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John Dryden [1679], Troilus and Cressida, or, truth Found too Late. A tragedy As it is Acted at the Dukes Theatre. To which is Prefix'd, A Preface Containing the Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy. Written by John Dryden Servant to his Majesty (Printed for Abel Swall... and Jacob Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S33000].
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SCENE II. Pandarus, Cressida.

Pand.

Yonder he stands poor wretch! there stands he, with such a look, and such a face, and such begging eyes; there he stands poor prisoner.

Cressi.

What a deluge of words do you pour out Uncle, to say just nothing?

-- 15 --

Pand.

Nothing do you call it, is that nothing, do you call it nothing? why he looks for all the World, like one of your rascally Malefactors, just thrown off the Gibbet, with his cap down, his arms ty'd down, his feet sprunting, his body swinging, nothing do you call it? this is nothing with a vengeance.

Cressi.

Or, what think you of a hurt bird, that flutters about with a broken wing?

Pand.

Why go to then, he cannot fly away then, then, that's certain, that's undoubted: there he lies to be taken up: but if you had seen him, when I said to him, take a good heart man, and follow me: and fear no colours, and speak your mind man: she can never stand you: she will fall, and 'twere a leaf in Autumn.

Cress.

Did you tell him all this without my consent?

Pand.

Why you did consent, your eyes consented; they blab'd, they leer'd, their very corners blabb'd. But you'll say your tongue sayd nothing. No I warrant it: your tongue was wiser; your tongue was better bred: your tongue kept its own counsell: Nay, I'le say that for you, your tongue sayd nothing. Well such a shame fac'd couple did I never see days o' my life: so fraid of one another; such ado to bring you to the business: well if this job were well over, if ever I lose my pains again with an awkard couple, let me be painted in the signe-post for the Labour in vain: fye upon't, fye upon't; there's no conscience in't: all honest people will cry shame on't.

Cress.

Where is this Monster to be shown? what's to be given for a sight of him?

Pand

Why ready money, ready money; you carry it about you: give and take is square-dealing; for in my conscience he's as errant a maid as you are: I was fain to use violence to him, to pull him hither: and he pull'd and I pull'd: for you must know he's absolutely the strongest youth in Troy: to'ther day he took Hellen in one hand, and Paris in to'ther, and danc'd 'em at one another at arms-end, and 'twere two Moppets: there was a back, there were bone and Sinnews: there was a back for you.

Cressi.

For these good procuring Offices you'l be damn'd one day Uncle.

Pand.

Who I damn'd? faith I doubt I shall: by my troth I think I shall, nay if a man be damn'd for doing good, as thou saist, it may go hard with me.

Cressi.

Then I'le not see Prince Troilus, I'le not be accessary to your damnation.

Pand.

How, not see Prince Troilus? why I have engag'd, I have promis'd, I have past my word, I care not for damning, let me alone for damning; I vallue not damning in comparison with my word. If I am damn'd it shall be a good damning to thee girl, thou shalt be my

-- 16 --

heir, come 'tis a virtuous girl, thou shalt help me to keep my word, thou shalt see Prince Troilus.

Cressi.

The ventures great.

Pand.

No venture in the World, thy Mother ventur'd it for thee, and thou shalt venture it for my little Cousin that must be.

Cressi.

Weigh but my fears, Prince Troilus is young.—

Pand.

Marry is he, there's no fear in that I hope, the fear were if he were old and feeble.

Cressi.

And I a woman.

Pand.

No fear yet, thou art a Woman, and he's a Man, put them two together, put 'em together.

Cressi.

And if I shou'd be frail.—

Pand.

There's all my fear that thou art not frail: thou shou'dst be frail, all flesh is frail.

Cressi.

Are you my Uncle, and can give this counsel to your own Brothers daughter.

Pand.

If thou wert my own daughter a thousand times over, I cou'd do no better for thee, what wou'dst thou have girl, he's a Prince and a young Prince, and a loving young Prince! an Uncle dost thou call me, by Cupid I am a father to thee; get thee in, get thee in girl, I hear him coming. And do you hear Neice! I give you leave, [Ecit Cressida. to deny a little 'twill be decent: but take heed of obstinacy, that's a vice; no obstinacy my dear Niece.

Enter Troylus.

Troil.

Now Pandarus.

Pand.

Now, my sweet Prince! have you seen my Niece? no I know you have not.

Troylus:
No Pandarus; I stalk about your doors
Like a strange Soul upon the stygian banks
Staying for waftage: O be thou my Charon,
And give me a swift transportanee to Elysium,
And fly with me to Cressida.

Pand.
Walk here a moment more: I'le bring her straight.

Troil.
I fear she will not come: most sure she will not.

Pand.

How not come, and I her Uncle! why I tell you Prince, she twitters at you. Ah poor sweet Rogue, ah little Rogue, now does she think, and think, and think again of what must be betwixt you two. Oh sweet,—oh sweet—O—what not come, and I her Uncle?

Troil.

Still thou flatter'st me; but prithee flatter still; for I wou'd hope; I wou'd not wake out of my pleasing dream: oh hope how sweet thou art! but to hope always, and have no effect of what we hope!

Pand.

Oh faint heart, faint heart! well there's much good matter in these old proverbs! No, she'll not come I warrant her; she has no

-- 17 --

blood of mine in her, not so much as will fill a flea: but if she does not come, and come, and come with a swing into your arms, I say no more, but she has renounc'd all grace, and there's an end.

Troil.

I will believe thee: go then, but be sure:

Pand.

No, you wou'd not have me go; you are indifferent: shall I go say you: speak the word then:—yet I care not: you may stand in your own light; and lose a sweet young Ladies heart: well, I shall not go then!

Troil.

Fly, fly, thou tortur'st me.

Pand.

Do I so, do I so! do I torture you indeed! well I will go.

Troil.

But yet thou dost not go?

Pand.

I go immediately, directly, in a twinkling, with a thought. yet you think a man never does enough for you: I have been labouring in your business like any Moyle. I was with Prince Paris this morning, to make your excuse at night for not supping at Court: and I found him, faith how do you think I found him; it does my heart good to think how I found him: yet you think a man never does enough for you.

Troil.

Will you go then, what's this to Cressida?

Pand.

Why you will not hear a Man; what's this to Cressida? why I found him abed, abed with Hellena by my troth: 'tis a sweet Queen, a sweet Queen, a very sweet Queen;—but she's nothing to my Cousin Cressida; she's a blowse, a gipsie, a Tawney-moor to my Cousin Cressida: and she lay with one white arm underneath the whorsons neck: oh such a white, lilly white, round, plump arm it was—and you must know it was stript up to th'elbows: and she did so kisse him, and so huggle him:—as who shou'd say—

Troil.

But still thou stay'st: what's this to Cressida?

Pand.

Why I made your excuse to your Brother Paris; that I think's to Cressida; but such an arm, such a hand, such taper fingers, tother hand was under the bed-cloths, that I saw not, I confess, that hand I saw not.

Troil.

Again thou tortur'st me.

Pand.

Nay I was tortur'd too; old as I am, I was tortur'd too: but for all that, I cou'd make a shift, to make him, to make your excuse, to make your father;—by Jove when I think of that hand, I am so ravish'd, that I know not what I say: I was tortur'd too.

[Troilus turns away discontented.

Well I go, I go; I fetch her, I bring her, I conduct her: not come quoth a, and I her Uncle!

Exit Pandarus.

Troilus.
Im'e giddy; expectation whirls me round:
The imaginary relish is so sweet,
That it enchants my sence; what will it be
When shall taste that Nectar?
It must be either death, or joy too fine

-- 18 --


For the capacity of human powers.
I fear it much: and I do fear beside,
That I shall lose distinction in my joys:
As does a battle, when they charge on heaps
A flying Enemy. Re-enter Pandarus.

Pand.

She's making her ready: she'll come straight, you must be witty now; she does so blush, and fetches her breath so short, as if she were frighted with a spright: 'tis the prettiest villain, she fetches her breath so short, as 'twere a new ta'ne Sparrow.

Troil.
Just such a passion, does heave up my breast!
My heart beats thicker than a feavourish pulse:
I know not where I am, nor what I do:
Just like a slave, at unawares encountring
The eye of Majesty:—Leade on, I'le follow.
Exeunt together.
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John Dryden [1679], Troilus and Cressida, or, truth Found too Late. A tragedy As it is Acted at the Dukes Theatre. To which is Prefix'd, A Preface Containing the Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy. Written by John Dryden Servant to his Majesty (Printed for Abel Swall... and Jacob Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S33000].
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