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SCENE III.

*

The Same. A Street.
Enter Cressida and Alexander.

Cres. Who were those went by?

Alex. Queen Hecuba, and Helen.

Cres. And whither go they?

Alex. Up to the eastern tower,

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

Cres. 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.

Cies. Good; And what of him'

Alex. They say he is a very man per se, And stands alone.

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

Alex. Thu man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of

their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours, 4that his valour is crush'd 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 it: 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.

Enter Pandarus.

Cres. Who comes here?

,//((, Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

Cres. Hector's a gallant man.

Alex. As may be in the world, lady,

Van. What's that? what's that?

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: What do you talk of?—Good morrow, Alexander*.—How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium8?

Cres. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of, when I came?

Was Hector arm'd, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium:
Helen was not up, was she?

Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early.
Cm. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?
Cres. So he says here.

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that: and there is Troilus will not come far behind him; let them fake heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too. Cres. What, is he angry too? Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.

Ores. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison. Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man, if you see him?

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

Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. Cres. Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector.

Pan. 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

were,

Cres. So he is.

Pan. 'Condition, I had gone bare-foot 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,—I would, my heart were in her body !—No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

Cres. Excuse me.

Pan. He is elder.

Cra. 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 better.

Pan. You have no judgement, niece : Helen herself swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,)—Not brown neither.

Cres. No, but brown.

Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.

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

Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.

Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough.

Pan. So he has.

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

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

Ores. Than she's a merry Greek, indeed.

Pan. Nay, 1 am sure she does. She came to him the other day into the compass'd window,—and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin.

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetick 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.

Ores. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter7?

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 J

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.

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

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