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TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
From isles of Greece
In Troy there lies the scene.
With wanton Paris sleeps,-and that's the quarrel.
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
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
Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are;
Before Priam's Palace.
Enter TROILUS, armed, and PANDARUS.
TRO. Call here my varlet, I'll unarm again:
TRO. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
PAN. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part I'll not meddle nor make no farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.
TRO. Have I not tarried?
PAN. Ay, the grinding: but you must tarry the bolting. TRO. Have I not tarried?
PAN. Ay, the bolting: but you must tarry the leavening. TRO. Still have I tarried.
PAN. Ay, to the leavening: but here 's yet in the word hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking: nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.
TRO. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,—
So, traitor! when she comes!-When is she thence?
PAN. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.
TRO. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart,
As wedged with a sigh would rive in twain;
But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness
PAN. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her.—But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but—
TRO. O, Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,—
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, she is fair;
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Hard as the palm of ploughman;-this thou tell'st me,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
PAN. I speak no more than truth. TRO. Thou dost not speak so much. PAN. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in 't. if she be fair 't is the better for her; the mends in her own hands.
Let her be as she is: an she be not she has
TRO. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus?
PAN. I have had my labour for my travel; ill-thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.
TRO. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?
PAN. Because she is kin to me, therefore she 's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a black-a-moor; 't is all one to me.
TRO. Say I she is not fair?
She's a fool
PAN. I do not care whether you do or no. to stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the matter.
PAN. Not I.
TRO. Sweet Pandarus,
PAN. Pray you, speak no more to me; I will leave all as I found it, and there an end. [Exit PANDARUS.
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
Alarum. Enter ENEAS.
ENE. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield?
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, Eneas, from the field to-day?
ÆNE. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Troilus, by Menelaus.
TRO. Let Paris bleed: 't is but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn.
ENE. Hark! what good sport is out of town to-day! TRO. Better at home, if "would I might" were "may."But to the sport abroad:—Are you bound thither?
CRES. Who were those went by?
CRES. And whither go they?
Up to the eastern tower,
Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;
What was his cause of anger? ALEX. The noise goes, this: There is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
They call him Ajax.
Good; and what of him? ALEX. They say he is a very man per se, And stands alone.
CRES. So do all men; unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.
ALEX. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath