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| In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece |
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| The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf'd, |
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| Have to the port of Athens sent their ships |
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| Fraught with the ministers and instruments |
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| Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore |
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| Their crownets regal from the Athenian bay |
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| Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made |
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| To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures |
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| The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, |
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| With wanton Paris sleeps—and that's the quarrel. |
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| To Tenedos they come, |
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| And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge |
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| Their war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains |
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| The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch |
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| Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, |
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| Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Troien, |
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| And Antenorides, with massy staples |
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| And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, |
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| Sperr up the sons of Troy. |
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| Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits |
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| On one and other side, Troyan and Greek, |
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| Sets all on hazard. And hither am I come |
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| A prologue arm'd, but not in confidence |
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| Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited |
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| In like conditions as our argument, |
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| To tell you, fair beholders, that our play |
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| Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, |
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| Beginning in the middle; starting thence away, |
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| To what may be digested in a play. |
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| Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are; |
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| Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. |
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