IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Their warlike 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 Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are; 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 the oven, and the baking: nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance 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, Tro. I was about to tell thee,—when my heart, 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,— Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; 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. 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. 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-amoor; '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. 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. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds! Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, Ene. How now, prince Troilus! wherefore not afield? Tro. Because not there: this woman's answer sorts, For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Æneas, from the field to-day? Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. Tro. By whom, Æneas? Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. 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 :- Come; go we, then, together. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The Same. A Street. Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER. Cres. Who were those went by? Alex. Queen Hecuba, and Helen. Cres. And whither go they? In Hector's wrath. A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; Cres. 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 so crowded humours, that his valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of it. He is melancholy without cause, and merry against the hair: he hath the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of joint, that he is a Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too. He'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that; and there's Troilus will not come far behind him: let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too. Cres. What, is he angry too? Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two. Cres. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison. Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him? Cres. Ay; if I ever saw him before, and knew him. Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. Cres. Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector. Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees. Cres. Then, Troilus should have too much: if she praised him above, his complexion is higher than his : he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose. Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris. Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed. Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th' other day into the compassed window; and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin. Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetick may soon bring his particulars therein to a total. Pan. Why, he is very young; and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector. Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter? Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him :she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin, Cres. Juno have mercy! How came it cloven? Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia. Cres. O! he smiles valiantly. Pan. Does he not? Cres. O! yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. Pan. Why, go to then.-But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus, Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so. Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg. Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the shell. Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled his chin :-indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess. Cres. Without the rack. Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin. Cres. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer. Pan. But, there was such laughing: queen Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. Cres. With mill-stones. Pan. And Cassandra laughed. Cres. But there was more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes: did her eyes run o'er too? Pan. And Hector laughed. Cres. At what was all this laughing? Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin. Cres. An't had been a green hair I should have laughed too. Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at his pretty answer. Cres. What was his answer? Pan. Quoth she, "Here's but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white." Čres. This is her question. Pan. That's true; make no question of that. "Two and fifty hairs," quoth he, "and one white: that white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons." "Jupiter!" quoth she, "which of these hairs is Paris, my husband?" "The forked one," quoth he; "pluck't out, and give it him." But there was such laughing, and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed. Pan. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good-Look you what hacks are on his helmet! look you yonder, do you see? look you there. There's no jesting: there's laying on, tak't off who will, as they say; there be hacks? Cres. Be those with swords? PARIS passes over. Pan. Swords? any thing, he cares not; an the devil come to him, it's all one: by god's lid, it does one's heart good.-Yonder comes Paris; yonder comes Paris: look ye yonder, niece: is't not a gallant man too, is't not? Why, this is brave now.— -Who said he came hurt home to-day? he's not hurt: why, this will do Helen's heart good now. Ha! would I could see Troilus now.-You shall see Troilus anon. Cres. Who's that? HELENUS passes over. Pan. That's Helenus.-I marvel, where Troilus is. That's Helenus.-I think he went not forth to-day. That's Helenus. Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle? Pan. Helenus? no;-yes, he'll fight indifferent well. Pan. Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus.-'Tis Troilus! there's a man, niece!-Hem!-Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry! look well upon him, niece: look you how his sword is Cres. Here come more. Pan. Asses, fools, dolts, chaff and bran, chaff and bran; porridge after meat. I could live and die i'the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look: the eagles are gone; crows and daws, crows and daws. I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon and all Greece. Cres. There is among the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus. Pan. Achilles? a drayman, a porter, a very camel. Pan. Well, well?-Why, have you any discretion? have you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man? Cres. Ay, a minced man: and then to be baked with no date in the pye,-for then the man's date's out. Pan. You are such a woman! one knows not at what ward you lie. Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to defend mine honesty; upon my mask, to defend my beauty; and upon you, to defend all these and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand watches. Pan. Say one of your watches. Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the chiefest of them too: if I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the blow, unless it swell past hiding, and then it's past watching. I Pan. You are such another! Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. Boy. At your own house; there he unarms him. doubt he be hurt.-Fare ye well, good niece. Pan. I'll be with you, niece, by and by. Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. Cres. By the same token, you are a bawd.— [Exit PANDARUS. Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is: Cres. Peace! for shame; peace! [Exit. SCENE III.-The Grecian Camp. Before AGAMEM-I give to both your speeches, which were such, NON'S Tent. Sennet. Enter AGAMEMNON, NESTOR, ULYSSES, MENELAUS, and others. Agam. Princes, What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? In all designs begun on earth below, Fails in the promis'd largeness: checks and disasters As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand; That gav't surmised shape. Why then, you princes, In fortune's love; for then, the bold and coward, Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat, Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth, But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut, Like Perseus' horse: where's then the saucy boat, In storms of fortune: for, in her ray and brightness, As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece Agam. Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect That matter needless, of importless burden, Ulyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, The specialty of rule hath been neglected: Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, And posts, like the commandment of a king, What plagues, and what portents! what mutiny! The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixure! O! when degree is shak'd, The enterprize is sick. How could communities, And the rude son should strike his father dead: And flies fled under shade, why then, the thing of Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong, (Between whose endless jar justice resides) And appetite, an universal wolf, So doubly seconded with will and power, Must make perforce an universal prey, And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, And this neglection of degree it is, That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose |