Cressida.
Tro.
Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn is cold.
Cres.
Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down;
He shall unbolt the gates.
Tro.
Trouble him not;
To bed, to bed: Sleep kill3 note
those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses,
As infants' empty of all thought4 note
!
Cres.
Good morrow then.
Tro.
Pr'ythee now, to bed.
Cres.
Are you aweary of me?
Tro.
O Cressida! but that the busy day,
Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows5 note,
And dreaming night will hide our joys6 note no longer,
I would not from thee.
Cres.
Night hath been too brief.
Tro.
Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights7 note she stays,
As tediously8 note
as hell; but flies the grasps of love,
-- 364 --
With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
You will catch cold, and curse me.
Cres.
Pr'ythee, tarry;—
You men will never tarry.—
O foolish Cressid!—I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's one up.
Pan. [Within.]
What, are all the doors open
here?
Tro.
It is your uncle.
Enter Pandarus8 note
.
Cres.
A pestilence on him! now will he be mocking:
I shall have such a life,—
Pan.
How now, how now? how go maidenheads?
—Here, you maid! where's my cousin Cressid?
Cres.
Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
You bring me to do9 note
, and then you flout me too.
-- 365 --
Pan.
To do what? to do what?—let her say
what: what have I brought you to do?
Cres.
Come, come; beshrew your heart! you'll ne'er be good,
Nor suffer others.
Pan.
Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor capocchio1 note
!—hast
not slept to-night? would he not, a
naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him!
[Knocking.
Cres.
Did I not tell you?—'would he were knock'd o'the head!—
Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see.—
My lord, come you again into my chamber:
You smile, and mock me, as if2 note
I meant naughtily.
Tro.
Ha, ha!
Cres.
Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing.—
[Knocking.
How earnestly they knock!—pray you, come in;
I would not for half Troy have you seen here.
[Exeunt Troilus and Cressida.
Pan. [Going to the door.]
Who's there? what's
-- 366 --
the matter? will you beat down the door? How
now? what's the matter?
Enter Æneas.
Æne.
Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
Pan.
Who's there? my lord Æneas? By my
troth, I knew you not: what news with you so
early?
Æne.
Is not prince Troilus here?
Pan.
Here! what should he do here?
Æne.
Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny
him; it doth import him much, to speak with me.
Pan.
Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I know,
I'll be sworn:—For my own part, I came in late:
What should he do here?
Æne.
Who!—nay, then:—Come, come, you'll
do him wrong ere you are 'ware: You'll be so true
to him, to be false to him: Do not you know of
him, but yet go fetch3 note
him hither; Go.
As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus.
Tro.
How now? what's the matter?
Æne.
My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
My matter is so rash4 note
: There is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
Deliver'd to us5 note
; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
-- 367 --
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Cressida.
Tro.
Is it so concluded?
Æne.
By Priam, and the general state of Troy:
They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
Tro.
How my achievements mock me6 note
!
I will go meet them: and, my lord Æneas,
We met by chance; you did not find me here7 note
.
Æne.
Good, good, my lord; the secrets of nature
Have not more gift in taciturnity8 note
.
[Exeunt Troilus and Æneas.
Pan.
Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost? The
devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad.
-- 368 --
A plague upon Antenor! I would, they had broke's
neck!
Enter Cressida.
Cres.
How now? What is the matter? Who was here?
Pan.
Ah, ah!
Cres.
Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my lord gone?
Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?
Pan.
'Would I were as deep under the earth as
I am above!
Cres.
O the gods!—what's the matter?
Pan.
Pr'ythee, get thee in; 'Would thou had'st
ne'er been born! I knew, thou would'st be his
death:—O poor gentleman!—A plague upon Antenor!
Cres.
Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees,
I beseech you, what's the matter?
Pan.
Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be
gone; thou art changed for Antenor: thou must to
thy father, and be gone from Troilus; 'twill be his
death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.
Cres.
O you immortal gods!—I will not go.
Pan.
Thou must.
Cres.
I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father;
I know no touch of consanguinity9 note
;
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me,
As the sweet Troilus.—O you gods divine!
Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood1 note
,
If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,
-- 369 --
Do to this body what extremes* note you can;
But the strong base and building of my love2 note
Is as the very center of the earth,
Drawing all things to it.—I'll go in, and weep;—
Pan.
Do, do.
Cres.
Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks;
Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy3 note
.
[Exeunt.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
