irable man! Paris, Paris is dirt to him, and I
warrant, Helen, to change, would give all the shoes in her shop to
boot.

_Enter common Soldiers passing over._

_Cres._ Here come more.

_Pand._ Asses, fools, dolts, dirt, and dung, stuff, and lumber,
porridge after meat; but I could live and die with Troilus. Ne'er
look, niece, ne'er look, the lions are gone: apes and monkeys, the fag
end of the creation. I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than
Agamemnon and all Greece.

_Cres._ There's Achilles among the Greeks, he's a brave man.

_Pand._ Achilles! a carman, a beast of burden; a very camel: have you
any eyes, niece? do you know a man? is he to be compared with Troilus?

_Enter Page._

_Page._ Sir, my lord Troilus would instantly speak with you.

_Pand._ Where boy, where?

_Page._ At his own house, if you think convenient.

_Pand._ Good boy, tell him I come instantly: I doubt he's wounded.
Farewell, good niece. But I'll be with you by and by.

_Cres._ To bring me, uncle!

_Pand._ Ay, a token from prince Troilus. [_Exit_ PANDAR.

_Cres_. By the same token, you are a procurer, uncle.

CRESSIDA _alone._

A strange dissembling sex we women are:
Well may we men, when we ourselves deceive.
Long has my secret soul loved Troilus;
I drunk his praises from my uncle's mouth,
As if my ears could ne'er be satisfied:
Why then, why said I not, I love this prince?
How could my tongue conspire against my heart,
To say I loved him not? O childish love!
'Tis like an infant, froward in his play,
And what he most desires, he throws away. [_Exit._

ACT II.

SCENE I.--_Troy._

_Enter_ PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, _and_ AENEAS.

_Priam._ After the expence of so much time and blood,
Thus once again the Grecians send to Troy;--
Deliver Helen, and all other loss
Shall be forgotten.--Hector, what say you to it?

_Hect._ Though no man less can fear the Greeks than I,
Yet there's no virgin of more tender heart,
More ready to cry out,--who knows the consequence?
Than Hector is; for modest doubt is mixed
With manly courage best: let Helen go.
If we have lost so many lives of ours,
To keep a thing not ours, not worth to us
The value of a man, what reason is there
Still to retain the cause of so much ill?

_Troil._ Fye, fye, my noble brother!
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as Asia's monarch, in a scale
Of common ounces thus?
Are fears and reasons fit to be