PROLOGUE. 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 And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 3 Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, To tell you, fair beholders, that our play Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are; 1 Proud, disdainful. * Shut. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. 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, That find such cruel battle here within? Each Trojan, that is master of his heart, Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none. Pan. Will this geer 'ne'er be mended? Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant ; Tamer than sleep, fonder' than ignorance; 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? 5 Servant. 6 Habit. 7. Weaker. 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! thence? When is she Pan. Well, she look'd 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; Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, I have (as when the sun doth light a storm,) Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: 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, 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 Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seisure As true thou tell'st me, when I say, - I love her; 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 travel; thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour. ill 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, ás 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 in the matter. Tro. Pandarus,— Tro. Sweet Pandarus, Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me ; leave all as I found it, and there an end. I will [Exit PANDARUS. An Alarum. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds! Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. Alarum. Enter ENEAS. Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not a-field? 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. Ene. Tro. By Menelaus. Let him bleed. Ene. Hark! what good sport is out of town to-day! 1 Suits. |