Part 6

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