_Aeacus. Protesilaus. Menelaus. Paris_
_Aea_. Now then, Protesilaus, what do you mean by assaulting and
throttling Helen?
_Pro_. Why, it was all her fault that I died, leaving my house half
built, and my bride a widow.
_Aea_. You should blame Menelaus, for taking you all to Troy after such
a light-o'-love.
_Pro_. That is true; he shall answer it.
_Me_. No, no, my dear sir; Paris surely is the man; he outraged all
rights in carrying off his host's wife with him. _He_ deserves
throttling, if you like, and not from you only, but from Greeks and
barbarians as well, for all the deaths he brought upon them.
_Pro_. Ah, now I have it. Here, you—you _Paris! you_ shall not escape
my clutches.
_Pa_. Oh, come, sir, you will never wrong one of the same gentle craft
as yourself. Am I not a lover too, and a subject of your deity? against
love you know (with the best will in the world) how vain it is to
strive; 'tis a spirit that draws us whither it will.
_Pro_. There is reason in that. Oh, would that I had Love himself here
in these hands!
_Aea_. Permit me to charge myself with his defence. He does not
absolutely deny his responsibility for Paris's love; but that for your
death he refers to yourself, Protesilaus. You forgot all about your
bride, fell in love with fame, and, directly the fleet touched the
Troad, took that rash senseless leap, which brought you first to shore
and to death.
_Pro_. Now it is my turn to correct, Aeacus. The blame does not rest
with me, but with Fate; so was my thread spun from the beginning.
_Aea_. Exactly so; then why blame our good friends here?