Alexander, her Servant.
Cre.
Who were those went by?
Ser.
Queen Hecuba and Helen.
Cre.
And whither go they?
Ser.
Up to th' eastern tower,
Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the fight. Hector, whose patience
Is, as the Virtue, fix'd, to day was mov'd:(5) note
He chid Andromache, and struck his armorer;
And like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the Sun rose, he was harness-dight,(6) note
And to the field goes he; where ev'ry flower
Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw,
In Hector's wrath.
-- 13 --
Cre.
What was his cause of anger?
Ser.
The noise goes thus; There is among the Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector,
They call him Ajax.
Cre.
Good; and what of him?
Ser.
They say, he is a very man per se, and stands
alone.
Cre.
So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or
have no legs.
Ser.
This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their
particular additions; he is as valiant as the lyon, churlish
as the bear, slow as the elephant; a man into whom Nature
hath so crouded humours, that his valour is crusht
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 gouty Briareus, many hands and no
use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.
Cre.
But how should this man, that makes me smile,
make Hector angry?
Ser.
They say, he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle
and struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof
hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.
Enter Pandarus.
Cre.
Who comes here?
Ser.
Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
Cre.
Hector's a gallant man.
Ser.
As may be in the world, lady.
Pan.
What's that? what's that?
Cre.
Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.
Pan.
Good morrow, cousin Cressid; what do you talk
of?(7) note Good morrow, Alexander;—how do you, cousin?
when were you at Ilium?
-- 14 --
Cre.
This morning, uncle.
Pan.
What were you talking of, when I came? was
Hector arm'd and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? Helen
was not up? was she?
Cre.
Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
Pan.
E'en so; Hector was stirring early.
Cre.
That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan.
Was he angry?
Cre.
So he says, here.
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.
Cre.
What is he angry too?
Pan.
Who, Troilus?—Troilus is the better man of the two.
Cre.
Oh, Jupiter! there's no comparison.
Pan.
What, not between Troilus and Hector? do you
know a man, if you see him?
Cre.
Ay, if I ever saw him before, and knew him.
Pan.
Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.
Cre.
Then you say, as I say; for, I am sure, he is not
Hector.
Pan.
No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees.
Cre.
'Tis just to each of them, he is himself.
Pan.
Himself? alas, poor Troilus! I would he were.
Cre.
So he is.
Pan.
'Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India.
-- 15 --
Cre.
He is not Hector.
Pan.
Himself? no, he's not himself; would, he were
himself! well, the Gods are above; time must friend,
or end; well, Troilus, well, I would, my heart were
in her body!—no, Hector is not a better man than
Troilus.
Cre.
Excuse me.
Pan.
He is elder.
Cre.
Pardon me, pardon me.
Pan.
Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me
another tale, when th' other's come to't: Hector shall
not have his wit this year.
Cre.
He shall not need it, if he have his own.
Pan.
Nor his Qualities.
Cre.
No matter.
Pan.
Nor his beauty.
Cre.
'Twou'd not become him, his own's better.
Pan.
You have no judgment, Neice; Helen her self
swore th' other day, that Troilus for a brown favour,
(for so 'tis, I must confess) not brown neither—
Cre.
No, but brown.
Pan.
Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cre.
To say the truth, true and not true.
Pan.
She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Cre.
Why, Paris hath colour enough.
Pan.
So he has.
Cre.
Then Troilus should have too much; if she
prais'd 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 lieve
Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a
copper nose.
Pan.
I swear to you, I think, Helen loves him better
than Paris.
Cre.
Then she's a merry Greek, indeed.
Pan.
Nay, I am sure, she does. She came to him th'
other day into the compass-window; and, you know, he
has not past three or four hairs on his chin.
Cre.
Indeed, a tapster's arithmetick may soon bring
his particulars therein to a total.
-- 16 --
Pan.
Why, he is very young; and yet will he within
three pound lift as much as his brother Hector.
Cre.
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.
Cre.
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.
Cre.
Oh, he smiles valiantly.
Pan.
Does he not?
Cre.
O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.
Pan.
Why, go to then—but to prove to you that
Helen loves Troilus,—
Cre.
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.
Cre.
If you love an addle egg, as well as you love
an idle head, you would eat chickens i'th' shell.
Pan.
I cannot chuse but laugh to think how she tickled
his chin; indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must
needs confess.
Cre.
Without the Rack.
Pan.
And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on
his chin.
Cre.
Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.
Pan.
But there was such laughing. Queen Hecuba
laught, that her eyes run o'er.
Cre.
With milstones.
Pan.
And Cassandra laught.
Cre.
But there was more temperate fire under the pot
of her eyes; did her eyes run o'er too?
Pan.
And Hector laught.
Cre.
At what was all this laughing?
Pan.
Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on
Troilus's chin.
Cre.
An't had been a green hair, I should have
laught too.
Pan.
They laught not so much at the hair, as at his
pretty answer.
-- 17 --
Cre.
What was his answer?
Pan.
Quoth she, here's but one and fifty hairs on your
chin, and one of them is white.
Cre.
This is her question.
Pan.
That's true, make no question of that: one and
fifty hairs,(8) note 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 it out and give it him:
but there was such laughing, and Helen so blush'd, and
Paris so chaft, and all the rest so laught, that it past.
Cre.
So let it now, for it has been a great while
going by.
Pan.
Well, cousin, I told you a thing Yesterday;
think on't.
Cre.
So I do.
Pan.
I'll be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep you, an
'twere a man born in April.
[Sound a retreat.
Cre.
And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle
against May.
Pan.
Hark, they are coming from the field; shall
we stand up here, and see them, as they pass towards
Ilium?(9) note good neice, do; sweet neice Cressida.
Cre.
At your pleasure.
Pan.
Here, here, here's an excellent place, here we
may see most bravely; I'll tell you them all by their
names, as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the
rest.
-- 18 --
Æneas passes over the stage.
Cre.
Speak not so loud.
Pan.
That's Æneas; is not that a brave man? he's
one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you; but mark
Troilus, you shall see anon.
Cre.
Who's that?
Antenor passes over the stage.
Pan.
That's Antenor, he has a shrewd wit, I can tell
you, and he's a man good enough; he's one o'th' soundest
judgment in Troy whosoever, and a proper man of
person; when comes Troilus? I'll shew you Troilus anon;
if he see me, you shall see him nod at me.
Cre.
Will he give you the nod?
Pan.
You shall see.
Cre.
If he do, the rich shall have more.
Hector passes over.
Pan.
That's Hector, that, that, look you, that: there's
a fellow! go thy way, Hector; there's a brave man,
neice: O brave Hector! look, how he looks! there's a
countenance! is't not a brave man?
Cre.
O brave man!
Pan.
Is he 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, take't off who will, as they say, there be hacks.
Cre.
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 godslid, it does one's
heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris:
look ye yonder, neice, is't not a gallant man too, is't
not? why, this is brave now: who said, he came home
hurt 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.
Cre.
Who's that?
-- 19 --
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.
Cre.
Can Helenus fight, uncle?
Pan.
Helenus, no—yes, he'll fight indifferent well—
I marvel, where Troilus is? hark, do you not hear the
people cry Troilus? Helenus is a priest.
Cre.
What sneaking fellow comes yonder?
Troilus passes over.
Pan.
Where! yonder? that's Deiphobus. 'Tis Troilus!
there's a man, neice—hem—brave Troilus! the
prince of chivalry!
Cre.
Peace, for shame, peace.
Pan.
Mark him, note him: O brave Troilus! look
well upon him, neice, look you how his sword is
bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than Hector's, and
how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he
ne'er saw three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go
thy way; had I a sister were a Grace, or a daughter a
Goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable man!
Paris?—Paris is dirt to him, and I warrant Helen to
change would give money to boot.
Enter common Soldiers.
Cre.
Here come more.
Pan.
Asses, fools, dolts, chaff and bran, chaff and
bran; porridge after meat. I could live and dye i'th'
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.
Cre.
There is among the Greeks Achilles, a better man
than Troilus.
Pan.
Achilles? a dray-man, a porter, a very camel.
Cre.
Well, well.
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,
-- 20 --
learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and so
forth, the spice and salt, that seasons a man?
Cre.
Ay, a minc'd man; and then to be bak'd with
no date in the pye, for then the man's date is out,—
Pan.
You are such another woman, one knows not
at what ward you lye.
Cre.
Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my
wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secresie, to defend
mine honesty; my mask to defend my beauty, and you
to defend all these; and at all these wards I lye, at a
thousand watches.
Pan.
Say one of your watches.
Cre.
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 is past
watching.
Pan.
You are such another.
Enter Boy.
Boy.
Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.
Pan.
Where?
Boy.
At your own house, there he unarms him.
Pan.
Good boy, tell him I come; I doubt, he be
hurt. Fare ye well, good neice.
Cre.
Adieu, uncle.
Pan.
I'll be with you, neice, by and by.
Cre.
To bring, uncle—
Pan.
Ay, a token from Troilus.
Cre.
By the same token, you are a bawd.
[Exit Pan.
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice,
He offers in another's enterprize:
But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see,
Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be.
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing;
Things won are done; the soul's joy lyes in doing:
That She belov'd knows nought, that knows not this;
Men prize the thing ungain'd, more than it is.
That She was never yet, that ever knew
Love got, so sweet, as when Desire did sue:
-- 21 --
Atchievement is Command; ungain'd, beseech.
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach;
That though my heart's content firm love doth bear,
Nothing of That shall from mine eyes appear.
[Exit.
Scene 3
SCENE changes to Agamemnon's Tent in the Grecian Camp.
Trumpets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Diomedes, Menelaus, with others.
Agam.
Princes,
What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?
The ample proposition, that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below,
Fails in the promis'd largeness: Checks and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd;
As knots by the conflux of meeting sap
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain
Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
Nor, Princes, is it matter new to us,
That we come short of our Suppose so far,
That after sev'n years siege, yet Troy-walls stand;
Sith every action that hath gone before,
Whereof we have record, tryal did draw
Bias and thwart; not answering the aim,
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you Princes,
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our Works?
And think them shame, which are, indeed, nought else
But the protractive tryals of great Jove,
To find persistive constancy in men?
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune's love; for then, the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin'd, and kin;
But in the wind and tempest of her frown,
Distinction with a broad and powerful fan,
-- 22 --
Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath mass, or matter by it self,
Lies rich in virtue, and unmingled.
Nest.
With due observance of thy godlike Seat,(10) note
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest words. In the reproof of Chance
Lies the true proof of men: the Sea being smooth,
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk?
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon, behold,
The strong-ribb'd Bark thro' liquid mountains cuts;
Bounding between the two moist elements,
Like Perseus' horse: Where's then the sawcy boat,
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rival'd Greatness? or to harbour fled,
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour's shew and valour's worth divide
In storms of fortune. For in her ray and brightness,
The herd hath more annoyance by the brize
Than by the tyger: but when splitting winds
Make flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
And flies get under shade; the thing of courage,
As rowz'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize;
And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key,
Returns to chiding fortune.
Ulyss.
Agamemnon,
Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
Heart of our numbers, soul, and only spirit,
In whom the tempers and the minds of all
Should be shut up: hear, what Ulysses speaks.
Besides th' applause and approbation
-- 23 --
The which, most mighty for thy place and sway,
[To Aga.
And thou, most rev'rend for thy stretcht-out life,
[To Nest.
I give to both your speeches; which were such,
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
Should hold up high in brass; and such again,
As venerable Nestor (hatch'd in silver)
Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree
On which heav'n rides, knit all the Grecians ears
To his experienc'd tongue: yet let it please Both
(Thou great, and wise) to hear Ulysses speak.
Aga.
Speak, Prince of Ithaca: we less expect,
That matter needless, of importless burthen,
Divide thy lips; than we are confident,
When rank Thersites opes his mastiff jaws,
We shall hear musick, wit, and oracle.
Ulyss.
Troy, yet upon her basis, had been down,
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master,
But for these instances.
The speciality of Rule hath been neglected;
And, look, how many Grecian Tents do stand
Hollow upon this Plain, so many hollow factions.
When that the General is not like the hive,
To whom the foragers shall all repair,
What honey is expected? degree being vizarded,
Th' unworthiest shews as fairly in the mask.
The heavens themselves, the planets, and this center,
Observe degree, priority and place,
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,
Office and custom, in all line of order:
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd
Amidst the rest, whose med'cinable eye
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil,
And posts like the command'ment of a King,
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets
In evil mixture to disorder wander,
What plagues, and what portents, what mutiny?
What raging of the Sea? shaking of earth?
-- 24 --
Commotion in the winds? frights, changes, horrors,
Divert and crack, rend, and deracinate
The unity and married calm of states
Quite from their fixure? Oh, when degree is shaken,
(Which is the ladder to all high designs)
The enterprize is sick. How could communities,
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities,
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,
The primogeniture, and due of birth,
Prerogative of age, crowns, scepters, lawrels,
(But by degree) stand in authentick place?
Take but degree away, untune that string,
And hark what discord follows; each thing meets
In meer oppugnancy. The bounded waters
Would lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid Globe:
Strength would be lord of imbecility,
And the rude son would strike his father dead:
Force would be Right; or rather, Right and Wrong(11) note
(Between whose endless jar Justice resides)
Would lose their names, and so would justice too.
Then every thing includes it self in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite (an universal wolf,
So doubly seconded with will and power)
Must make perforce an universal prey,
And last eat up it self. Great Agamemnon!
This Chaos, when degree is suffocate,
Follows the choaking:
And this neglection of degree is it,
That by a pace goes backward, in a purpose
It hath to climb. The General's disdain'd
By him one step below; he, by the next;
That next, by him beneath: so every step,
-- 25 --
Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his Superior, grows to an envious feaver
Of pale and bloodless emulation.
And 'tis this feaver that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews. To end a Tale of length,
Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength.
Nest.
Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
The feaver, whereof all our power is sick.
Aga.
The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
What is the remedy?
Ulyss.
The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
The sinew and the fore-hand of our Host,
Having his ear full of his airy fame,
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs. With him, Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed, the live-long day
Breaks scurril jests;
And with ridiculous and aukward action
(Which, slanderer, he imitation calls)
He pageants us. Sometimes, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless Deputation he puts on;
And like a strutting Player, (whose conceit
Lies in his ham-string, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage)
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested Seeming
He acts thy Greatness in: and when he speaks,
'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unsquar'd:
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt,
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
The large Achilles, on his prest-bed lolling,
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause:
Cries—excellent!—'tis Agamemnon just—
Now play me Nestor—hum, and stroke thy beard,
As he, being drest to some oration.
That's done—as near as the extremest ends(12) note
-- 26 --
Of parallels; as like, as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles still cries, excellent!
'Tis Nestor right! now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night-alarm:
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth, to cough and spit,
And with a palsie fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the rivet—and at this sport,
Sir Valour dies; cries “O!—enough, Patroclus—
Or “give me ribs of steel, I shall split all
“In pleasure of my spleen.” And, in this fashion,
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Atchievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
Success or loss, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
Nest.
And in the imitation of these twain,
(Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice) many are infect:
Ajax is grown self-will'd, and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a pace,
As broad Achilles; and keeps his tent like him;
Makes factious feasts, rails on our state of war,
Bold as an Oracle; and sets Thersites
(A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint)
To match us in comparisons with dirt;
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How hard soever rounded in with danger.
Ulyss.
They tax our policy, and call it cowardise,
Count wisdom as no member of the war;
Fore-stall our prescience, and esteem no Act
But that of hand: The still and mental parts,
That do contrive how many hands shall strike,
When fitness call them on, and know by measure
Of their observant toil, the enemies weight;
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity;
They call this bed-work Mapp'ry, closet war:(13) note
-- 27 --
So that the ram, that batters down the wall,
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize,
They place before his hand that made the engine;
Or those that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.
Nest.
Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse
Makes many Thetis' sons.
[Tucket sounds.
Aga.
What trumpet? look, Menelaus.
Men.
From Troy.
Enter Æneas.
Aga.
What would you 'fore our tent?
Æne.
Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you?
Aga.
Even this.
Æne.
May one, that is a Herald and a Prince,
Do a fair message to his kingly ears?
Aga.
With surety stronger than Achilles' arm,
'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon Head and General.
Æne.
Fair leave, and large security. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals?
Aga.
How?
Æne.
I ask, that I might waken Reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning, when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phæbus:
Which is that God in office, guiding men?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?
Aga.
This Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.
Æne.
Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,
As bending Angels; that's their fame in peace:
-- 28 --
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,(14) note
Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's Accord,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Æneas;
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips;
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If he, that's prais'd, himself bring the praise forth:
What the repining enemy commends,
That breath Fame blows, that praise sole pure transcends.
Aga.
Sir, you of Troy, call you your self Æneas?
Æne.
Ay, Greek, that is my name.
Aga.
What's your affair, I pray you?
Æne.
Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.
Aga.
He hears nought privately that comes from Troy.
Æne.
Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him;
I bring a trumpet to awake his Ear,
To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.
Aga.
Speak frankly as the wind,
It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour;
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee so himself.
-- 29 --
Æne.
Trumpet, blow loud:
Send thy brass voice thro' all these lazy tents;
And every Greek of mettle, let him know
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud.
[The trumpets sound.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A Prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father)
Who in this dull and long-continu'd truce
Is rusty grown; he bad me take a trumpet,
And to this purpose speak: Kings, Princes, Lords,
If there be one amongst the fair'st of Greece,
That holds his honour higher than his ease,
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
That knows his valour and knows not his fear,
That loves his mistress more than in confession,
(With truant vows to her own lips, he loves,)
And dare avow her beauty and her worth
In other arms than hers: to him, this Challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, (or do his best to do it)
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;
And will to morrow with his trumpet call,
Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rowze a Grecian that is true in love.
If any come, Hector shall honour him:
If none, he'll say in Troy when he retires,
The Grecian Dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth
The splinter of a lance;—even so much.
Aga.
This shall be told our lovers, lord Æneas.
If none of them have soul in such a kind,
We've left them all at home: but we are soldiers;
And may that soldier a meer recreant prove,
That means not, hath not, or is not in love!
If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
That one meets Hector; if none else, I'm he.
Nest.
Tell him of Nestor; one, that was a man
When Hector's Grandsire suckt; he is old now,
But if there be not in our Grecian Host
One Nobleman that hath one spark of fire,
-- 30 --
To answer for his love: tell him from me,
I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,
And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn;
And, meeting him, will tell him, that my lady
Was fairer than his grandam, and as chaste
As may be in the world: his youth in flood,
I'll pawn this truth with my three drops of blood.
Æne.
Now heav'ns forbid such scarcity of youth!
Ulyss.
Amen.
Aga.
Fair lord Æneas, let me touch your hand:
To our Pavillion shall I lead you first:
Achilles shall have word of this intent,
So shall each lord of Greece from tent to tent:
Your self shall feast with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a noble foe.
[Exeunt.
Manent Ulysses and Nestor.
Ulyss.
Nestor,—
Nest.
What says Ulysses?
Ulyss.
I have a young conception in my brain,
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
Nest.
What is't?
Ulyss.
This 'tis:
Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride,
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropt,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
To over-bulk us all.
Nest.
Well, and how now?
Ulyss.
This Challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
However it is spread in general name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
Nest.
The purpose is perspicuous even as Substance,(15) note
Whose grossness little characters sum up.
-- 31 --
And, in the publication, make no strain,
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya, (tho', Apollo knows,
'Tis dry enough,) will with great speed of judgment,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.
Ulyss.
And wake him to the answer, think you?
Nest.
Yes, 'tis most meet; whom may you else oppose,
That can from Hector bring his honour off,
If not Achilles? though a sportful combat,
Yet in this tryal much opinion dwells.
For here the Trojans taste our dear'st Repute
With their fin'st palate: and trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be odly pois'd
In this wild action. For the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general:
And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant-mass
Of things to come, at large. It is suppos'd,
He, that meets Hector, issues from our Choice;
And Choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
Makes merit her election; and doth boil,
As 'twere, from forth us all, a man distill'd
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
What heart from hence receives the conqu'ring part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves!
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
-- 32 --
In no less working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.
Ulyss.
Give pardon to my Speech;
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, shew our foulest wares,
And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not,
The lustre of the better, yet to shew,
Shall shew the better. Do not then consent,
That ever Hector and Achilles meet:
For both our honour and our shame in this
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.
Nest.
I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?
Ulyss.
What Glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
But he already is too insolent;
And we were better parch in Africk Sun,
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil'd,
Why, then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a Lott'ry;
And by device let blockish Ajax draw
The Sort to fight with Hector: 'mong our selves,
Give him allowance as the worthier man,
For that will physick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
His Crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion still,
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes,
Ajax, imploy'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Nest.
Ulysses, now I relish thy advice,
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon; go we to him streight;
Two curs shall tame each other; pride alone
Must tar the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone.
[Exeunt.
-- 33 --
ACT II.
Scene 1
SCENE, the Grecian Camp.
Enter Ajax and Thersites.
Ajax.
Thersites,—
Ther.
Agamemnon—how if he had boiles—
full, all over, generally.
[Talking to himself.
Ajax.
Thersites,—
Ther.
And those boiles did run—say so—
did not the General run? were not that a botchy core?
Ajax.
Dog!—
Ther.
Then there would come some matter from him:
I see none now.
Ajax.
Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear?
feel then.
[Strikes him.
Ther.
The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mungrel
beef-witted lord!
Ajax.
Speak then, you unwinnow'd'st(16) note
leaven,
speak; I will beat thee into handsomness.
-- 34 --
Ther.
I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness;
but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, than
thou learn a prayer without book: thou canst strike,
canst thou? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks!
Ajax.
Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation.
Ther.
Doest thou think, I have no sense, thou strik'st
me thus?
Ajax.
The proclamation—
Ther.
Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think.
Ajax.
Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch.
Ther.
I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, and
I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the
loathsom'st scab in Greece.
Ajax.
I say, the proclamation—
Ther.
Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles,
and thou art as full of envy at his Greatness, as
Cerberus is at Proserpina's Beauty: I, that thou bark'st
at him.
Ajax.
Mistress Thersites!—
Ther.
Thou shouldst strike him.
Ajax.
Cobloaf!
Ther.
He would pound thee into shivers with his fist,
as a sailor breaks a bisket.
Ajax.
You whorson cur!—
[Beating him.
Ther.
Do, do.
Ajax.
Thou stool for a witch!—
Ther.
Ay, do, do, thou sodden-witted lord; thou hast
no more brain than I have in my elbows: an Assinego
may tutor thee. Thou scurvy valiant ass! thou art here
but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and sold
among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou
-- 35 --
use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what
thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou!
Ajax.
You dog!
Ther.
You scurvy lord!
Ajax.
You cur!
[Beating him.
Ther.
Mars his ideot! do, rudeness; do, camel, do, do.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
Achil.
Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do you this?
How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man?
Ther.
You see him there, do you?
Achil.
Ay, what's the matter?
Ther.
Nay, look upon him.
Achil.
So I do, what's the matter?
Ther.
Nay, but regard him well.
Achil.
Well, why, I do so.
Ther.
But yet you look not well upon him; for whosoever
you take him to be, he is Ajax.
Achil.
I know that, fool.
Ther.
Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Ajax.
Therefore I beat thee.
Ther.
Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters;
his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd
his brain, more than he has beat my bones: I will buy
nine sparrows for a penny, and his Pia Mater is not
worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord (Achilles)
Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his
head, I'll tell you what I say of him.
Achil.
What?
[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes.
Ther.
I say, this Ajax—
Achil.
Nay, good Ajax.
Ther.
Has not so much wit—
Achil.
Nay, I must hold you.
Ther.
As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom
he comes to fight.
Achil.
Peace, fool!
Ther.
I would have peace and quietness, but the fool
will not: he there, that he, look you there.
Ajax.
O thou damn'd cur, I shall—
-- 36 --
Achil.
Will you set your wit to a fool's?
Ther.
No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it.
Pat.
Good words, Thersites.
Achil.
What's the quarrel?
Ajax.
I bad the vile owl go learn me the tenour of
the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Ther.
I serve thee not.
Ajax.
Well, go to, go to.
Ther.
I serve here voluntary.
Achil.
Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not
voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here
the voluntary, and you as under an impress.
Ther.
Ev'n so—a great deal of your wit too lies in
your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall have a
great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; he
were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.
Achil.
What, with me too, Thersites?
Ther.
There's Ulysses and old Nestor, (whose wit was
mouldy ere your Grandsires had nails on their toes,)(17) note
yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough up the
wair.
Achil.
What! what!
Ther.
Yes, good sooth; to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to—
Ajax.
I shall cut out your tongue.
Ther.
'Tis no matter, I shall speak as much as thou
afterwards.
Pat.
No more words, Thersites.
Ther.
I will hold my peace, when Achilles' brach bids
me, shall I?
Achil.
There's for you, Patroclus.
Ther.
I will see you hang'd like clotpoles, ere I come
any more to your Tents. I will keep where there is wit
stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
[Exit.
-- 37 --
Pat.
A good riddance.
Achil.
Marry, this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our Host,
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the Sun,
Will with a trumpet, 'twixt our Tents and Troy,
To morrow morning call some Knight to arms,
That hath a stomach, such a one that dare
Maintain I know not what: 'tis trash, farewel.
Ajax.
Farewel! who shall answer him?
Achil.
I know not, 'tis put to lott'ry; otherwise
He knew his man.
Ajax.
O, meaning you: I'll go learn more of it.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE changes to Priam's Palace in Troy.
Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus.
Pri.
After so many hours, lives, speeches spent,
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
Deliver Helen, and all damage else
(As honour, loss of time, travel, expence,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd
In hot digestion of this cormorant war)
Shall be struck off. Hector, what say you to't?
Hect.
Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I,
As far as touches my particular, yet
There is no lady of more softer bowels,
More spungy to suck in the sense of fear,
More ready to cry out, who knows what follows?
Than Hector is. The Wound of Peace is Surety,(18) note
Surety secure; but modest Doubt is call'd
-- 38 --
The beacon of the wise; the tent that searches
To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen go.
Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
Ev'ry tithe soul 'mongst many thousand dismes
Hath been as dear as Helen. I mean, of ours.
If we have lost so many tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, not worth to us
(Had it our name) the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reason which denies
The yielding of her up?
Troi.
Fie, fie, my brother:
Weigh you the worth and honour of a King
(So great as our dread father) in a scale
Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
The vast proportion of his infinite?
And buckle in a Waste most fathomless,
With spans and inches so diminutive
As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame!
Hel.
No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons,
You are so empty of them. Should not our father
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons;
Because your speech hath none, that tells him so?
Troi.
You are for dreams and slumbers, brother Priest,
You fur your gloves with reasons. Here are your reasons.
You know, an enemy intends you harm;
You know, a sword imploy'd is perillous;
And reason flies the object of all harm.
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels,
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star dis-orb'd!—Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: manhood and honour
Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect
Make livers pale, and lustyhood deject.
Hect.
Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
The holding.
Troi.
What is aught, but as 'tis valu'd?
-- 39 --
Hect.
But Value dwells not in particular will;
It holds its estimate and dignity
As well wherein 'tis precious of it self,
As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry,
To make the service greater than the God;
And the Will dotes, that is inclinable
To what infectiously it self affects,
Without some image of th' affected merit.
Troi.
I take to day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my Will;
My Will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of Will and Judgment; how may I avoid
(Although my Will distaste what is elected)
The wife I chuse? there can be no evasion
To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour.
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant,
When we have spoil'd them; nor th' remainder viands
We do not throw in unrespective place,
Because we now are full. It was thought meet,
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath of full consent bellied his sails;
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce,
And did him service: he touch'd the Ports desir'd;
And for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive,
He brought a Grecian Queen, whose youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning.(19) note
-- 40 --
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl,
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
And turn'd crown'd Kings to merchants—
If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd, go, go:)
If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clap'd your hands,
And cry'd, inestimable!) why d'you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
And do a deed that fortune never did,
Beggar that estimation which you priz'd
Richer than sea and land? O theft most base!
That we have stoln what we do fear to keep!
But thieves, unworthy of a thing so stol'n,
Who in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place!
Cas. [within.]
Cry, Trojans, cry!
Pri.
What noise? what shriek is this?
Troi.
'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.
Cas. [within.]
Cry, Trojans!
Hect.
It is Cassandra.
Enter Cassandra, with her hair about her ears.
Cas.
Cry, Trojans, cry; lend me ten thousand eyes,
And I will fill them with prophetick tears.
Hect.
Peace, sister, peace.
Cas.
Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled old,
Soft infancy, that nothing can but cry,
Add to my clamour! let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come:
Cry, Trojans, cry; practice your eyes with tears.
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand:
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a wo;
Cry, cry, Troy burns, or else let Helen go.
[Exit.
Hect.
Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains
Of Divination in our sister work
Some touches of remorse? Or is your blood
So madly hot, that no discourse of reason,
-- 41 --
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
Can qualifie the same?
Troi.
Why, brother Hector,
We may not think the justness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it;
Nor once deject the courage of our minds,
Because Cassandra's mad; her brain-sick raptures
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel,
Which hath our several honours all engag'd
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons;
And, Jove forbid! there should be done amongst us
Such things, as might offend the weakest spleen
To fight for and maintain.
Par.
Else might the world convince of levity
As well my undertakings, as your counsels:
But I attest the Gods, your full consent
Gave wings to my propension, and cut off
All fears attending on so dire a project.
For what, alas, can these my single arms?
What propugnation is in one man's valour,
To stand the push and enmity of those
This quarrel would excite? yet I protest,
Were I alone to pass the difficulties,
And had as ample Power, as I have Will,
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done,
Nor faint in the pursuit.
Pri.
Paris, you speak
Like one besotted on your sweet delights;
You have the honey still, but these the gall;
So, to be valiant, is no praise at all.
Par.
Sir, I propose not merely to my self
The pleasures such a Beauty brings with it:
But I would have the soil of her fair Rape
Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ransack'd Queen,
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
Now to deliver her possession up,
On terms of base compulsion? can it be,
That so degenerate a strain, as this,
-- 42 --
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
There's not the meanest spirit on our Party,
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw,
When Helen is defended: none so noble,
Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd,
When Helen is the subject. Then, I say,
Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well,
The world's large spaces cannot parallel.
Hect.
Paris and Troilus, you have Both said well:(20) note
But on the cause and question now in hand
Have gloz'd but superficially; not much
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought(21) note
Unfit to hear moral philosophy.
-- 43 --
The reasons, you alledge, do more conduce
To the hot passion of distemper'd blood,
Than to make up a free determination
'Twixt right and wrong: for pleasure and revenge
Have ears more deaf than adders, to the voice
Of any true decision. Nature craves,
-- 44 --
All dues be render'd to their owners; now
What nearer debt in all humanity,
Than wife is to the husband? If this law
-- 45 --
Of Nature be corrupted through affection,
And that great minds, of partial indulgence
To their benummed wills, resist the same;
There is a law in each well-order'd Nation,
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory.
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's King,
(As, it is known, she is) these moral laws
Of Nature, and of Nation, speak aloud
To have her back return'd. Thus to persist
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong,
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
Is this in way of truth; yet ne'ertheless,
My sprightly brethren, I propend to you
In resolution to keep Helen still;
For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance
Upon our joint and several Dignities.
Troi.
Why, there you touch'd the life of our design:
Were it not Glory that we more affected
Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
She is a theam of Honour and Renown,
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,
Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
And Fame, in time to come, canonize us.
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promis'd Glory,
As smiles upon the forehead of this Action,
For the wide World's revenue.
Hect.
I am yours,
You valiant Off-spring of great Priamus;
I have a roisting Challenge sent amongst
The dull and factious Nobles of the Greeks,
Will strike amazement to their drowsie spirits.
I was advertiz'd, their great General slept,
Whilst Emulation in the Army crept.
This, I presume, will wake him.
[Exeunt.
-- 46 --
Scene 3
SCENE, before Achilles's Tent, in the Grecian Camp.
Enter Thersites solus.
How now, Thersites? what, lost in the labyrinth of
thy fury? shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus?
he beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy satisfaction!
would it were otherwise; that I could beat him, whilst
he rail'd at me: 'sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise
devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations.
Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer. If Troy be not
taken 'till these two undermine it, the walls will stand
'till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter
of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the King of
Gods; and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy
Caduceus, if thou take not that little, little, less than
little wit from them that they have; which short-arm'd
ignorance it self knows is so abundant scarce, it will not
in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider, without
drawing the massy irons and cutting the web. After this,
the vengeance on the whole camp! or rather the bone-ach,
for that, methinks, is the Curse dependant on those
that war for a Placket. I have said my prayers, and
devil Envy say Amen. What ho! my lord Achilles!
Enter Patroclus.
Patr.
Who's there? Thersites? Good Thersites, come
in and rail.
Ther.
If I could have remember'd a gilt counter, thou
could'st not have slip'd out of my contemplation; but it
is no matter, thy self upon thy self! The common curse
of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great
revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline
come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction 'till
thy death, then if she, that lays thee out, says thou art
a fair coarse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she never
shrowded any but Lazars; Amen. Where's Achilles?
-- 47 --
Patr.
What, art thou devout? wast thou in prayer?
Ther.
Ay, the heav'ns hear me!
Enter Achilles.
Achil.
Who's there?
Patr.
Thersites, my lord.
Achil.
Where, where? art thou come? why, my
cheese, my digestion—why hast thou not served
thy self up to my table, so many meals? come, what's
Agamemnon?
Ther.
Thy commander, Achilles; then tell me, Patroclus,
what's Achilles?
Patr.
Thy lord, Thersites: then tell me, I pray thee,
what's thy self?
Ther.
Thy knower, Patroclus: then tell me, Patroclus,
what art thou?
Patr.
Thou may'st tell, that know'st.
Achil.
O tell, tell,—
Ther.
I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon
commands Achilles, Achilles is my lord, I am Patroclus's
knower, and Patroclus is a fool.
Patr.
You rascal—
Ther.
Peace, fool, I have not done.
Achil.
He is a privileg'd man. Proceed, Thersites.
Ther.
Agamemnon is a fool, Achilles is a fool, Thersites
is a fool, and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.
Achil.
Derive this; come.
Ther.
Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles,
Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon, Thersites
is a fool to serve such a fool, and Patroclus is a fool
positive.
Patr.
Why am I a fool?
Ther.
Make that Demand to thy Creator;—it suffices
me, thou art.
Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax,
and Calchas.
Look you, who comes here?—
Achil.
Patroclus, I'll speak with no body: come in
with me, Thersites.
[Exit.
-- 48 --
Ther.
Here is such patchery, such jugling, and such
knavery: all the argument is a cuckold and a whore,
a good quarrel to draw emulous factions, and bleed to
death upon: now the dry Serpigo on the subject, and war
and lechery confound all!
[Exit.
Aga.
Where is Achilles?
Patr.
Within his Tent, but ill dispos'd, my lord.
Aga.
Let it be known to him that we are here.
He shent our messengers, and we lay by (22) note
Our appertainments, visiting of him:
Let him be told so, lest, perchance, he think
We dare not move the question of our place;
Or know not what we are.
Patr.
I shall so say to him.
[Exit.
Ulys.
We saw him at the opening of his Tent,
He is not sick.
Ajax.
Yes, lion-sick, sick of a proud heart: you may
call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by
my head, 'tis pride; but why, why?—let him shew us
the cause. A word, my lord.
[To Agamemnon.
Nest.
What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?
Ulys.
Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.
Nest.
Who, Thersites?
Ulys.
He.
Nest.
Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his
argument.
-- 49 --
Ulys.
No, you see, he is his argument, that has his
argument, Achilles.
Nest.
All the better; their fraction is more our wish
than their faction; but it was a strong counsel, that a
fool could disunite.
Ulys.
The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may
easily untye.
Enter Patroclus.
Here comes Patroclus.
Nest.
No Achilles with him?
Ulys.
The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesie;
His legs are for necessity, not flexure.
Patr.
Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry,
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
Did move your Greatness, and this noble State,
To call on him; he hopes, it is no other,
But for your health and your digestion-sake;
An after-dinner's breath.
Aga.
Hear you, Patroclus;
We are too well acquainted with these answers:
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn,
Cannot outflie our apprehensions.
Much Attribute he hath, and much the reason
Why we ascribe it to him; yet all his virtues
(Not virtuously on his own part beheld)
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss;
And, like fair fruit in an unwholesom dish,
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him,
We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin,
If you do say, we think him over-proud,
In self-assumption greater than in note
Of judgment: say, men worthier than himself
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on,
Disguise the holy strength of their command,
And under-goe in an observing kind
His humourous predominance; yea, watch
His course and times, his ebbs and flows; as if
The passage and whole carriage of this action
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
-- 50 --
That if he over-hold his price so much,
We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine
Not portable, lye under this report,
“Bring action hither, this can't go to war:
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give,
Before a sleeping gyant; tell him so.
Patr.
I shall, and bring his answer presently.
[Exit.
Aga.
In second voice we'll not be satisfied,
We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter.
[Exit Ulysses.
Ajax.
What is he more than another?
Aga.
No more than what he thinks he is.
Ajax.
Is he so much? do you not think, he thinks
himself a better man than I am?
Aga.
No question.
Ajax.
Will you subscribe his thought, and say, he is?
Aga.
No, noble Ajax, you are as strong, as valiant,
as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether
more tractable.
Ajax.
Why should a man be proud? how doth pride
grow? I know not what it is.
Aga.
Your mind is clearer, Ajax, and your virtues
the fairer; he, that is proud, eats up himself. Pride is
his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and
whatever praises it self but in the deed, devours the deed
in the praise.
Re-enter Ulysses.
Ajax.
I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendring
of toads.
Nest.
Yet he loves himself: is't not strange?
Ulys.
Achilles will not to the field to morrow.
Aga.
What's his excuse?
Ulys.
He doth rely on none;
But carries on the stream of his dispose,
Without observance or respect of any,
In will peculiar, and in self-admission.
Aga.
Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Un-tent his person, and share the air with us?
-- 51 --
Ulys.
Things small as nothing, for request's sake only,
He makes important: he's possest with Greatness,
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at self-breath. Imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse,
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
And batters down himself; what should I say?
He is so plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it
Cry, no recovery.
Aga.
Let Ajax go to him.
Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent;
'Tis said, he holds you well, and will be led
At your request a little from himself.
Ulys.
O, Agamemnon, let it not be so.
We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord,
That bastes his arrogance with his own seam,
And never suffers matters of the world
Enter his thoughts, (save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself,) shall he be worship'd
Of That, we hold an idol more than he?
No, this thrice-worthy and right-valiant lord
Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
(As amply titled, as Achilles is,) by going to Achilles:
That were t' inlard his pride, already fat,
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.
This lord go to him? Jupiter forbid,
And say in thunder, Achilles go to him!
Nest.
O, this is well, he rubs the vein of him.
Dio.
And how his silence drinks up this applause!
Ajax.
If I go to him—with my armed fist
I'll pash him o'er the face.
Aga.
O no, you shall not go.
Ajax.
An he be proud with me, I'll pheese his pride;
let me go to him.
Ulys.
Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Ajax.
A paltry insolent fellow—
-- 52 --
Nest.
How he describes himself!
Ajax.
Can he not be sociable?
Ulys.
The raven chides blackness.
Ajax.
I'll let his humours blood.
Aga.
He'll be the physician, that should be the patient.
Ajax.
And all men were o'my mind—
Ulys.
Wit would be out of fashion.
Ajax.
He should not bear it so, he should eat swords
first: shall pride carry it?
Nest.
An 'twould, you'd carry half.
Ulys.
He would have ten shares.
Ajax.
I will knead him, I'll make him supple,—
Nest.
He's not yet through warm:(23) note
force him
with praises; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.
Ulys.
My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
Nest.
Our noble General, do not do so.
Dio.
You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
Ulys.
Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm.
Here is a man—but 'tis before his face—
I will be silent.
Nest.
Wherefore should you so?
He is not emulous, as Achilles is.
Ulys.
Know the whole world, he is as valiant.
Ajax.
A whorson dog! that palters thus with us—
Would he were a Trojan!
Nest.
What a vice were it in Ajax now—
Ulys.
If he were proud.
Dio.
Or covetous of praise.
Ulys.
Ay, or surly borne.
Dio.
Or strange, or self-affected.
Uly.
Thank the heav'ns, lord, thou art of sweet composure;
-- 53 --
Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee suck:
Fam'd be thy Tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice-fam'd beyond, beyond all erudition;
But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And gave him half; and for thy vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his Addition yields
To sinewy Ajax; I'll not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Nestor,
Instructed by the Antiquary times;
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise:
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain so temper'd,
You should not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.
Ajax.
Shall I call you father?
Ulys.
Ay, my good son.
Dio.
Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax.
Ulys.
There is no tarrying here; the Hart Achilles
Keeps thicket; please it our great General
To call together all his State of war;
Fresh Kings are come to Troy: to morrow, friends,
We must with all our main of pow'r stand fast:
And here's a lord, come Knights from East to West,
And cull their flow'r, Ajax shall cope the best.
Aga.
Go we to Council, let Achilles sleep;
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
[Exeunt.
-- 54 --
ACT III.
Scene 1
SCENE, Paris's Apartments in the Palace, in Troy.
Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. [Musick within.]
Pandarus.
Friend! you! pray you, a word: do not
you follow the young lord Paris?
Ser.
Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.
Pan.
You do depend upon him, I mean?
Ser.
Sir, I do depend upon the lord.
Pan.
You depend upon a noble gentleman: I must
needs praise him.
Ser.
The lord be praised!
Pan.
You know me, do you not?
Ser.
Faith, Sir, superficially.
Pan.
Friend, know me better, I am the lord Pandarus.
Ser.
I hope, I shall know your honour better.
Pan.
I do desire it.
Ser.
You are in the state of grace?
Pan.
Grace? not so, friend: honour and lordship are
my titles:
What musick is this?
Ser.
I do but partly know, Sir; it is musick in parts.
Pan.
Know you the musicians?
Ser.
Wholly, Sir.
Pan.
Who play they to?
Ser.
To the hearers, Sir.
Pan.
At whose pleasure, friend?
Ser.
At mine, Sir, and theirs that love musick.
-- 55 --
Pan.
Command, I mean, friend.
Ser.
Who shall I command, Sir?
Pan.
Friend, we understand not one another: I am
too courtly, and thou art too cunning. At whose request
do these men play?
Ser.
That's to't, indeed, Sir; marry, Sir, at the request
of Paris my lord, who's there in person; with him
the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible
soul.
Pan.
Who, my cousin Cressida?
Ser.
No, Sir, Helen; could you not find out That by
her attributes?
Pan.
It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen
the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the
Prince Troilus: I will make a complemental assault upon
him, for my business seethes.
Ser.
Sodden business! there's a stew'd phrase, indeed.
Enter Paris and Helen, attended.
Pan.
Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair
company! fair Desires in all fair measure fairly guide
them; especially to you, fair Queen, fair thoughts be
your fair pillow!
Helen.
Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
Pan.
You speak your fair pleasure, sweet Queen: fair
Prince, here is good broken musick.
Par.
You have broken it, cousin, and, by my life,
you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out
with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full of
harmony.
Pan.
Truly, lady, no.
Helen.
O, Sir—
Pan.
Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.
Par.
Well said, my lord; well, you say so in fits.
Pan.
I have business to my lord, dear Queen; my
lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?
Helen.
Nay, this shall not hedge us out; we'll hear
you sing, certainly.
-- 56 --
Pan.
Well, sweet Queen, you are pleasant with me;
but, marry thus, my lord;—my dear lord, and most
esteemed Friend, your brother Troilus—
Helen.
My lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord,—
Pan.
Go to, sweet Queen, go to—
Commends himself most affectionately to you.
Helen.
You shall not bob us out of our melody:
If you do, our melancholy upon your head!
Pan.
Sweet Queen, sweet Queen, that's a sweet Queen,
I'faith—
Helen.
And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sower
offence. Nay, that shall not serve your turn, that shall
it not in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words, no,
no—
Pan.
And, my lord, he desires you, that if the King
call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.
Helen.
My lord Pandarus,—
Pan.
What says my sweet Queen, my very very
sweet Queen?
Par.
What exploit's in hand, where sups he to night?
Helen.
Nay, but my lord,—
Pan.
What says my sweet Queen? my cousin will fall
out with you.
Helen.
You must not know where he sups.
Par.
I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
Pan.
No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come,
your disposer is sick.
Par.
Well, I'll make excuse.
Pan.
Ay, good my lord; why should you say, Cressida?
no, your poor disposer's sick.
Par.
I spy—
Pan.
You spy, what do you spy? come, give me
an instrument now, sweet Queen.
Helen.
Why, this is kindly done.
Pan.
My neice is horribly in love with a thing you
have, sweet Queen.
Helen.
She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my
lord Paris.
Pan.
He? no, she'll none of him, they two are
twain.
-- 57 --
Helen.
Falling in after falling out may make them
three.
Pan.
Come, come, I'll hear no more of this. I'll
sing you a song now.
Helen.
Ay, ay, pr'ythee now; by my troth, sweet
lord, thou hast a fine fore-head.
Pan.
Ay, you may, you may—
Helen.
Let thy song be love: this love will undo us
all. Oh, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!
Pan.
Love! ay, that it shall, i'faith.
Par.
Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
Pan.
In good troth, it begins so.
Love, love, nothing but love, still more:
For O, love's bow
Shoots buck and doe:
The shaft confounds
Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore:
These lovers cry, oh! oh! they dye:
Yet That, which seems the wound to kill,
Doth turn, oh! oh! to ha, ha, he:
So dying love lives still.
O ho a while, but ha, ha, ha;
O ho groans out for ha, ha, ha—hey ho!
Helen.
In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose!
Par.
He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds
hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot
thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds are love.
Pan.
Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot
thoughts, and hot deeds? why, they are vipers; is
love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who's afield
to day?
Par.
Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the
gallantry of Troy. I would fain have arm'd to day, but
my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother
Troilus went not?
Helen.
He hangs the lip at something; you know all,
lord Pandarus.
-- 58 --
Pan.
Not I, honey sweet Queen: I long to hear how
they sped to day. You'll remember your brother's
excuse?
Par.
To a hair.
Pan.
Farewel, sweet Queen.
Helen.
Commend me to your neice.
Pan.
I will, sweet Queen.
[Exit. Sound a Retreat.
Par.
They're come from field; let us to Priam's Hall,
To greet the warriors.—Sweet Helen, I must woo you
To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles,
With these your white enchanting fingers toucht,
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel,
Or force of Greekish sinews: you shall do more
Than all the island Kings, disarm great Hector.
Helen.
'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris:
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
Yea, over-shines our self.
Par.
Sweet, above thought I love thee.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE, an Orchard to Pandarus's House.
Enter Pandarus, and Troilus's Man.
Pan.
Now, where's thy master? at my cousin Cressida's?
Ser.
No, Sir, he stays you to conduct him thither.
Enter Troilus.
Pan.
O, here he comes; how now, how now?
Troi.
Sirrah, walk off.
Pan.
Have you seen my cousin?
Troi.
No, Pandarus: I stalk about her door,
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
And give me swift transportance to those fields,
Where I may wallow in the lilly beds
Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandarus,
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings,
And fly with me to Cressid.
-- 59 --
Pan.
Walk here i'th' orchard, I will bring her straight.
[Exit Pandarus.
Tro.
I'm giddy; expectation whirls me round.
Th' imaginary relish is so sweet,
That it enchants my sense; what will it be,
When that the watry palates taste, indeed,
Love's thrice-reputed nectar? death, I fear me;
Swooning destruction, or some joy too fine,
Too subtle-potent, and too sharp in sweetness,
For the capacity of my rude powers;
I fear it much, and I do fear besides,
That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
As doth a battel, when they charge on heaps
The flying enemy.
Re-Enter Pandarus.
Pan.
She's making her ready, she'll come straight;
you must be witty now. She does so blush, and
fetches her wind so short, as if she were fraid with a
sprite: I'll bring her. It is the prettiest villain, she
fetches her breath as short as a new ta'en sparrow.
[Exit Pandarus.
Troi.
Ev'n such a passion doth embrace my bosom:
My heart beats thicker than a fev'rous pulse;
And all my pow'rs do their bestowing lose,
Like Vassalage at unawares encountring
The eye of Majesty.
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
Pan.
Come, come; what need you blush? Shame's
a baby. Here she is now: swear the oaths now to
her, that you have sworn to me. What, are you
gone again? you must be watch'd ere you be made
tame, must you? come your ways, come your ways; if
you draw backward, we'll put you i'th' files:(24) note
Why
do you not speak to her? Come, draw this curtain, and
-- 60 --
let's see your picture. Alas the day, how loth you are
to offend day-light? an 'twere dark, you'd close sooner.
So, so, rub on, and kiss the mistress; how now, a kiss
in fee-farm? build there, carpenter, the air is sweet.
Nay, you shall fight your hearts out, ere I part you.
The faulcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i'th' river:
(25) note go to, go to.
Troi.
You have bereft me of all words, lady.
Pan.
Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but she'll
bereave you of deeds too, if she call your activity in
question: what, billing again? here's, in witness whereof
the parties interchangeably—come in, come in, I'll go
get a fire.
[Exit Pandarus.
Cre.
Will you walk in, my lord?
Troi.
O Cressida, how often have I wisht me thus?
Cre.
Wisht, my lord! the Gods grant—O my lord.
Troi.
What should they grant? what makes this pretty
abruption? what too curious dreg espies my sweet lady
in the fountain of our love?
Cre.
More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.
Troi.
Fears make devils of cherubins, they never see
truly.
Cre.
Blind fear, which seeing reason leads, finds safer
footing than blind reason stumbling without fear. To
fear the worst, oft cures the worse.
-- 61 --
Troi.
O, let my lady apprehend no fear; in all Cupid's
Pageant there is presented no monster.
Cre.
Nor nothing monstrous neither?
Troi.
Nothing, but our Undertakings; when we vow
to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tygers;
thinking it harder for our mistress to devise imposition
enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed.
This is the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will is
infinite, and the execution confin'd; that the desire is
boundless, and the act a slave to limit.
Cre.
They say, all lovers swear more performance
than they are able; and yet reserve an ability, that they
never perform: vowing more than the perfection of ten,
and discharging less than the tenth part of one. They
that have the voice of lions, and the act of hares, are
they not monstrous?
Troi.
Are there such? such are not we: praise us as
we are tasted, allow us as we prove: our head shall
go bare, 'till merit crown it; no perfection in reversion
shall have a praise in present; we will not name desert
before his birth, and, being born, his addition shall be
humble; few words to fair faith. Troilus shall be such
to Cressida, as what envy can say worst, shall be a mock
for his truth; and what truth can speak truest, not truer
than Troilus.
Cre.
Will you walk in, my lord?
Enter Pandarus.
Pan.
What, blushing still? have you not done talking
yet?
Cre.
Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to
you.
Pan.
I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of
you, you'll give him me; be true to my lord; if he
flinch, chide me for it.
Troi.
You know now your hostages; your uncle's word
and my firm faith.
Pan.
Nay, I'll give my word for her too; our kindred,
though they be long ere they are woo'd, they are constant,
-- 62 --
being won: they are burrs, I can tell you, they'll
stick where they are thrown.
Cre.
Boldness comes to me now, and brings me heart:
Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day,
For many weary months.
Troi.
Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?
Cre.
Hard to seem won: but I was won, my lord,
With the first glance that ever—pardon me—
If I confess much, you will play the tyrant:
I love you now; but not till now, so much
But I might master it—in faith, I lie—
My thoughts were, like unbridled children, grown
Too headstrong for their mother; see, we fools!
Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us,
When we are so unsecret to our selves?
But though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not;
And yet, good faith, I wisht my self a man:
Or that We women had mens privilege,
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue;
For in this rapture I shall surely speak
The thing I shall repent; see, see, your silence
(Cunning in dumbness) from my weakness draws
My very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth.
Troi.
And shall, albeit sweet musick issues thence.
[Kissing.
Pan.
Pretty, i'faith.
Cre.
My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;
'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss:
I am asham'd;—O heav'ns, what have I done!—
For this time will I take my leave, my lord.
Troi.
Your leave, sweet Cressid?
Pan.
Leave! an you take leave till to morrow morning—
Cre.
Pray you, content you.
Troi.
What offends you, lady?
Cre.
Sir, mine own company.
Troi.
You cannot shun your self.
Cre.
Let me go try:
I have a kind of self resides with you:
But an unkind self, that it self will leave,
-- 63 --
To be another's fool. Where is my wit?
I would be gone: I speak, I know not what.
Troi.
Well know they what they speak, that speak so wisely.
Cre.
Perchance, my lord, I shew more craft than love,
And fell so roundly to a large confession,
To angle for your thoughts: but you are wise,
Or else you love not: To be wise and love,(26) note
Exceeds man's might, and dwells with Gods above.
Troi.
O, that I thought it could be in a woman,
(As, if it can, I will presume in you,)
To feed for ay her lamp and flames of love,
To keep her constancy in plight and youth
Out-living Beauties outward; with a mind
That doth renew swifter than blood decays!
-- 64 --
Or, that perswasion could but thus convince me,
That my integrity and truth to you
Might be affronted with the match and weight
Of such a winnow'd purity in love:
How were I then up-lifted! but alas,
I am as true as truth's simplicity,
And simpler than the infancy of truth.
Cre.
In that I'll war with you.
Troi.
O virtuous fight!
When Right with Right warrs who shall be most right.
True swains in love shall in the world to come
Approve their truths by Troilus; when their rhimes,
Full of protest, of oath, and big compare,
Want similies: truth, tired with iteration,
As true as steel, as Planets to their Moons,(27) note
As Sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
As iron to adamant, as earth to th' center:
Yet after all comparisons of truth,
(As truth's authentick author to be cited)
-- 65 --
As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse,
And sanctifie the numbers.
Cre.
Prophet may you be!
If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,
When time is old and hath forgot it self,
When water-drops have worn the stones of Troy,
And blind Oblivion swallow'd Cities up,
And mighty States characterless are grated
To dusty Nothing; yet let Memory,
From false to false, among false maids in love,
Upbraid my falsehood! when they've said, as false
As air, as water, as wind, as sandy earth;
As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf;
Pard to the hind, or step-dame to her son;
Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,
As false as Cressid.—
Pan.
Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it, I'll be
the witness.—Here I hold your hand; here my cousin's;
if ever you prove false to one another, since I have
taken such pains to bring you together, let all pitiful
Goers-between be call'd to the world's end after my
name; call them all Pandars: let all constant men be
Troilus's, all false women Cressida's, and all brokers-between
Pandars: say, Amen.
Troi.
Amen.
Cre.
Amen.
Pan.
Amen. Whereupon I will shew you a bed-chamber;
which bed, because it shall not speak of your
pretty encounters, press it to death: away.
And Cupid grant all tongue-ty'd maidens here,
Bed, chamber, and Pandar to provide this Geer!
[Exeunt.
-- 66 --
Scene 3
SCENE changes to the Grecian Camp.
Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Menelaus, and Calchas.
Cal.
Now, Princes, for the service I have done you,
Th' advantage of the time prompts me aloud
To call for recompense: appear it to you,(28) note
That, through the sight I bear in things to come,
I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession,
Incurr'd a traitor's name, expos'd my self,
From certain and possest conveniences,
To doubtful fortunes; sequestred from all
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,
Made tame and most familiar to my nature:
And here, to do you service, am become
As new into the world, strange, unacquainted.
I do beseech you, as in way of taste,
To give me now a little benefit,
Out of those many registred in promise,
Which, you say, live to come in my behalf.
Aga.
What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? make demand.
Cal.
You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor,
Yesterday took: Troy holds him very dear.
Oft have you (often have you thanks therefore;)
-- 67 --
Desir'd my Cressid in right-great exchange,
Whom Troy hath still deny'd: but this Antenor,
I know, is such a wrest in their affairs,
That their negociations all must slack,
Wanting his Manage; and they will almost
Give us a Prince o' th' blood, a son of Priam,
In Change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes,
And he shall buy my daughter: and her presence
Shall quite strike off all service I have done,
In most accepted pain.
Aga.
Let Diomedes bear him,
And bring us Cressid hither: Calchas shall have
What he requests of us. Good Diomede,
Furnish you fairly for this enterchange;
Withall, bring word, if Hector will to morrow
Be answer'd in his Challenge. Ajax is ready.
Dio.
This shall I undertake, and 'tis a burthen
Which I am proud to bear.
[Exit.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their Tent.
Ulys.
Achilles stands i'th' entrance of his Tent,
Please it our General to pass strangely by him,
As if he were forgot; and, Princes all,
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him:
I will come last; 'tis like, he'll question me,
Why such unplausive eyes are bent on him?
If so, I have decision medicinable
To use between your strangeness and his pride,
Which his own will shall have desire to drink.
It may do good: Pride hath no other glass
To shew it self, but pride; for supple knees
Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees.
Aga.
We'll execute your purpose, and put on
A form of strangeness as we pass along;
So do each lord; and either greet him not,
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.
Achil.
What, comes the General to speak with me?
You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.
Aga.
What says Achilles? would he ought with us?
-- 68 --
Nest.
Would you, my lord, ought with the General?
Achil.
No.
Nest.
Nothing, my lord.
Aga.
The better.
Achil.
Good day, good day.
Men.
How do you? how do you?
Achil.
What, does the cuckold scorn me?
Ajax.
How now, Patroclus?
Achil.
Good morrow, Ajax.
Ajax.
Ha?
Achil.
Good morrow.
Ajax.
Ay, and good next day too.
[Ext.
Achil.
What mean these fellows? know they not Achilles?
Patr.
They pass by strangely: they were us'd to bend,
To send their smiles before them to Achilles,
To come as humbly as they us'd to creep
To holy altars.
Achil.
What, am I poor of late?
'Tis certain, Greatness, once fall'n out with fortune,
Must fall out with men too: what the declin'd is,
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others,
As feel in his own Fall: for men, like butter-flies,
Shew not their mealy wings but to the summer;
And not a man, for being simply man,
Hath honour, but is honour'd by those honours
That are without him; as place, riches, favour,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit:
Which when they fall, (as being slipp'ry standers)
The love that lean'd on them, as slipp'ry too,
Doth one pluck down another, and together
Dye in the Fall. But 'tis not so with me:
Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy
At ample point all that I did possess,
Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out
Something in me not worth that rich beholding,
As they have often giv'n. Here is Ulysses.
I'll interrupt his Reading.—Now, Ulysses?
Ulys.
Now, Thetis' son!
Achil.
What are you Reading?
-- 69 --
Ulys.
A strange fellow here
Writes me, that Man, how dearly ever parted,
How much in Having, or without, or in,
Cannot make boast to have That which he hath,
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
As when his virtues shining upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the first giver.
Achil.
This is not strange, Ulysses.
The beauty that is borne here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commends it self
To others eyes: nor doth the eye it self
(That most pure spirit of sense) behold it self
Not going from it self; but eyes oppos'd
Salute each other with each other's form.
For speculation turns not to it self,
'Till it hath travell'd, and is marry'd there
Where it may see its self; this is not strange.
Ulys.
I do not strain at the position,
It is familiar; but the author's drift;
Who, in his circumstance, expresly proves
That no man is the lord of any thing,
(Tho' in, and of, him there is much consisting)
'Till he communicate his parts to others;
Nor doth he of himself know them for ought,
'Till he behold them formed in th' applause
Where they're extended; which, like an arch, reverb'rates
The voice again; or, like a gate of steel
Fronting the Sun, receives and renders back
His figure and his heat. I was much wrapt in this,
And apprehended here immediately
The unknown Ajax—
Heav'ns! what a man is there? a very horse,
That has he knows not what. Nature! what Things there are,
Most abject in regard, and dear in use?
What things again most dear in the esteem,
And poor in worth? Now shall we see to morrow
An Act, that very Chance doth throw upon him:
Ajax renown'd! Oh heav'ns, what some men do,
-- 70 --
While some men leave to do!
How some men creep in skittish Fortune's Hall,
While others play the ideots in her eyes;
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is feasting in his wantonness!
To see these Grecian lords! why ev'n already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrinking.
Achil.
This I do believe;
For they passed by me, as misers do by beggars,
Neither gave to me good word, nor good look:
What! are my deeds forgot?
Ulys.
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion:
(A great-siz'd monster of Ingratitudes)
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done: Perseverance keeps Honour bright:
To have done, is to hang quite out of fashion,
Like rusty Mail in monumental mockery.
For honour travels in a streight so narrow,
Where one but goes abreast; keep then the path;
For Emulation hath a thousand sons,
That one by one pursue; if you give way,
Or turn aside from the direct forth-right,
Like to an entred tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindermost; and there you lye,
Like to a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
For pavement to the abject near, o'er-run
And trampled on: Then what they do in present,
Tho' less than yours in past, must o'er-top yours.
For time is like a fashionable Host,
That slightly shakes his parting Guest by th' hand;
But with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
Grasps in the comer; Welcome ever smiles,
And Farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was;
For beauty, wit, high birth, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
-- 71 --
To envious and calumniating time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin;
That all, with one consent, praise new-born Gawds,
Tho' they are made and moulded of things past;
And give to dust, that is a little gilt,(29) note
More laud than they will give to Gold o'er-dusted:
The present eye praises the present object.
Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye,
Than what not stirs. The Cry went once for thee,
And still it might, and yet it may again,
If thou would'st not entomb thy self alive,
And case thy reputation in thy Tent;
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,
Made emulous missions 'mongst the Gods themselves,
And drave great Mars to faction.
Achil.
Of my privacy
I have strong reasons.
Ulys.
'Gainst your privacy
The Reasons are more potent and heroical.
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
With one of Priam's daughters.
Achil.
Ha! known!
Ulys.
Is that a wonder?
The providence, that's in a watchful State,
Knows almost every grain of Pluto's Gold;
Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive Deep;
Keeps place with thought; and almost, like the Gods,
Does ev'n our thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles:
There is a mystery (with which relation
Durst never meddle) in the Soul of State;
Which hath an operation more divine,
-- 72 --
Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to.
All the commerce that you have had with Troy
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord.
And better would it fit Achilles much,
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena.
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When Fame shall in his island sound her trump;
And all the Greekest girls shall tripping sing,
Great Hector's sister did Achilles win;
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.
Farewel, my lord—I, as your lover, speak;
The fool slides o'er the ice, that you should break.
[Exit.
Patr.
To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you;
A woman, impudent and mannish grown,
Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man
In time of act.—I stand condemn'd for this;
They think, my little stomach to the war,
And your great love to me, restrains you thus:
Sweet, rouse your self; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his am'rous fold;
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air.
Achil.
Shall Ajax fight with Hector!—
Patr.
Ay, and, perhaps, receive much honour by him.
Achil.
I see, my reputation is at stake;
My fame is shrewdly gor'd.
Patr.
O then beware:
Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves:
Omission to do what is necessary
Seals a Commission to a Blank of Danger;
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints
Even then, when we sit idly in the Sun.
Achil.
Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus:
I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him
T'invite the Trojan lords, after the Combat,
To see us here unarm'd: I have a woman's Longing,
An appetite that I am sick withal,
To see great Hector in the Weeds of peace;
To talk with him, and to behold his visage,
-- 73 --
Ev'n to my full of view.—A labour sav'd!
Enter Thersites.
Ther.
A wonder!
Achil.
What?
Ther.
Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for
himself.
Achil.
How so?
Ther.
He must fight singly to morrow with Hector,
and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling,
that he raves in saying nothing.
Achil.
How can that be?
Ther.
Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, a
stride and a stand; ruminates like an hostess, that hath no
arithmetick but her brain, to set down her reckoning;
bites his lip with a politick regard, as who should say,
there were wit in his head, if 'twou'd out; and so there
is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will
not shew without knocking. The man's undone for
ever: for if Hector break not his neck i'th' combat, he'll
break't himself in vain-glory. He knows not me: I said,
good morrow, Ajax: And he replies, thanks, Agamemnon.
What think you of this man, that takes me for the
General? he's grown a very land-fish, language-less, a
monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on
both sides, like a leather Jerkin.
Achil.
Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.
Ther.
Who I?—why, he'll answer no body; he professes
not answering; speaking is for beggars; he wears
his tongue in's arms. I will put on his presence; let
Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the
Pageant of Ajax.
Achil.
To him, Patroclus—tell him, I humbly desire
the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector
to come unarm'd to my tent, and to procure safe Conduct
for his Person of the magnanimous and most illustrious,
six or seven times honour'd captain general, of the Grecian
army, Agamemnon, &c. Do this.
Patr.
Jove bless great Ajax!
-- 74 --
Ther.
Hum—
Patr.
I come from the worthy Achilles.
Ther.
Ha!
Patr.
Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector
to his Tent.
Ther.
Hum—
Patr.
And to procure safe Conduct from Agamemnon.
Ther.
Agamemnon!—
Patr.
Ay, my lord.
Ther.
Ha!
Patr.
What say you to't?
Ther.
God be wi'you, with all my heart.
Patr.
Your answer, Sir.
Ther.
If to morrow be a fair day, by eleven o' clock it
will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay for
me ere he has me.
Patr.
Your answer, Sir.
Ther.
Fare ye well with all my heart.
Achil.
Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?
Ther.
No, but he's out o' tune thus; what musick will
be in him, when Hector has knock'd out his brains, I
know not. But, I am sure, none; unless the fidler Apollo
get his sinews to make Catlings on.
Achil.
Come, thou shall bear a letter to him straight.
Ther.
Let me carry another to his horse; for that's
the more capable creature.
Achil.
My mind is troubled like a fountain stirr'd,
And I my self see not the bottom of it.
[Exit.
Ther.
Would the fountain of your mind were clear again,
that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be a tick
in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance.
[Exe.
-- 75 --
ACT IV.
Scene 1
SCENE, a Street in TROY.
Enter at one door Æneas, with a torch; at another, Paris, Deiphobus, Antenor, and Diomede; Grecians, with Torches.
Paris.
See, ho! who is that there?
Dei.
It is the lord Æneas.
Æne.
Is the Prince there in person?
Had I so good occasion to lie long,
As you, Prince Paris, nought but heav'nly business
Should rob my bed-mate of my company.
Dio.
That's my mind too: good morrow, lord Æneas.
Par.
A valiant Greek, Æneas; take his hand;
Witness the process of your speech, wherein(30) note
You told, how Diomede a whole week, by days,
Did haunt you in the field.
-- 76 --
Æne.
Health to you, valiant Sir,
During all question of the gentle Truce:
But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance
As heart can think, or courage execute.
Dio.
The one and th'other Diomede embraces.
Our bloods are now in calm, and so long, health;
But when contention and occasion meet,
By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life,
With all my force, pursuit and policy.
Æne.
And thou shalt hunt a lion that will flie(31) note
With his face back.—In human gentleness,
Welcome to Troy—now, by Anchises' life,
Welcome, indeed!—by Venus' hand I swear,
No man alive can love, in such a sort,
The thing he means to kill, more excellently.
Dio.
We sympathize.—Jove, let Æneas live
(If to my sword his Fate be not the Glory)
A thousand compleat courses of the Sun:
But in mine emulous honour let him die,
With every joint a wound, and that to morrow.
Æne.
We know each other well.
Dio.
We do; and long to know each other worse.
Par.
This is the most despightful, gentle greeting;
The noblest, hateful love, that e'er I heard of.
What business, lord, so early?
Æne.
I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.
-- 77 --
Par.
His purpose meets you; 'twas, to bring this Greek
To Calchas' house, and there to render him
(For the enfree'd Antenor) the fair Cressid.
Let's have your company; or, if you please,
Haste thee before. I constantly do think,
(Or rather call my thought a certain knowledge)
My brother Troilus lodges there to night.
Rouse him, and give him note of our approach,
With the whole quality whereof; I fear,
We shall be much unwelcome.
Æne.
That assure you.
Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece,
Than Cressid borne from Troy.
Par.
There is no help;
The bitter disposition of the time
Will have it so. On, lord, we'll follow you.
Æne.
Good morrow all.
[Exit.
Par.
And tell me, noble Diomede; tell me true,
Ev'n in the soul of good sound fellowship,
Who in your thoughts merits fair Helen most?
My self, or Menelaus?
Dio.
Both alike.
He merits well to have her, that doth seek her,
(Not making any scruple of her soilure,)
With such a hell of pain, and world of charge.
And you as well to keep her, that defend her
(Not palating the taste of her dishonour,)
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends.
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
You, like a letcher, out of whorish loins
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors:
Both merits pois'd, each weighs no less nor more,
But he as he, which heavier for a whore.
Par.
You are too bitter to your Country-woman.
Dio.
She's bitter to her Country: hear me, Paris,
For ev'ry false drop in her baudy veins
A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,
-- 78 --
A Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak,
She hath not giv'n so many good words breath,
As, for her, Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.
Par.
Fair Diomede, you do as chapmen do,
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy:
But we in silence hold this virtue well;
We'll not commend what we intend to sell.
Here lyes our way.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE changes to Pandarus's House.
Enter Troilus and Cressida.
Troi.
Dear, trouble not your self; the morn is cold.
Cre.
Then, sweet my lord, I'll call my uncle down:
He shall unbolt the gates.
Troi.
Trouble him not—
To bed, to bed—sleep seal those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses,
As infants empty of all thought!
Cre.
Good morrow then.
Troi.
I pr'ythee now, to bed.
Cre.
Are you a weary of me?
Troi.
O Cressida! but that the busie day,
Wak'd by the lark, has rous'd the ribald crows,
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
I would not from thee.
Cre.
Night hath been too brief.
Troi.
Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays,
Tedious as hell; but flies the grasps of love,
With wings more momentary-swift than thought:
You will catch cold, and curse me.
Cre.
Pr'ythee, tarry—you men will never tarry—
O foolish Cressida—I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark, there's one up.
Pan. within]
What's all the doors open here?
Troi.
It is your uncle.
-- 79 --
Enter Pandarus.
Cre.
A pestilence on him! now will he be mocking;
I shall have such a life—
Pan.
How now, how now? how go maiden-heads?
Hear you, maid; where's my cousin Cressida?
Cre.
Go hang your self, you naughty mocking uncle:
You bring me to do—and then you flout me too.
Pan.
To do what? to do what? let her say what:
What have I brought you to do?
Cre.
Come, come, beshrew your heart; you'll never
be good; nor suffer others.
Pan.
Ha, ha! alas, poor wretch; a poor Capocchia,—(32) note
hast not slept to night? would he not (a naughty
man) let it sleep? a bugbear take him!
[One knocks.
Cre.
Did not I tell you?—would, he were knock'd
o'th' 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 if I meant naughtily.
Troil.
Ha, ha—
Cre.
Come, you are deceived, I think of no such thing.
How earnestly they knock—pray you, come in.
[Knock.
I would not for half Troy have you seen here.
[Exeunt.
Pan.
Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat
down the door? how now? what's the matter?
Enter Æneas.
Æne.
Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
-- 80 --
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.
Pho!—nay, then:—come, come, you'll
do him wrong, ere y'are aware: you'll be so true to him,
to be false to him: do not you know of him, but yet go
fetch him hither, go.
[As Pandarus is going out,
Enter Troilus.
Troi.
How now? what's the matter?
Æne.
My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
My matter is so rash: there is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomede, and our Antenor
Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Cressida.
Troi.
Is it concluded so?
Æne.
By Priam, and the general State of Troy.
They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
Troi.
How my atchievements mock me!
I will go meet them; and (my lord Æneas)
We met by chance, you did not find me here.
Æne.
Good, good, my lord; the secret'st things of Nature(33) note
Have not more gift in taciturnity.
[Exeunt.
-- 81 --
Enter Cressida to Pandarus.
Pan.
Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost: the Devil
take Antenor! the young Prince will go mad: a plague
upon Antenor! I would, they had broke's neck.
Cre.
How now? what's the matter? who was here?
Pan.
Ah, ah!
Cre.
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!
Cre.
O the Gods! what's the matter?
Pan.
Pr'ythee, get thee in; would, thou hadst ne'er
been born: I knew, thou would'st be his death. O poor
gentleman! a plague upon Antenor!—
Cre.
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 chang'd for Antenor; thou must go to thy father,
and be gone from Troilus: 'twill be his death; 'twill be
his bane; he cannot bear it.
Cre.
O you immortal Gods! I will not go.
Pan.
Thou must.
Cre.
I will not, uncle: I've forgot my father.
I know no touch of Consanguinity:
-- 82 --
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 falshood,
If ever she leave Troilus. Time, Force, and Death,(34) note
Do to this body what extreams you can;
But the strong Base and Building of my Love
Is, as the very centre of the earth,
Drawing all to it.—I'll go and weep,—
Pan.
Do, do.
Cre.
Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,
Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart
With sounding Troilus. I'll not go from Troy.
[Exe.
Scene 3
SCENE, before Pandarus's House.
Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Deiphobus, Antenor, and Diomedes.
Par.
It is great morning, and the hour prefixt
Of her Delivery to this valiant Greek
Comes fast upon us: good my brother Troilus,
Tell you the Lady what she is to do,
And haste her to the purpose.
Troi.
Walk into her house:
I'll bring her to the Grecian presently;
And to his hand when I deliver her,
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus
A priest, there offering to it his heart.
Par.
I know, what 'tis to love;
And would, as I shall pity, I could help!
Please you, walk in, my lords.
[Exeunt.
-- 83 --
Scene 4
SCENE, an Apartment in Pandarus's House.
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
Pan.
Be moderate, be moderate.
Cre.
Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect that I taste,
And in its sense is no less strong, than That
Which causeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affection,
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief;
My love admits no qualifying dross.
Enter Troilus.
No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
Pan.
Here, here, here he comes,—a, sweet duck!—
Cre.
O Troilus, Troilus!
Pan.
What a pair of spectacles is here! let me embrace too:
Oh heart, (as the goodly saying is;)
O heart, O heavy heart,
Why sigh'st thou without breaking?
where he answers again;
Because thou can'st not ease thy smart,
By friendship, nor by speaking.
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away
nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse;
we see it, we see it. How now, lambs?
Troi.
Cressid, I love thee in so strange a purity,
That the blest Gods, as angry with my fancy,
(More bright in zeal than the devotion, which
Cold lips blow to their Deities) take thee from me.
Cre.
Have the Gods envy?
Pan.
Ay, ay, 'tis too plain a case.
Cre.
And is it true, that I must go from Troy?
Troi.
A hateful truth!
-- 84 --
Cre.
What, and from Troilus too?
Troi.
From Troy, and Troilus.
Cre.
Is it possible?
Troi.
And suddenly: while injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoyndure, forcibly prevents
Our lock'd embraces, strangles our dear vows,
Ev'n in the birth of our own labouring breath.
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Each other bought, must poorly sell our selves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious Time now, with a robber's haste,
Crams his rich thiev'ry up, he knows not how.
As many farewels as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them,
He fumbles up all in one loose adieu;
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
Æneas within.]
My lord, is the lady ready?
Troi.
Hark! you are call'd. Some say, the Genius so
Cries, come, to him that instantly must die.
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.
Pan.
Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or
my heart will be blown up by the root.
[Exit Pandarus.
Cre.
I must then to the Grecians?
Troi.
No remedy.
Cre.
A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!
When shall we see again?
Troi.
Hear me, my love; be thou but true of heart—
Cre.
I true? how now? what wicked Deem is this?
Troi.
Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us:—
I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee:
For I will throw my Glove to Death himself,
That there's no maculation in thy heart;
But, be thou true, say I, to fashion in
My sequent protestation: be thou true,
And I will see thee.
-- 85 --
Cre.
O, you shall be expos'd, my lord to dangers
As infinite, as imminent: but, I'll be true.
Troi.
And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.
Cre.
And you this glove. When shall I see you?
Troi.
I will corrupt the Grecian Centinels
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet be true.
Cre.
O heav'ns! be true, again?
Troi.
Hear, why I speak it, love:
The Grecian youths are full of subtle qualities,
They're loving, well compos'd, with gift of nature
Flowing, and swelling o'er with arts and exercise;
How novelties may move, and parts with person—
Alas, a kind of godly jealousie
(Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin)
Makes me afraid.
Cre.
O heav'ns, you love me not!
Troi.
Die I a villain then!—
In this, I do not call your faith in question
So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing,
Nor heel the high Lavolt; nor sweeten talk;
Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant.
But I can tell, that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive Devil,
That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted.
Cre.
Do you think, I will?
Troi.
No.
But something may be done, that we will not:
And sometimes we are devils to our selves,
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.
Æneas within.]
Nay, good my lord,—
Troi.
Come kiss, and let us part.
Paris within.]
Brother Troilus,—
Troi.
Good brother, come you hither,
And bring Æneas and the Grecian with you.
Cre.
My lord, will You be true?
-- 86 --
Troi.
Who I? alas, it is my Vice, my fault:
While others fish with craft for great opinion;
I, with great truth, catch meer simplicity.
While some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit
Is plain and true, there's all the reach of it.
Enter Æneas, Paris, and Diomedes.
Welcome, Sir Diomede; here is the lady,
Whom for Antenor we deliver you.
At the Port (lord) I'll give her to thy hand,
And by the way possess thee what she is.
Entreat her fair; and by my soul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword,
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilion.
Diom.
Lady Cressid,
So please you, save the thanks this Prince expects:
The lustre in your eye, heav'n in your cheek,
Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomede
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.
Troi.
Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously,
To shame the zeal of my petition towards thee,(35) note
By praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises,
As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant.
I charge thee, use her well, even for my Charge:
For by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
(Tho' the great bulk Achilles be thy guard)
I'll cut thy throat.
-- 87 --
Diom.
Oh, be not mov'd, Prince Troilus.
Let me be priviledg'd by my place and message,
To be a Speaker free. When I am hence,
I'll answer to my list: and know, my lord,
I'll nothing do on Charge; to her own worth
She shall be priz'd: but that you say, be't so;
I'll speak it in my spirit and honour—no.
Troi.
Come, to the Port—I'll tell thee, Diomede,
This Brave shalt oft make thee to hide thy head.
Lady, give me your hand—and as we walk,
To our own selves bend we our needful talk.
[Sound trumpet.
Par.
Hark, Hector's trumpet!
Æne.
How have we spent this morning?
The Prince must think me tardy and remiss,
That swore to ride before him in the field.
Par.
'Tis Troilus' fault. Come, come, to field with him.
Diom.
Let us make ready strait.
Æne.
Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels:
The Glory of our Troy doth this day lye
On his fair worth, and single chivalry.
[Exeunt.
Scene 5
SCENE changes to the Grecian Camp.
Enter Ajax armed, Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, &c.
Aga.
Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,(36) note
Anticipating time with starting courage.
Give with thy Trumpet a loud note to Troy,
Thou dreadful Ajax, that th' appalled air
-- 88 --
May pierce the head of the great Combatant,
And hale him hither.
Ajax.
Trumpet, there's my purse;
Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe:
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
Out-swell the cholick of puft Aquilon:
Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood:
Thou blow'st for Hector.
Ulys.
No trumpet answers.
Achil.
'Tis but early day.
Aga.
Is not yond' Diomede with Calchas' daughter?
Ulys.
'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gate;
He rises on his toe; that spirit of his
In aspiration lifts him from the earth.
Enter Diomede, with Cressida.
Aga.
Is this the lady Cressida?
Dio.
Ev'n she.
Aga.
Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.(37) note
Nest.
Our General doth salute you with a kiss.
Ulys.
Yet is the kindness but particular;
'Twere better, she were kiss'd in general.
Nest.
And very courtly counsel: I'll begin.
So much for Nestor.
Achil.
I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady:
Achilles bids you welcome.
Men.
I had good argument for kissing once.
Patr.
But that's no argument for kissing now:
-- 89 --
For thus pop'd Paris in his hardiment,
And parted, thus, you and your argument.
Ulys.
O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns,
For which we lose our heads to gild his horns!
Patr.
The first was Menelaus' kiss—this mine—
Patroclus kisses you.
Men.
O, this is trim.
Patr.
Paris and I kiss evermore for him.
Men.
I'll have my kiss, Sir: lady, by your leave,—
Cre.
In kissing do you render or receive?
Patr.
Both take and give.
Cre.
I'll make my match to live,
The kiss you take is better than you give;
Therefore no kiss.—
Men.
I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one.
Cre.
You are an odd man, give even, or give none.
Men.
An odd man, lady? every man is odd.
Cre.
No, Paris is not; for you know, 'tis true,
That you are odd, and he is even with you.
Men.
You fillip me o'th' head.
Cre.
No, I'll be sworn.
Ulys.
It were no match, your nail against his horn:
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?
Cre.
You may.
Ulys.
I do desire it.
Cre.
Why, beg then.
Ulys.
Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a kiss,
When Helen is a maid again, and his—
Cre.
I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.
Ulys.
Never's my day, and then a kiss of you.
Nest.
A woman of quick sense!
Dio.
Lady, a word—I'll bring you to your Father.
[Diomede leads out Cressida.
Ulys.
Fie, fie upon her!
There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip:
Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out
At every joint, and motive of her body:
Oh, these Encounterers! So glib of tongue,
They give a Coasting welcome ere it comes;
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
-- 90 --
To every ticklish reader: set them down
For sluttish Spoils of Opportunity,
And Daughters of the Game.
[Trumpet within.
Enter Hector, Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Helenus, and Attendants.
All.
The Trojans' trumpet!
Aga.
Yonder comes the troop.
Æne.
Hail all the State of Greece! what shall be done
To him that Victory commands? Or do you purpose,
A Victor shall be known? will you, the Knights
Shall to the edge of all extremity
Pursue each other, or shall be divided
By any voice, or order of the field?
Hector bad ask.
Aga.
Which way would Hector have it?
Æne.
He cares not; he'll obey conditions.
Achil.
'Tis done like Hector, but securely done,(38) note
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
The Knight oppos'd.
Æne.
If not Achilles, Sir,
What is your name?
Achil.
If not Achilles, nothing.
Æne.
Therefore, Achilles; but whate'er, know this;
In the extremity of great and little
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector;
The one almost as infinite as all,
The other blank as nothing; weigh him well;
And That, which looks like pride, is courtesie.
-- 91 --
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood,
In love whereof, half Hector stays at home;
Half heart, half hand, half Hector, come to seek
This blended Knight, half Trojan and half Greek.
Achil.
A maiden battel then? O, I perceive you.
Re-enter Diomede.
Aga.
Here is Sir Diomede: go, gentle Knight,
Stand by our Ajax; as you and lord Æneas
Consent upon the order of the fight,
So be it; either to the uttermost,
Or else a breath. The Combatants being kin
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin.
Ulys.
They are oppos'd already.
Aga.
What Trojan is that same, that looks so heavy?
Ulys.
The youngest son of Priam, a true knight;
Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue;
Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd;
His heart and hand both open, and both free;
For what he has, he gives; what thinks, he shews;
Yet gives he not, 'till judgment guide his bounty;
Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath:
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous;
For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes
To tender objects; but he in heat of action
Is more vindicative than jealous love.
They call him Troilus, and on him erect
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector.
Thus says Æneas, one that knows the youth
Ev'n to his inches; and with private soul,
Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me.
[Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight.
Aga.
They are in action.
Nest.
Now, Ajax, hold thine own.
Troi.
Hector, thou sleep'st, awake thee.
Aga.
His blows are well dispos'd; there, Ajax.
[Trumpets cease.
Dio.
You must no more.
Æne.
Princes, enough, so please you.
-- 92 --
Ajax.
I am not warm yet, let us fight again.
Dio.
As Hector pleases.
Hect.
Why then, will I no more.
Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son;(39) note
A cousin-german to great Priam's seed:
The obligation of our blood forbids
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain;
Were thy commixion Greek and Trojan so,
That thou coud'st say, this hand is Grecian all,
And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg
All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood
Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister
Bounds in my sire's: by Jove multipotent,
Thou should'st not bear from me a Greekish member,
Wherein my sword had not impressure made
Of our rank feud: But the just Gods gainsay,
That any drop thou borrow'st from thy mother,
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword
Be drain'd! Let me embrace thee, Ajax:
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;
Hector would have them fall upon him thus—
Cousin, all honour to thee!—
Ajax.
I thank thee, Hector!
Thou art too gentle, and too free a man:
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
A great addition earned in thy death.
Hect.
Not Neoptolemus so mirable,
(On whose bright crest, Fame, with her loud'st O yes,
Cries, this is he;) could promise to himself
A thought of added honour torn from Hector.
Æne.
There is expectance here from both the sides,
What further you will do.
Hect.
We'll answer it:
The issue is embracement: Ajax, farewel.
Ajax.
If I might in entreaties find success,
(As seld I have the chance) I would desire
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.
-- 93 --
Dio.
'Tis Agamemon's wish, and great Achilles
Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.
Hect.
Æneas, call my brother Troilus to me:
And signifie this loving interview
To the expectors of our Trojan part:
Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my Cousin:
I will go eat with thee, and see your Knights.
Agamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward.
Ajax.
Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.
Hect.
The worthiest of them tell me name by name;
But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes
Shall find him by his large and portly size.
Aga.
Worthy of arms! as welcome, as to one
That would be rid of such an enemy;
But that's no welcome: understand more clear,
What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks
And formless ruin of Oblivion:
But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing,
Bids thee with most divine integrity,
From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.
Hect.
I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.
Aga.
My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you.
[To Troilus.
Men.
Let me confirm my princely brother's Greeting,
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.
Hect.
Whom must we answer?
Æne.
The noble Menelaus.
Hect.
O—you, my lord—by Mars his gauntlet, thanks.
Mock not, that I affect th' untraded oath;
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove:
She's well, but bad me not commend her to you.
Men.
Name her not now, Sir, she's a deadly theme.
Hect.
O, pardon—I offend.
Nest.
I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way
Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,
Bravely despising forfeits and subduements,
-- 94 --
When thou hast hung thy advanc'd sword i'th' air,
Not letting it decline on the declin'd:
That I have said unto my standers-by,
Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!
And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath,
When that a Ring of Greeks have hem'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling. This I've seen:
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
I never saw 'till now. I knew thy Grandsire,
And once fought with him; he was a soldier good;
But by great Mars, the Captain of us all,
Never like thee. Let an old man embrace thee,
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.
Æne.
'Tis the old Nestor.
Hect.
Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle,
That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time:
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.
Nest.
I would, my arms could match thee in contention,
As they contend with thee in courtesie.
Hect.
I would, they could.
Nest.
By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to morrow.
Well, welcome, welcome; I have seen the time—
Ulys.
I wonder now how yonder city stands,
When we have here the base and pillar by us.
Hect.
I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well.
Ah, Sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,
Since first I saw your self and Diomede
In Ilion, on your Greekish embassie.
Ulys.
Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue:
My prophesie is but half his journey yet;
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
Must kiss their own feet.
Hect.
I must not believe you:
There they stand yet; and, modestly I think,
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
A drop of Grecian blood; the end crowns all,
-- 95 --
And that old common Arbitrator, Time,
Will one day end it.
Ulys.
So to him we leave it.
Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome;
After the General, I beseech you next
To feast with me, and see me at my Tent.
Achil.
I shall forestal thee, lord Ulysses;—thou!
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;
I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector,
And quoted joint by joint.
Hect.
Is this Achilles?
Achil.
I am Achilles.
Hect.
Stand fair, I pr'ythee, let me look on thee.
Achil.
Behold thy fill.
Hect.
Nay, I have done already.
Achil.
Thou art too brief. I will the second time,
As I would buy thee, view thee, limb by limb.
Hect.
O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er:
But there's more in me, than thou understand'st.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?
Achil.
Tell me, you heav'ns, in which part of his body
Shall I destroy him? whether there, or there,
That I may give the local wound a name;
And make distinct the very breach, where-out
Hector's great spirit flew. Answer me, heav'ns!
Hect.
It would discredit the blest Gods, proud man,
To answer such a question: stand again.—
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly,
As to prenominate, in nice conjecture,
Where thou wilt hit me dead?
Achil.
I tell thee, yea.
Hect.
Wert thou the Oracle to tell me so,
I'd not believe thee: henceforth guard thee well,
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
But by the forge that smithied Mars his helm,(40) note
-- 96 --
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.—
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His insolence draws folly from my lips;
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words,
Or may I never—
Ajax.
Do not chafe thee, cousin;
And you, Achilles, let these threats alone,
'Till accident or purpose bring you to't.
You may have ev'ry day enough of Hector,
If you have stomach. The general State, I fear,(41) note
Can scarce intreat you to be odd with him.
Hect.
I pray you, let us see you in the field:
We have had pelting wars since you refus'd
The Grecians' cause.
Achil.
Dost thou intreat me, Hector?
To morrow do I meet thee, fell as death;
To night, all friends.
Hect.
Thy hand upon that match.
Aga.
First, all you Peers of Greece go to my Tent,
There in the full convive you; afterwards,
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall
Concur together, severally intreat him
-- 97 --
To taste your bounties: let the trumpets blow;
That this great soldier may his welcome know.
[Exeunt.
Manent Troilus and Ulysses.
Troi.
My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?
Ulys.
At Menelaus' Tent, most princely Troilus;
There Diomede doth feast with him to night;
Who neither looks on heav'n, nor on the earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of am'rous view
On the fair Cressid.
Troi.
Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to thee so much,
After you part from Agamemnon's Tent,
To bring me thither?
Ulys.
You shall command me, Sir:
As, gently tell me, of what honour was
This Cressida in Troy; had she no lover there,
That wails her absence?
Troi.
O Sir, to such as boasting shew their scars,
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?
She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth.
But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth.
[Exeunt.
-- 98 --
ACT V.
Scene 1
SCENE, before Achilles's Tent, in the Grecian Camp.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
Achilles.
I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to night,
Which with my scimitar I'll cool to morrow.
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.
Patr.
Here comes Thersites.
Enter Thersites.
Achil.
How now, thou core of envy?(42) note
Thou crusty botch of Nature, what's the news?
Ther.
Why, thou picture of what thou seem'st, and
idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee.
Achil.
From whence, fragment?
Ther.
Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
Patr.
Who keeps the Tent now?
Ther.
The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound.
Patr.
Well said, adversity; and what need these tricks?
-- 99 --
Ther.
Pr'ythee, be silent, boy, I profit not by thy talk;
thou art thought to be Achilles's male-harlot.(43) note
Patr.
Male-harlot, you rogue? what's that?
Ther.
Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten diseases
of the south, guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads
o' gravel i'th' back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes,
dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of impostume,
sciatica's, lime-kilns i'th' palme, incurable boneach,
and the rivell'd fee-simple of the tetter, take and
take again such preposterous discoveries.
Patr.
Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what
meanest thou to curse thus?
Ther.
Do I curse thee?
Patr.
Why, no, you ruinous butt, you whorson indistinguishable
cur.
Ther.
No? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle
immaterial skein of sley'd silk, thou green sarcenet flap
for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou?
Ah, how the poor world is pester'd with such water-flies,
diminutives of nature.
Patr.
Out, gall!
Ther.
Finch-egg!
Achil.
My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to morrow's battel:
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
A token from her daughter, my fair Love,
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it;
Fall Greek, fail fame, honour, or go, or stay,
My major vow lyes here; this I'll obey.
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my Tent,
This night in banqueting must all be spent.
Away, Patroclus.
[Ex.
Ther.
With too much blood, and too little brain, these
two may run mad: but if with too much brain, and too
little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's
-- 100 --
Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves
quails,(44) note
but he hath not so much brain as ear-wax;
and the goodly transformation of Jupiter(45) note
there his
brother, the bull, (the primitive statue, and oblique memorial
of cuckolds;) a thrifty shooing-horn in a chain,
hanging at his brother's leg; to what form, but that he
-- 101 --
is, should wit larded with malice, and malice forced with
wit, turn him to? to an ass were nothing, he is both ass
and ox; to an ox were nothing, he is both ox and ass;
to be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard,
an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would
not care: but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against
Destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not
Thersites; for I care not, to be the lowse of a lazar, so I
were not Menelaus.—
Hey-day, spirits and fires!
Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, and Diomede, with lights.
Aga.
We go wrong, we go wrong.
Ajax.
No, yonder 'tis; there, where we see the light.
Hect.
I trouble you.
Ajax.
No, not a whit.
Enter Achilles.
Ulys.
Here comes himself to guide you.
Achil.
Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all.
Aga.
So, now fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night.
Ajax commands the Guard to tend on you.
Hect.
Thanks and good night to the Greeks' General.
Men.
Good night, my lord.
Hect.
Good night, sweet lord Menelaus.
Ther.
Sweet draught—sweet, quoth a—sweet sink,
sweet sewer.
Achil.
Good night, and welcome, both at once, to Those
That go or tarry.
Aga.
Good night.
Achil.
Old Nestor tarries, and you too, Diomede,
Keep Hector company an hour or two.
-- 102 --
Dio.
I cannot, lord, I have important business,
The tide whereof is now; good night, great Hector.
Hect.
Give me your hand.
Ulys.
Follow his torch, he goes to Calchas' Tent:
I'll keep you company.
[To Troilus.
Troi.
Sweet Sir, you honour me.
Hect.
And so, good night.
Achil.
Come, come, enter my Tent.
[Exeunt.
Ther.
That same Diomede's a false-hearted rogue, a
most unjust knave: I will no more trust him when he
leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses: he will spend
his mouth and promise, like Brabler the hound; but when
he performs, astronomers foretel it, that it is prodigious,
there will come some change: the Sun borrows of the
Moon, when Diomede keeps his word. I will rather leave
to see Hector, than not to dog him: they say, he keeps a
Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas his Tent. I'll
after—Nothing but letchery; all incontinent varlets.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE changes to Calchas's Tent.
Enter Diomede.
Dio.
What are you up here, ho? speak.
Cal.
Who calls?
Dio.
Diomede; Calchas, I think; where's your daughter?
Cal.
She comes to you.
Enter Troilus and Ulysses, after them Thersites.
Ulys.
Stand where the torch may not discover us.
Enter Cressid.
Troi.
Cressid come forth to him?
Dio.
How now, my Charge?
Cre.
Now, my sweet guardian; hark, a word with you.
[Whispers.
Troi.
Yea, so familiar?
Ulys.
She will sing to any man at first sight.
-- 103 --
Ther.
And any man may sing to her, if he can take her
cliff. She's noted.
Dio.
Will you remember?
Cre.
Remember? yes.
Dio.
Nay, but do then; and let your mind be coupled
with your words.
Troi.
What should she remember?
Ulys.
List.—
Cre.
Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.
Ther.
Roguery—
Dio.
Nay, then,—
Cre.
I'll tell you what.
Dio.
Fo, fo, come tell a pin, you are a forsworn—
Cre.
In faith, I can't: what would you have me do?
Ther.
A jugling trick, to be secretly open.
Dio.
What did you swear you would bestow on me?
Cre.
I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath;
Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek.
Dio.
Good night.
Troi.
Hold, patience—
Ulys.
How now, Trojan?
Cre.
Diomede,—
Dio.
No, no, good night: I'll be your fool no more.
Troi.
Thy Better must.
Cre.
Hark, one word in your ear.
Troi.
O plague and madness!
Ulys.
You are mov'd, Prince; let us depart, I pray you,
Lest your displeasure should enlarge it self
To wrathful terms: this place is dangerous;
The time right deadly: I beseech you, go.
Troi.
Behold, I pray you—
Ulys.
Good my lord, go off:
You fly to great distraction: come, my lord.
Troi.
I pr'ythee, stay.
Ulys.
You have not patience; come.
Troi.
I pray you, stay; by hell, and by hell's torments.
I will not speak a word.
Dio.
And so, good night.
Cre.
Nay, but you part in anger?
Troi.
Doth that grieve thee? O wither'd truth!
-- 104 --
Ulys.
Why, how now, lord?
Troi.
By Jove, I will be patient.
Cre.
Guardian—why, Greek—
Dio.
Fo, fo, adieu, you palter.
Cre.
In faith, I do not: come hither once again.
Ulys.
You shake, my lord, at something; will you go?
You will break out.
Troi.
She stroaks his cheek.—
Ulys.
Come, come.
Troi.
Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word.
There is between my will and all offences
A guard of patience: stay a little while.
Ther.
How the devil luxury with his fat rump and potato
finger tickles these together! fry, letchery, fry!—
Dio.
But will you then?
Cre.
In faith, I will, la; never trust me else.
Dio.
Give me some token for the Surety of it.
Cre.
I'll fetch you one.
[Exit.
Ulys.
You have sworn patience.
Troi.
Fear me not, sweet lord,
I will not be my self, nor have cognition
Of what I feel: I am all patience.
Re-Enter Cressida.
Ther.
Now the pledge; now, now, now.—
Cre.
Here, Diomede, keep this sleeve.
Troi.
O beauty! where's thy faith?
Ulys.
My lord.
Troi.
I will be patient, outwardly I will.
Cre.
You look upon that sleeve; behold it well:—
He lov'd me:—O false wench!—Give't me again.
Dio.
Whose was't?
Cre.
It is no matter, now I have't again.
I will not meet with you to morrow night:
I pr'ythee, Diomede, visit me no more.
Ther.
Now she sharpens: well said, whetstone.
Dio.
I shall have it.
Cre.
What, this?
Dio.
Ay, that.
Cre.
O, all ye Gods!—O pretty, pretty pledge;
-- 105 --
Thy master now lyes thinking in his bed
Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it:
As I kiss thee.—(46) note
Nay, do not snatch it from me:
He, that takes that, must take my heart withal.
Dio.
I had your heart before, this follows it.
Troi.
I did swear patience.
Cre.
You shall not have it, Diomede: 'faith, you shall not,
I'll give you something else.
Dio.
I will have this: whose was it?
Cre.
'Tis no matter.
Dio.
Come, tell me whose it was?
Cre.
'Twas one that lov'd me better than you will.
But now you have it, take it.
Dio.
Whose was it?
Cre.
By all Diana's waiting-women yonder,
And by her self, I will not tell you whose.
Dio.
To morrow will I wear it on my helm,
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.
Troi.
Wert thou the Devil, and wor'st it on thy horn,
It should be challeng'd.
Cre.
Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; and yet it is not—
I will not keep my word,
Dio.
Why then, farewel,
Thou never shalt mock Diomede again.
Cre.
You shall not go;—one cannot speak a word,
But it straight starts you.
Dio.
I do not like this fooling.
Ther.
Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes not you,
pleases me best.
Dio.
What, shall I come? the hour?
Cre.
Ay, come:—O Jove!—do, come:—I shall be plagu'd.
-- 106 --
Dio.
Farewell 'till then.
[Exit.
Cre.
Good night: I pr'ythee, come.
Troilus, farewel; one eye yet looks on thee,
But with my heart the other eye doth see.—
Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.
What error leads, must err: O then conclude,
Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude.
[Exit.
Ther.
A proof of strength she could not publish more;
Unless she say, my mind is now turn'd whore.
Ulys.
All's done, my lord.
Troi.
It is.
Ulys.
Why stay we then?
Troi.
To make a recordation to my soul,
Of every syllable that here was spoke:
But if I tell how these two did co-act,
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth?
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart,
An esperance so obstinately strong,
That doth invert th' attest of eyes and ears;(47) note
As if those organs had deceptious functions,
Created only to calumniate.
Was Cressid here?
Ulys.
I cannot conjure, Trojan.
Troi.
She was not, sure.
Ulys.
Most sure, she was.
Troi.
Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.
Ulys.
Nor mine, my lord: Cressid was here but now.
Troi.
Let it not be believ'd, for woman-hood!
Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage
To stubborn criticks, apt, without a theme
For depravation, to square all the sex
By Cressid's rule. Rather think this not Cressid.
Ulys.
What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?
-- 107 --
Troi.
Nothing at all, unless that this were she.
Ther.
Will he swagger himself out of his own eyes?
Troi.
This she? no, this is Diomede's Cressida.
If beauty have a soul, this is not she:
If souls guide vows, if vows are sanctimony,
If sanctimony be the Gods' delight,
If there be rule in unity it self,
This is not she. O madness of discourse!
That cause sets up with and against thy self!
Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
Without revolt. This is, and is not Cressid.
Within my soul there doth commence a fight
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate
Divides far wider than the sky and earth;
And yet the spacious breadth of this division
Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle
As slight Arachne's broken woof, to enter.
Instance, O instance, strong as Pluto's gates!
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heav'n:
Instance, O instance, strong as heav'n it self!
The bonds of heav'n are slip'd, dissolv'd and loos'd,
And with another knot five-finger-tied,
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasie reliques
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomede.
Ulys.
May worthy Troilus be half attach'd
With that which here his passion doth express?
Troi.
Ay, Greek, and that shall be divulged well;
In characters, as red as Mars his heart
Inflam'd with Venus—ne'er did young man fancy
With so eternal, and so fix'd a soul—
Hark, Greek, as much as I do Cressid love,
So much by weight hate I her Diomede.
That sleeve is mine, that he'll bear in his helm:
Were it a cask compos'd by Vulcan's skill,
My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout,
Which ship-men do the hurricano call,
Constring'd in mass by the almighty Sun,
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear
-- 108 --
In his descent, than shall my prompted sword
Falling on Diomede.
Ther.
He'll tickle it for his concupy.
Troi.
O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name,
And they'll seem glorious.
Ulys.
O, contain your self:
Your passion draws ears hither.
Enter Æneas.
Æne.
I have been seeking you this hour, my lord:
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy.
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.
Troi.
Have with you, Prince; my courteous lord, adieu.
Farewel, revolted Fair: and, Diomede,
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head!
Ulys.
I'll bring you to the gates.
Troi.
Accept distracted thanks.
[Exeunt Troilus, Æneas, and Ulysses.
Ther.
Would, I could meet that rogue Diomede, I
would croak like a raven: I would bode, I would bode.
Patroclus will give me any thing for the intelligence of
this whore: the parrot will not do more for an almond,
than he for a commodious drab: letchery, letchery, still
wars and letchery, nothing else holds fashion. A burning
devil take them!
[Exit.
Scene 3
SCENE changes to the Palace in TROY.
Enter Hector and Andromache.
And.
When was my lord so much ungently temper'd,
To stop his ears against admonishment?
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to day.
Hect.
You train me to offend you; get you gone.
By all the everlasting Gods, I'll go.
Ant.
My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to day.
-- 109 --
Hect.
No more, I say.
Enter Cassandra.
Cas.
Where is my brother Hector?
And.
Here, sister, arm'd, and bloody in intent:
Consort with me in loud and dear petition;
Pursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt
Of bloody turbulence; and this whole night
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.
Cas.
O, 'tis true.
Hect.
Ho! bid my trumpet sound.
Cas.
No notes of sally, for the heav'ns, sweet brother.
Hect.
Be gone, I say: the Gods have heard me swear.
Cas.
The Gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.
And.
O! be perswaded, do not count it holy,
To hurt by being just; it were as lawful
For us to count we give what's gain'd by thefts,
And rob in the behalf of charity.
Cas.
It is the purpose that makes strong the vow;
But vows to every purpose must not hold:
Unarm, sweet Hector.
Hect.
Hold you still, I say;
Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate;
Life every man holds dear, but the brave man
Holds honour far more precious-dear than life.
Enter Troilus.
How now, young man; mean'st thou to fight to day?
And.
Cassandra, call my father to perswade.
[Exit Cassandra.
Hect.
No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth:
I am to day i'th' vein of chivalry:
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,
I'll stand, to day, for thee, and me, and Troy.
Troi.
Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you;
Which better fits a lion, than a man.
-- 110 --
Hect.
What vice is that? good Troilus, chide me for it.
Troi.
When many times the captive Grecians fall,
Ev'n in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
You bid them rise, and live.
Hect.
O, 'tis fair play.
Troi.
Fool's play, by Heaven, Hector.
Hect.
How now? how now?
Troi.
For love of all the Gods,
Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers;
And when we have our armours buckled on,
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords,
Spur them to rueful work, rein them from ruth.
Hect.
Fie, savage, fie!
Troi.
Hector, thus 'tis in wars.
Hect.
Troilus, I would not have you fight to day.
Troi.
Who should with-hold me?
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my Retire;
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
Their eyes o'er-galled with recourse of tears;
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn
Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way,
But by my ruin.
Enter Priam and Cassandra.
Cas.
Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast:
He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy Stay,
Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee,
Fall all together.
Priam.
Hector, come, go back:
Thy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions;
Cassandra doth foresee; and I my self
Am, like a prophet, suddenly enrapt
To tell thee, that this day is ominous:
Therefore come back.
Hect.
Æneas is a-field,
And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks,
Ev'n in the faith of valour, to appear
This morning to them.
Priam.
But thou shalt not go.
-- 111 --
Hect.
I must not break my faith:
You know me dutiful, therefore, dear Sir,
Let me not shame respect; but give me leave
To take that course by your consent and voice,
Which you do here forbid me, Royal Priam.
Cas.
O, Priam, yield not to him.
And.
Do not, dear father.
Hect.
Andromache, I am offended with you.
Upon the love you bear me, get you in.
[Exit Androm.
Troi.
This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl
Makes all these bodements.
Cas.
O farewel, dear Hector:
Look, how thou diest; look, how thy eyes turn pale!
Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents!
Hark, how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out;
How poor Andromache shrills her dolour forth!
Behold, distraction, frenzy and amazement,
Like witless anticks, one another meet,
And all cry, Hector, Hector's dead! O Hector!
Troi.
Away!—Away!—
Cas.
Farewel: yet, Soft: Hector, I take my leave;
Thou do'st thy self and all our Troy deceive.
[Exit.
Hect.
You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim:
Go in and cheer the town, we'll forth and fight;
Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night.
Priam.
Farewel: the Gods with safety stand about thee!
[Alarum.
Troi.
They're at it, hark: proud Diomede, believe,
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve.
Enter Pandarus.
Pand.
Do you hear, my lord? do you hear?
Troi.
What now?
Pand.
Here's a letter come from yond poor girl.
Troi.
Let me read.
Pand.
A whorson ptisick, a whorson rascally ptisick so
troubles me; and the foolish fortune of this girl, and
what one thing and what another, that I shall leave you
one o' these days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too,
-- 112 --
and such an ach in my bones, that unless a man were curst,
I cannot tell what to think on't. What says she, there?
Troi.
Words, words, meer words; no matter from the heart:
Th' effect doth operate another way.
[Tearing the letter.
Go, wind to wind; there turn and change together:
My love with words and errors still she feeds;
But edifies another with her deeds.
Pand.
Why, but hear you—
Troi.
Hence, brothel-lacquey! ignominy and shame(48) note
Pursue thy life, and live ay with thy name!
[Exeunt.
Scene 4
SCENE changes to the Field between Troy and the Camp.
[Alarum.] Enter Thersites.
Ther.
Now they are clapper-clawing one another,
I'll go look on: that dissembling abominable
varlet, Diomede, has got that same scurvy, doating,
foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy, there, in his helm:
I would fain see them meet; that, that same young Trojan
ass, that loves the whore there, might send that Greekish
whore-masterly villain, with the sleeve, back to the dissembling
luxurious drab, of a sleeveless Errant. O'th'
other side,(49) note the policy of those crafty sneering rascals,
-- 113 --
that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese Nestor, and
that same dog-fox Ulysses, is not prov'd worth a blackberry.
—They set me up in policy that mungril cur
Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles. And
now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and
will not arm to day: whereupon the Grecians begin
to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion.
Enter Diomede and Troilus.
Soft—here comes sleeve, and t'other.
Troi.
Fly not; for should'st thou take the river Styx,
I would swim after.
Dio.
Thou dost miscall Retire:
I do not fly; but advantageous care
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude;
Have at thee!
[They go off, fighting.
Ther.
Hold thy whore, Grecian: now for thy whore,
Trojan: now the sleeve, now the sleeve, now the sleeve!
Enter Hector.
Hect.
What art thou, Greek! art thou for Hector's match?
Art thou of blood and honour?
Ther.
No, no: I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave;
a very filthy rogue.
Hect.
I do believe thee—live.
[Exit.
Ther.
God o' mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but
a plague break thy neck for frighting me! What's become
of the wenching rogues? I think, they have swallowed
one another. I would laugh at that miracle—
yet, in a sort, letchery eats it self: I'll seek them.
[Exit.
Enter Diomede and Servant.
Dio.
Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse,
Present the fair Steed to my lady Cressid:
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty:
Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan,
And am her Knight by proof.
-- 114 --
Ser.
I go, my lord.
Enter Agamemnon.
Aga.
Renew, renew: the fierce Polydamas
Hath beat down Menon: bastard Margarelon
Hath Doreus prisoner,
And stands Colossus-wise, waving his beam
Upon the pashed coarses of the Kings,
Epistropus and Odius. Polyxenus is slain;
Amphimachus and Thoas deadly hurt;
Patroclus ta'en or slain, and Palamedes
Sore hurt and bruis'd; the dreadful Sagittary(50) note
Appals our numbers: haste we, Diomede,
To reinforcement, or we perish all.
Enter Nestor.
Nest.
Go bear Patroclus' body to Achilles,
And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame,
There are a thousand Hectors in the field:
-- 115 --
Now, here he fights on Galathe his horse,
And there lacks work; anon, he's there a-foot,
And there they fly or dye, like scaled shoals
Before the belching whale: then is he yonder,
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,
Fall down before him, like the mower's swath;
Here, there, and ev'ry where, he leaves and takes;
Dexterity so obeying appetite,
That what he will, he does; and does so much,
That proof is call'd impossibility.
Enter Ulysses.
Ulys.
Oh, courage, courage, Princes; great Achilles
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance;
Patroclus' wounds have rowz'd his drowsie blood,
Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
That noseless, handless, hackt and chipt, come to him,
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend,
And foams at mouth; and he is arm'd, and at it,
Roaring for Troilus, who hath done to day
Mad and fantastick execution:
Engaging and redeeming of himself,
With such a careless force, and forceless care,
As if that luck in very spite of cunning
Bad him win all.
Enter Ajax.
Ajax.
Troilus, thou coward Troilus!
[Exit.
-- 116 --
Dio.
Ay, there, there.
Nest.
So, so, we draw together.
[Exeunt.
Enter Achilles.
Achil.
Where is this Hector?
Come, come, thou boy-killer, shew me thy face:
Know, what it is to meet Achilles angry.
Hector, where's Hector? I will none but Hector.
[Exit.
Re-enter Ajax.
Ajax.
Troilus, thou coward Troilus, shew thy head!
Re-enter Diomede.
Dio.
Troilus, I say, where's Troilus?
Ajax.
What wouldst thou?
Dio.
I would correct him.
Ajax.
Were I the General, thou should'st have my Office,
Ere that correction: Troilus, I say, what! Troilus?
Enter Troilus.
Troi.
Oh, traitor Diomede! turn thy false face, thou traitor,
And pay thy life, thou owest me for my horse.
Dio.
Ha, art thou there?
Ajax.
I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomede.
Dio.
He is my prize, I will not look upon.
Troi.
Come Both, you cogging Greeks, have at you Both.
[Exeunt, fighting.
Enter Hector.
Hect.
Yea, Troilus? O well fought! my youngest brother.
Enter Achilles.
Achil.
Now do I see thee; have at thee, Hector.
Hect.
Pause, if thou wilt.
[Fight.
Achil.
I do disdain thy courtesie, proud Trojan.
Be happy that my arms are out of use,
-- 117 --
My Rest and Negligence befriend thee now,
But thou anon shalt hear of me again:
Till when, go seek thy fortune.
Hect.
Fare thee well;
I would have been much more a fresher man,
Had I expected thee. How now, my brother?
Enter Troilus.
Troi.
Ajax hath ta'en Æneas; shall it be?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heav'n,
He shall not carry him: I'll be taken too,
Or bring him off: Fate, hear me what I say;
I reck not, though thou end my life to day.
[Exit.
Enter One in armour.
Hect.
Stand, stand, thou Greek, thou art a goodly mark:
No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well,
I'll frush it, and unlock the rivets all,
But I'll be master of it; wilt thou not, beast, abide?
Why then, fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide.
[Exit.
Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.
Achil.
Come here about me, you my Myrmidons.
Mark what I say, attend me where I wheel;
Strike not a stroke, but keep your selves in breath;
And when I have the bloody Hector found,
Empale him with your weapons round about:
In fellest manner execute your arms.
Follow me, Sirs, and my Proceeding eye:
It is decreed—Hector the Great must dye.
[Exeunt.
Enter Thersites, Menelaus and Paris.
Ther.
The cukold, and the cuckold-maker are at it:
now bull, now dog; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; now, my double-hen'd
sparrow; 'loo, Paris, 'loo; the bull has the game:
'ware horns, ho.
[Ex. Paris and Menelaus.
-- 118 --
Enter Bastard.
Bast.
Turn, slave, and fight.
Ther.
What art thou?
Bast.
A bastard son of Priam's.
Ther.
I am a bastard too, I love bastards. I am a
bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard
in valour, in every thing illegitimate: one Bear will not
bite another(51) note
, and wherefore should one bastard?
take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us: If the son
of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment:
farewel, bastard.
Bast.
The devil take thee, coward.
[Exeunt.
Enter Hector.
Hect.
Most putrified core, so fair without!—
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day's work done; I'll take my breath:
Rest, sword, thou hast thy fill of blood and death.
Enter Achilles and his Myrmidons.
Achil.
Look, Hector, how the Sun begins to set;
How ugly Night comes breathing at his heels:
Ev'n with the veil and darkning of the Sun,
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
[They fall upon Hector and kill him.
Hect.
I am unarm'd, forego this vantage, Greek.
Achil.
Strike, fellows, strike, this is the man I seek.
So, Ilion, fall thou next. Now, Troy, sink down:
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews and thy bone.
On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain,
Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.
Hark, a retreat upon our Grecian part.
Myr.
The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.
Achil.
The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth;
-- 119 --
And, stickler-like, the armies separates.(52) note
My half-supt sword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed.
Come, tye his body to my horses tail:
Along the field I will the Trojan trail.
[Exeunt.
[Sound retreat. Shout.
Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Diomede, and the rest, marching.
Aga.
Hark, hark, what shout is that?
Nest.
Peace, drums.
Sol.
Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain! Achilles!
Dio.
The bruit is, Hector's slain, and by Achilles.
Ajax.
If it is so, yet bragless let it be:
Great Hector was as good a man as he.
Aga.
March patiently along; let one be sent
To pray Achilles see us at our Tent.
If in his death the Gods have us befriended,
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.
[Exe.
Enter Æneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.
Æne.
Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field;
Never go home, here starve we out the night.
-- 120 --
Enter Troilus.
Troi.
Hector is slain.
All.
Hector!—the Gods forbid!
Troi.
He's dead, and at the murtherer's horses tail
In beastly sort dragg'd through the shameful field.
Frown on, you heav'ns, effect your rage with speed;
Sit, Gods, upon your Thrones, and smile at Troy!
I say, at once, let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our sure destructions on.
Æne.
My lord, you do discomfort all the Host.
Troi.
You understand me not, that tell me so:
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death,
But dare all imminence, that Gods and men
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone!
Who shall tell Priam so? or Hecuba?
Let him, that will a scrietch-owl ay be call'd,
Go into Troy, and say there, Hector's dead:
That is a word will Priam turn to stone;
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives;
Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word,
Scare Troy out of it self. But march away,
Hector is dead: there is no more to say.
Stay yet, you vile abominable Tents,
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains:
Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
I'll through and through you. And thou, great-siz'd coward!
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates;
I'll haunt thee, like a wicked conscience still,
That mouldeth Goblins swift as Frenzy's thoughts.
Strike a free March to Troy! with comfort go:
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.
Enter Pandarus.
Pan.
But hear you, hear you?
Troi.
Hence, brothel-lacquy; ignominy, shame
[Strikes him.
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!
[Exeunt.
-- 121 --
Pan.
A goodly med'cine for mine aking bones! Oh
world! world! world! thus is the poor agent despis'd:
Oh, traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set at
work, and how ill requited? why should our endeavour
be so lov'd, and the performance so loath'd? what verse
for it? what instance for it?—let me see—
Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,
'Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;
But being once subdu'd in armed tail,
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths—
As many as be here of Pandar's Hall,
Your eyes half out, weep out at Pandar's Fall;
Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
Though not for me, yet for your aking bones.
Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,
Some two months hence my will shall here be made:
It should be now; but that my fear is this,
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss;
'Till then, I'll sweat, and seek about for eases,
And at that time bequeath you my diseases.
[Exit.
