University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Troy.
Priam, Hector, Troilus, Æneas.
Priam.
After th' expence of so much time and blood,
Thus once again the Grecians send to Troy.
Deliver Hellen, and all other loss
Shall be forgotten Hector, what say you to't?

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,
Then Hector is; for modest doubt is mix'd
With manly courage best, let Hellen go.
If we have lost so many lives of ours,
To keep a thing not ours; not worth to us
The vallue of a man, what reason is there
Still to retain the cause of so much ill?

Troil.
Fy, fy, 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 consider'd,
When a Kings fame is question'd?

Hect.
Brother, she's not worth
What her defence has cost us.

Troil.
What's ought but as 'tis vallued?

Hect.
But vallue dwels not in opinion only:
It holds the dignity and estimation,
As well, wherein 'tis precious of it self.
As in the prizer, 'tis Idolatry
To make the Service greater than the God.

Troil.
We turn not back the Silks upon the Merchant
When we have worn 'em: the remaining food
Throw not away because we now are full.
If you confess 'twas wisedome Paris went,
As you must needs; for you all cry'd go, go,
If you'll confess he brought home noble prize
As you must needs, for you all clapt your hands,
And cry'd inestimable: why do you now
So underrate the vallue of your purchase?
For let me tell you 'tis unmanly theft
When we have taken what we fear to keep!

Æne.
There's not the meanest Spirit in our party
Without a heart to dare, or Sword to draw,
When Hellen is defended: none so noble
Whose life were ill bestowed, or death unfam'd,
When Hellen is the Subject.

Priam.
So says Paris.
Like one besotted on effeminate joys,
He has the honey still, but these the gall.

Æneas.
He not proposes meerly to himself
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it:
But he wou'd have the stain of Hellen's rape
Wip'd off in honourable keeping her.

Hect.
Troilus and Æneas you have sayd:
If saying superficiall things be reason.
But if this Hellen be anothers wife,
The Morall laws of Nature and of Nation's
Speak loud she be restor'd: thus to persist
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong,
But makes it much more so: Hectors opinion
Is this, is in way of truth: yet ne'retheless
My sprightly Brother I encline to you
In resolution to defend her still:
For 'tis a cause on which our Trojan honour
And common reputation will depend.

Troil.
Why there you touch'd the life of our designe:
Were it not glory that we covet more
Then war and vengeance (beasts and womens pleasure)
I woud not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defence: But oh my Brother
She is a subject of renoun and honour,
And I presume brave Hector wou'd not lose
The rich advantage of his future fame
For the wide worlds revenew:—I have business;
But glad I am to leave you thus resolv'd.
When such arms strike, ne're doubt of the success.

Æneas.
May we not guesse?

Troil.
You may, and be deceiv'd.

[Exit Troil.
Hect.
A woman on my life: ev'n so it happens,
Religion, state affairs, whater'es the theme
It ends in women still.

Enter Andromache.
Priam.
See here's your wife
To make that maxim good.

Hect.
Welcome Andromache: your looks are cheerfull;
You bring some pleasing news.

Andro.
Nothing that's serious.
Your little Son Astyanax has employ'd me
As his Ambassadresse.

Hect.
Upon what errand?

Andro.
No less then that his Grandfather this day
Would make him Knight: he longs to kill a Grecian:
For shou'd he stay to be a man, he thinks
Youll kill 'em all; and leave no work for him.

Priam.
Your own blood, Hector.

Andro.
And therefore he designes to send a challenge
To Agamemnon, Ajax, or Achilles
To prove they do not well to burn our fields;
An keep us coop'd like prisner's in a Town:
To lead this lazy life.

Hect.
What sparks of honour
Fly from this child! the God's speak in him sure:
—It shall be so—I'le do't.

Priam.
What means my Son?

Hect.
To send a challenge to the boldest Greek;
Is not that Country ours? those fruitfull Fields
Wash'd by yon Silver stood, are they not ours?
Those teeming Vines that tempt our longing eyes,
Shall we behold e'm? shall we call e'm ours
And date not make e'm so? by Heavens I'le know
Which of these haughty Grecians, dares to think
He can keep Hector prisner here in Troy.

Priam.
If Hector only were a private Man,
This wou'd be courage, but in him 'tis madness
The general safety on your life depends;
And shou'd you perish in this rash attempt
Troy with a groan, would feel her Soul go out:
And breath her last in you.

Æneas.
The task you undertake is hazardous:
Suppose you win, what wou'd the profit be?
If Ajax or Achilles fell beneath
Your thundring Arm, wou'd all the rest depart?
Wou'd Agamemnon, or his injur'd Brother
Set sayl for this? then it were worth your danger:
But, as it is, we throw our utmost stake
Against whole heaps of theirs.

Priam.
He tells you true.

Æneas.
Suppose one, Ajax, or Achilles lost.
They can repair with more that single loss:
Troy has but one, one Hector.

Hect.
No Æneas?
What then art thou; and what is Troilus?
What will Astyanax be?

Priam.
An Hector one day.
But you must let him live to be a Hector.
And who shall make him such when you are gone?
Who shall instruct his tenderness in arms,
Or give his childhood lessons of the war?
Who shall defend the promise of his youth
And make it bear in Manhood? the young Sappling
Is shrowded long beneath the Mother tree
Before it be transplanted from its Earth,
And trust it self for growth.

Hect.
Alas, my Father!
You have not drawn one reason from yourself,
But publick safety, and my Sons green years:
In this neglecting that main argument
Trust me you chide my filiall piety:
As if I cou'd be won from my resolves
By Troy, or by my Son, or any name
More dear to me than yours.

Priam.
I did not name my self; because I know
When thou art gone, I need no Grecian Sword,
To help me dye, but only Hectors loss.
Daughter, why speak not you? why stand you silent?
Have you no right in Hector, as a wife?

Andro.
I would be worthy to be Hectors wife:
And had I been a Man, as my Soul's one
I had aspir'd a nobler name, his friend.
How I love Hector, (need I say I love him?)
I am not but in him:
But when I see him arming for his Honour,
His Country and his Gods, that martial fire
That mounts his courage, kindles ev'n to me:
And when the Trojan Matrons wait him out
With pray'rs, and meet with blessings his return;
The pride of Virtue, beats within my breast,
To wipe away the sweat and dust of War:
And dress my Heroe, glorious in his wounds.

Hect.
Come to my Arms, thou manlier Virtue come;
Thou better Name than wife! wou'dst thou not blush
[Embrace.
To hug a coward thus?

Priam.
Yet still I fear!

Andro.
There spoke a woman, pardon Royal Sir;
Has he not met a thousand lifted Swords,
Of thick rank'd Grecians, and shall one affright him?
There's not a day but he encounters Armies;
And yet as safe, as if the broad brim'd Shield
That Pallas wears, were held 'twixt him and death.

Hect.
Thou knowst me well; and thou shalt praise me more,
Gods make me worthy of thee!

Andro.
You shall be
My Knight this day, you shall not wear a cause
So black as Hellens rape upon your breast,
Let Paris fight for Hellen; guilt for guilt,
But when you fight for Honour and for me,
Then let our equal Gods behold an Act,
They may not blush to Crown.

Hect.
Æneas go.
And bear my Challenge to the Grecian Camp,
If there be one amongst the best of Greece,
Who holds his honour higher then his ease,
Who knows his valour, and knows not his fear;
Who loves his Mistress more then in confession:
And dares avow her beauty and her worth,
In other Arms then hers; to him this Challenge.
I have a Lady of more truth and beauty,
Then ever Greek did compass in his arms:
And will to morrow, with the Trumpets call,
Mid-way, between their Tents, and these our Walls,
Maintains what I have said, if any come
My Sword shall honour him, if none shall dare,
Then shall I say at my return to Troy,
The Grecian dames, are Sun-burnt, and not worth
The splinter of a Lance.

Æneas.
It shall be told 'em,
As boldly as you gave it.

Priam.
Heav'n protect thee.

[Exeunt Omnes.