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