Grow in the veins of actions highest rear’d, As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, Infects the sound pine, and diverts 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 call them shames, which are, indeed, nought else 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 then the bold and coward, The wise and fool, the artist and unread, The hard and soft, seem all affin’d and kin. But in the wind and tempest of her frown Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, Puffing at all, winnows the light away; And what hath mass or matter by itself Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.

_Nestor_. 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 cut, Bounding between the two moist elements Like Perseus’ horse. Where’s then the saucy boat, Whose weak untimber’d sides but even now Co-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so Doth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze 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 sympathise, And with an accent tun’d in self-same key Retorts to chiding fortune.

_Vlyſ_. Agamemnon, 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 Vlyſſes speaks. Besides the applause and approbation The which, [To Agamemnon] most mighty, for thy place and sway, [To Nestor] 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 experienc’d tongue-yet let it please both, Thou great, and wise, to hear Vlyſſes speak.

_Agam_. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect That matter needless, of importless burden, Divide thy lips than we are confident, When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws, We shall hear music, wit, and oracle.