Troy. Before PRIAM’S Palace. | |
| |
Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS. | |
| Tro. Call here my varlet, I’ll unarm again: | |
| Why should I war without the walls of Troy, | 4 |
| That find such cruel battle here within? | |
| Each Trojan that is master of his heart, | |
| Let him to field; Troilus, alas! has none. | |
| Pan. Will this gear ne’er be mended? | 8 |
| 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, | |
| Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, | 12 |
| Less valiant than the virgin in the night, | |
| And skilless as unpractis’d infancy. | |
| Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I’ll not meddle nor make no further. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding. | |
| Tro. Have I not tarried? | 16 |
| 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. | 20 |
| 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; | 24 |
| 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, | 28 |
| As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain, | |
| Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, | |
| I have—as when the sun doth light a storm— | |
| Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile; | 32 |
| But sorrow, that is couch’d in seeming gladness, | |
| Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. | |
| 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,— | 36 |
| 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; | 40 |
| Pour’st in the open ulcer of my heart | |
| Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; | |
| Handlest in thy discourse, O! that her hand, | |
| In whose comparison all whites are ink, | 44 |
| Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure | |
| The cygnet’s down is harsh, and spirit of sense | |
| Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou tell’st me, | |
| As true thou tell’st me, when I say I love her; | 48 |
| But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, | |
| Thou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me | |
| The knife that made it. | |
| Pan. I speak no more than truth. | 52 |
| Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. | |
| Pan. Faith, I’ll not meddle in’t. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, ’tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands. | |
| Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus! | |
| Pan. I have had my labour for my travail; ill-thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between, and between, but small thanks for my labour. | 56 |
| Tro. What! art thou angry, Pandarus? what! with me? | |
| Pan. Because she’s 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; ’tis all one to me. | |
| Tro. Say I she is not fair? | |
| Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She’s a fool 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 i’ the matter. | 60 |
| Tro. Pandarus,— | |
| 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. An alarum. | 64 |
| Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds! | |
| Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, | |
| When with your blood you daily paint her thus. | |
| I cannot fight upon this argument; | 68 |
| It is too starv’d a subject for my sword. | |
| But Pandarus,—O gods! how do you plague me. | |
| I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar; | |
| And he’s as tetchy to be woo’d to woo | 72 |
| As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. | |
| Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love, | |
| What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? | |
| Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl: | 76 |
| Between our Ilium and where she resides | |
| Let it be call’d the wild and wandering flood; | |
| Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar | |
| Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark. | 80 |
| |
Alarum. Enter ÆNEAS. | |
| Æne. How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield? | |
| Tro. Because not there: this woman’s answer sorts, | |
| For womanish it is to be from thence. | 84 |
| What news, Æneas, from the field to-day? | |
| Æne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. | |
| Tro. By whom, Æneas? | |
| Æne. Troilus, by Menelaus. | 88 |
| Tro. Let Paris bleed: ’tis but a scar to scorn; | |
| Paris is gor’d with Menelaus’ horn. [Alarum. | |
| Æne. Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day! | |
| Tro. Better at home, if ‘would I might’ were ‘may.’ | 92 |
| But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither? | |
| Æne. In all swift haste. | |
| Tro. Come, go we then together. [Exeunt. | |
