ow he laid her on
upon the lips! for, as I told you, she's most mightily made on among
the Greeks. What, cheer up, I say, man! she has every one's good word.
I think, in my conscience, she was born with a caul upon her head.

_Troil._ [_Aside._] Hell, death, confusion, how he tortures me!

_Pand._ And that rogue-priest, my brother, is so courted and treated
for her sake: the young sparks do so pull him about, and haul him by
the cassock: nothing but invitations to his tent, and his tent, and
his tent. Nay, and one of 'em was so bold, as to ask him, if she were
a virgin; and with that, the rogue, my brother, takes me up a little
god in his hand, and kisses it, and swears devoutly that she was; then
was I ready to burst my sides with laughing, to think what had passed
betwixt you two.

_Troil._ O I can bear no more! she's falsehood all:
False by both kinds; for with her mother's milk
She sucked the infusion of her father's soul.
She only wants an opportunity;
Her soul's a whore already.

_Pand._ What, would you make a monopoly of a woman's lips? a little
consolation, or so, might be allowed, one would think, in a lover's
absence.

_Troil._ Hence from my sight!
Let ignominy brand thy hated name;
Let modest matrons at thy mention start;
And blushing virgins, when they read our annals,
Skip o'er the guilty page that holds thy legend,
And blots the noble work.

_Pand._ O world, world: thou art an ungrateful patch of earth! Thus
the poor agent is despised! he labours painfully in his calling, and
trudges between parties: but when their turns are served, come out's
too good for him. I am mighty melancholy. I'll e'en go home, and shut
up my doors, and die o' the sullens, like an old bird in a cage!
[_Exit_ PANDARUS.

_Enter_ DIOMEDE _and_ THERSITES.

_Thers._ [_Aside._] There, there he is; now let it work: now play thy
part, jealousy, and twinge 'em: put 'em between thy mill-stones, and
grind the rogues together.

_Diom._ My lord, I am by Ajax sent to inform you,
This hour must end the truce.

_AEn._ to _Troil._ Contain yourself:
Think where we are.

_Diom._ Your stay will be unsafe.

_Troil._ It may, for those I hate.

_Thers._ [_Aside._] Well said, Trojan: there's the first hit.

_Diom._ Beseech you, sir, make haste; my own affairs call me another
way.

_Thers._ [_Aside._] What affairs? what affairs? demand that,
dolt-head! the rogue will lose a qu